Train No. 2

The train slithers

through the woodlands

But it also rocks

the sides shake

-ominously

The trees lurch forward

-tentatively

In the mind's eye, I see

a ghost train bounce off

hit the trees

and explode

into a multitude

of shelled pieces

Fast forward

turns out it's not a ghost train

Anguish; screams, yells, heat

intense heat

A Titanic-esque pose

The engineers refuse to leave

The upturned wreck; people inside

The panic; the burning heat

Slowly, but not surely, an escape

walking corpses; the lashing heat

Nothing to claim them except

Night, fire and wood

Too many trees

As everything starts to be consumed

They walk, no clear sense of direction

Away from the burning death trap

Away from the carnage

Away from the stench

Away...

Modelos

I'm a junkie.

I don't know exactly what kind, a special kind I think, because I'm not a junkie to any specific one thing.

I mean, you can easily tell who Crack Junkies are, and who Sports Junkies are, but me? You can't identify me.

I'm a junkie all right, a chameleon junkie. A person seeing me stay up till 5 am might think I'm an Insomniac Junkie, but then the next day they'll see me listening to CBC Radio One all day long, so they'll think I'm a CBC Radio One Junkie. But what if they saw me lurking around at the Wychwood Barns late at night, they'd think I was a lurker Junkie, but I don't go there every night.

Let's look at the Urban Dictionary definition of a Junkie, shall we? There are many, an accepted one would be:

Junk-ie –noun Informal. Generally, junkie (in terms of drug abuse) applies to someone addicted to a narcotic-- such as heroin, morphine, opium, codeine, and methadone.

So am I a Junkie? In the informal sense yes, because my body seeks out drugs, and then produces its own.

Ha, a real Junkie would scoff at me.

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My room.

Look, aside from living in my parent's basement (hey, I'm only 18!), I'm having a relatively alright lifestyle.

Okay, so I may be overdosing on Miley Cyrus/Hannah Montana (I have a couple posters in my room... + a bonus Tinkerbell poster), but I mean, I love her songs, they're so badass.

My setup is really cool. I have these big stereo speakers (surround sound baby), my new computer is ready for pick-up and I cleaned up the bar (which is also technically in my room). Miley really sounds great on the speakers too.

I'm doing a bunch of stuff these days. I have a YMCA membership, so I drop by whenever I can. There's fantastic weather (alternating between sunshine and heavy rain, I love it) so I bike around a lot. And I of course spend too much time at E's house, but that's been a habit of mine for many years now anyway.

I feel pretty relaxed, I don't have too much stress (yet...) and I'm not as lazy as I thought I would be. Right now, there are these potatoes baking in the oven, but they're special: Hasselbach potatoes! Which means they're cut thinly and you put stuff in them and it looks really quite lovely.

Yes, I know baking a bunch of potatoes isn't exactly a mean feat, but you know, it makes my parents jealous that I'm more creative than them, haha.

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Hiatus.

Terminated.

Katimavik is over.
It was a spectacular finish, filled with drama, tears, cognitive dissonance and a loss of a group living environment.

So Katimavik teaches you a ton of things, one of the biggest ones is reflecting.

So, at 4:30 am on a dull Monday morning, I will do just that.

Katimavik taught me that I can't get along with everyone.
Katimavik taught me that you can do things you can't normally do because you don't live with 9 rowdy teenagers.
Katimavik taught me to be more accepting of differences.
Katimavik made me more social.
Katimavik made me more confident.
Katimavik gave me a little more direction in life.

Would I do it again?
No.
Did I enjoy my experience overall?
Yes.

Time to get rid of the Katimadventureblog title.

A list of things that irritate me.

Ladies and gentlemen, I have decided to create a list of things that irritate me, some surprising, some obvious.

• People who insist on clinging to common small talk, especially, but not limited to:

- ``So did you sleep well?``
- ``How are you?``
-``Good morning!``
-``Goodnight.``
-``What`s up?``

I have better examples than these ones, but I can`t remember them at the moment. EDIT: I originally put the name of a dear friend of mine up here, and after careful consideration, have decided to remove the name, simply out of respect. Miss you, D.

Look, I know people mean well when they ask these questions, but they still irritate me to no end when it becomes routine and usually, they genuinely don`t care for the answer.

• Bread crumbs in peanut butter, nutella, etc. - I hate chewing on the stuff and tasting these crunchy little bits that I know were deposited by someone else when they spread whatever on their bread with a knife.
• People who ask a lot of questions, but not interesting questions, just dumb ones. This sort of relates to my first point. I just hate answering something when it doesn`t make a difference what the answer is.
• When someone wakes me up in the morning and says repetitively ``C`mon Gabe! Time to get up! You have to get up!`` So I stir a little bit in my bed, but it keeps going! ``C'mon Gabe, time to get up!``
• In relation to the above point, I am not a morning person. As such, I hate when people attempt to converse with me when I`ve just woken up. 
• When one end of my shoelace is much longer than the other, and I have to make a really big loop for one of them
• Really static hair that gets in your face
• When someone claims that ``this is my song, it totally like represents my life``. It just ruins any enjoyment I might have gotten from the song.
• When someone gains control of an iPod and speakers and skips to a new song when it`s halfway through. A certain someone does these two things in my group here.
• People who only want to communicate with me for the sole purpose of getting something from me, e.g. french help, but who otherwise would never consider talking to me
• People who struggle with the back doors of buses when all they have to do is lightly tap them. Or trying to open them when the GREEN LIGHT ISN'T ON.
• People who shoot down my well-thought ideas.
• People who slack off on doing laundry and I have to do theirs so that I can do mine

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A Dreamer's Hideaway

Get away, run away, fly away

Lead me astray

To dreamer's hideaway

Too often I find myself longing to lose myself somewhere in Vancouver.

Then I wish for fleeting contact with something or someone in my period of being lost.

From the Burrard SkyTrain station, I walked along the architecturally-perfect fountains, buildings and archways, but they looked fake to me.

I pretend to lose myself on the SkyTrain itself. I've been to every stop on both lines by now, but I always know where I am.

I once tried closing my eyes and plugging my ears to not know what stop I got off at, but I caught a glimpse from the station signs.

Buslines work too, and they're actually better for getting lost, but I don't get the same rush from being on a bus as I do from a SkyTrain.

SkyTrains take you farther, faster, higher. There are more interesting people and things surrounding the stations and the train itself.

I have never been afraid walking alone in Vancouver.

But sometimes I wished I did, to escape the monotone, the bland, the dreary.

And then in fear, maybe I'll find the dreamer's hideaway.