sunday sunday.

funny, how i can't write that word without doubling it up -- i blame love of 90's brit pop & blur for that. not sure what i can blame my addiction to honey wheat pretzels on, though. i guess on myself, since i bought the bag. discovered them in the vending machine at taxi in new york, where they cost a mere 30 cents. cheap loving, i tell you.

and now, i sit stuffing away in my toronto kitchen. dreaming of anywhere but here. i know, i know - it sounds like ungrateful teenage dissatisfaction, but it's not! it's ungrateful adult dissastisfaction.

it might be the sharp and bitter wind, which threw a patio chair in my path when i went out to get a coffee. or the fact that i had a to-do list today, and have yet to do any of the to dos i had planned to. my mind is too cluttered to be productive i guess. or perhaps it's still pondering the film i saw yesterday. i have not been able to get it out of my mind - and that is quite a feat for a film, especially nowadays when blockbusters go in one glazed eye and out the other. it was called "the lives of others" - a german film about the stasi in 1984, and one operative in particular, who is assigned to eavesdrop on a playwright & his actress girlfriend. as he listens to the inner workings of their lives, he softens. spectacular, spectacular movie. ulrich muhe's performance was stunning. i almost want to watch it again today.

i enjoy the experience of going to films alone. any brief moment of shame as you shuffle in sheepishly, is erased the minute you remember that it's great to go see something without having to have the "what do you want to see", "i don't know what do You want to see" discussion - and so your shuffle becomes prouder, and you settle in comfortably for a few hours of intimacy between a story and your mind. and maybe a bag of skittles.

i feel like there's a rock sitting somewhere above my heart. no, not really a rock - maybe one of those rock candies that you bought bags of at sea world in your youth. well, maybe you didn't, but i know i did. they were smooth and glossy, but hard as, well, a rock. murder for your teeth, but one full of sugary goodness.

this one aint as sweet, but it's still pretty killer.

and it's heavy. the weight. and sadly warbling 'take a load off fanny' won't really do anything, except maybe prove to my roommate once and for all that i am insane. there's just too much going on in this head of mine. which makes the chest feel tight, which makes me realize that things just aren't really right with the world. or is that with me. whichever.

i know that i am doing what i should be doing, and yet what i should be doing is not making me feel any better about knowing.

solitary is the new enlightenment. or rather, i need to figure my life out.

yes yes, i am a cliche. so, shoot me. but not on the left-side of my chest, please. it's tender there.

another day of dazy hazy.


really, i feel that i'm getting far too cozy with the creeper. the creeper, for those who don't know, is a hangover that only shows up halfway through the day. quietly. you could almost say it creeps into your brain, infecting it with a fuzzy malaise.

and i've had two in a row, two for the slow. my head is going to float away in a tide of red wine and jager on ice and sugar and spice and everything not nice about the morning after.

so here i am with a creeper the size of omaha.

and it's 11 pm.

i wish that this state of mental mush would help me think more clearly. after all, when your mind is free of all those pesky things like real thoughts and plans and everyday blah blah - you should technically have more room for revelation. those eureka moments emerge from the subconscious anyway, right?

and yet, i got nothing.

nothing nothing nothing, and things continue to get blurrier. blurry in a hurry.