This is the End.

It has been fun. I want to link my Livejournal (sp?) account with Friendster, and guldarnit I can't seem to link it with this here blog. I am still deciding whether I will continue writing in this space. I know more people on Livejournal, so it makes sense to write there full-time. I just wish this page wasn't sooo purty lookin'.

Work is fun - it keeps me off the streets and everything! I'm slowly catching up on schoolwork (for tonight, finish outline for English paper) and I'm looking forward to Cinemuerte this weekend. I'm defintely staying for the Exploitation Film Marathon Saturday night.

Xplanashins

With Tom Waits tunes still swimming around in my head, I move through the week like. . .like. . .like something really very graceful. The new job is awesome. Tutoring for a paycheque rocks, and the atmosphere at the Learning Centre is pretty casual. I kinda like floating around and doing little tasks inbetween sessions with students. At first, I was all like "I ain't doin' no office monkey work", but I totally warmed up to it. It can be relaxing.

I must admit I'm a tad (how much is a tad?) behind on some of my readings, so I will have to buckle down, or up depending on circumstances, and get it done. Archaeology is still fun and I have a rich depth of understanding of my "hobby". Some of you good people are wondering, "how can archaeology/the other stuff you listed be a hobby?" For the most part, I read and discuss the stuff as much as possible, plus I follow stuff online if I can dig up a reliable source. Besides comics and books, I don't really collect or think about conventional hobbies. So, scholarly pursuits are fair game.

Tom Waits

Before I settle in for the night, I would like to point out that L and I just saw Tom Waits tonight, and it was incredible. We waited outside for him and the band, but he slipped past our nets even before we arrived at the entrance.

I will plan on entering more posts later; I am tired and and I have a class tomorrow, and my recent update is a very, very demanding.

rush the turkey

This weekend will be demanding and a little loud, so here is my post-Thanksgiving, um, post.

L and I will be over at her folks place for Sunday (although we will be leaving tomorrow) then head over to the Island Sunday night and then leave Monday night, while dragging around books and the laptop. I have two papers to finish plus I have to collect sources for my history class, two of which must be primary, and keep up with my short story.

New job.

I had my first two hours of work today, the last hour will commence in little more than half an hour. I had those first day jitters, the kind that shuts down the useful parts of your brain and you have no idea on what the hell your supposed to do, while your co-workers mill about like little happy dwarfs on their way to the mine or Baskin-Robbins. I always look forward to being busy, rather than looking the part.

I do have some worries, and guess what? I'm going to tell to you! Feel free to move along at this point.

Well, (my roommate begins those sentences where he is about to explain something with "well". Now I'm doing it. Fappo!) my main concern is the whole competency thing. I'm getting paid to do this, and I can't afford to screw up. There is a great deal of responsibility with this gig, maybe more than previous ones. And the responsibility does give me a stomach ache, and a pasty mouth. That could be dehydration though. Anyway, yeah, my worries are probably shared by those in super important jobs, but the spectre of low self-esteem and fear is crawling towards me. Help.

Party and a poem

I woke up drunk. A little drunk, but drunk nonetheless. We went to C's birthday party last night - it started to slide out of control when the party downstairs begun to bubble up to the top floor. Bottle(s) were smashed, and the treehouse was on its way to being defiled. L and I took off and I got oh so teary eyed at the enormity and beauty of the world on the bus, then shuffled my sorry butt into bed. Wrote this poem at the top of my staircase sipping tea last night:

man
I've heard that word
it becomes a lake of lights
floating on the surface of our
being, of our inability to die
when we tear our bars
away away how our sunken
poems clear-eyed girls walk
away from
my mouth is open
filled with crows
when your hands
fall on your thighs