And so it starts...

Alright, so here goes.

Spent the weekend writing (or trying to write, I wasn't too pleased with the result) a final paper. Finished it 9 minutes before I handed it in this afternoon, and I walked into class late, to boot. Tomorrow I have an in-class essay in one class and I get a take-home exam in the other, which I have absolutely no guidelines for, in a class that I have no confidence in, mostly because the prof taught in a non-traditional, indescribably New-Agey and flighty way. I actually like her, but have a shaky understanding of the course at best, as a direct result of her teaching methods. I get until right after the weekend to do that, then (or while im working on that) I have to madly read, re-read, or finish, (depending on the text,) all of my course material in preparation for the exams. Then I get to re-write notes for the classes, and then I get to take the exams and go home.

All in... 11 days.

Worst part is I don't feel like I have another essay in me, and I have this incredible urge to try working at McDeath's to stave off insanity. Or accelerate it. Whichever comes first. Somehow, I don't think dropping out of school with say, 28,000 odd dollars worth of debt and no employable skills would be a good idea. So lets all hope I do well on my exams or someone had better get me a refrigerator box and a ticket to someplace where bums don't freeze to death during wintertime for Christmas, so I can live my homeless schizophrenic life in peace.

Success!

Before:
After:

So it's -17 degrees celcius out there tonight, that's 1 degree Fahrenheit, for you Americains, with 33 km an hour winds (22mph) which makes it feel like -29 degrees celcius. And to think this morning it was 0 degrees with 4km winds. So it felt like 0 degrees.

Things I love about this morning:

1. I woke up on my own, pre-alarm. And I'm not tired either.
2. I woke up to a foot of snow on the ground
3. The boys next door (my heroes,) shoveled.
4. I'm listening to Christmas music (so call me crazy.)


:) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :)

The Saddest Bet

This is the story of the saddest bet I've ever won.

Once upon a time, there were three girls who were very good friends and stuff. Then they all went to university: Sheila went to Ottawa to be a nurse, Rae went to the frozen North to be a teacher, and Rachel stayed at home because it was free and she didn't know what she wanted to do.

Sheila and Rae kept in very good touch, considering Sheila is very bad at that sort of thing. They alternated when they would call each other: on week Rae would call Sheila, and the next week, Sheila would call Rae. Rachel never kept in touch with anybody because she has AD(H?)D. Sometimes even Rae and Sheila got busy, and they missed a week, but they would always make up for it. And they got to see Rachel at Christmas and Thanksgiving.

Then one day Rae didn't get a phone call from Sheila. She shrugged her shoulders and went about her week, hoping Sheila wasn't too too busy. Or hungover. Then the next week rolled around and still there was no call. This time Rae hoped she didn't have strepthroat like Kate did, because she heard it was moving its way across the province. The next week came and stil no call, Rae debated leaving nasty messages on Sheila's machine, but decided it took too much effort and ate some cake instead. The fourth week Rae couldn't help asking herself if Sheila had died in a freak nursing accident involving bedpans and old men, and whether or not she should call her mother, but wrote an email instead. (The reason she hand't done so previously is that Sheila is largely computer illiterate.) And the email got a teeny response that said "ill call you tomorrow."

And then she never did.

Sheila finally called that weekend. For 5 minutes. Just so she could say "I don't really have time to talk, but I will call you on tuesday."

"Hahaha. As if," I replied "you'll call me when you land back at home and want to see me at Christmas."

"No I won't," she responded "don't be so cynical, I will call you tuesday, I promise. I'm offended at your lack of faith. blah blah blah blah"


It is now 12:02 and she still has not called. She won't either.

This is the saddest bet I have ever won.



--Also, slamming your index finger in a door hurts. a lot. --

The weekend

So the weekend is over, already, and I spent most of it in front of a computer writing a paper.

Man, was it ever scintillating.

At least I have it done, and I don't think I suffered any permanent damage from the heart attack I received when I thought my entire paper got lost, 14 hours before I was to turn it in. I think it's actually a good paper too, especially considering I still have 40 pages of the book that I have yet to read. I still have to work on the Children's lit group work assignment due tomorrow afternoon, but that is fairly straight-forward, and I should be able to do it on my lunch break.

I can't wait to spent the rest of the week studying for a test, and writing a paper for next Monday, (same prof! All three papers!) which I will also be spending the weekend writing.

And theeeen, I get to write an in-class essay, turn in the horrible painting I did for a "creative project" (Have I mentioned I've never painted anything before in my life? Well, since kindergarten. But this is oils -- ack!) and start studying for my exams. Which basically means re-reading notes and textbooks so that I can write 7 essays in a week. Yay for being an English/French major!

Ah well, to sleep I think. I have to wake up to go hand in this stupid paper, otherwise I would sleep through my class tomorrow morning.

I didn't get a weekend, after all.

hee hee. Fun times. Major snowfall tonight, so everyone is outside having a gigantic snowball fight.

Inside, knitting a scarf for someone who doesn't read this blog but would if I wrote their name (Murphy's law, you see) I hear the mad frolicking, get jealous, notice Matt outside with a huge rip in his vest, not 10 feet from my door and so I run to the backdoor, grab a snowball, lock the door, opemn the front door, whip it at him, miss, and get picked up off the ground, carried outside in pj's and barefoot, only to be covered in snow.

I love winter :)

For want of a better post...

So does anyone have any advice for someone whose face is peeling off?

Like, seriously? Because my face is literally peeling away. Honestly, one of the most disgusting things I've ever experienced. Like what happens on your back after you get a sunburn... only on my face. What a disaster.

The worst part is that I don't know what to do to fix it. The problem is dry skin, and I don't know where to start with that really. Although my family has a history of dry skin, excema, etc.. I have only ever had excema behind my ears, and that was mostly when I was a kid, I get it very rarely now. And here my face starts peeling off.

Its not like I can just moisturize either, since my face like to get pimply if I do that. ick.

I need to find a paper bad to wear over my head. or learn to live with acne. or peeling. shiat.

Just to get us all in the Christmas spirit and all, since it is mid-November!

Let it Snow

This is it guys, this is the first snowflake of the year. Simple, beautiful (I think,) and made all the better because I have not made one of these for an entire season. I’m proud of it because of that – sometimes I forget how to make them, and end up cutting them in half. Not this year though, this year my hands remembered how to fold and cut the paper.

I was once approached by a man in a square in Montmartre, and he began talking to me as he cut a piece of paper, quickly, deftly, like an artist. It wasn’t until he had unfolded the piece of paper that I saw that what he had been cutting, (and all this in under 40 seconds,) was the bust of a young woman with her hair up in a ponytail, wisps of hair flying around, and a pair of glasses perched on her nose. Now, this wasn’t me, I assure you the cutting had a regal chin and an upturned nose – neither of which I have, but the accomplishment was still mind-boggling for a girl who can’t cut a straight line even if you draw one for her on the piece of paper.

15 Euros, he said. 15? 15 Euros for a piece of paper? The idea was absolutely ludicrous, and Mandy, my friend, began tugging on my sleeve to lead me away. Maybe it was his ridiculous compliments and the fact he dropped the price to 10 Euros – for the lovely Canadian, only – but I can still remember his hands holding those scissors while he snipped away, all the while looking at Mandy and I as he was doing it.

Whatever the reason, I bought the cutting.

It seems funny that I chose to focus on this man while I was surrounded at the time, by an entire squadron of artists, easels set up and painters at work. Funny that though I didn't buy the painting I had wanted for my sister, (they were too expensive!) I dug deep into my (shallow) pockets to pay 10 Euros for a piece of paper the size of my palm. And took a picture of the artists, instead.

Wake-up Call

I've gotten into the habit of waking up, violently smacking the alarm clock into submission, and stumbling to the window to see if Thunder Bay has been beset by snow yet. I don't even put on my glasses, I just wrench open the blinds and if my eyes detect colour, then I can close the blinds and make my way to the shower satisfied.

This habit got me into trouble a couple days ago. Friday morning I wake up to an intruding sound:

*beep* *beep* *beep* *beep* *beep* *beep*

(I would have to keep that up for another twenty minutes for it to be accurate on the annoyance-scale.)

I look to the clock and shove my head under the pillow, mentally grumbling about having 40 more minutes to sleep and asking myself how long it takes for a truck to back up anyway. 1o minutes later, ready to pull my hair out at the annoying sound, I jump out of bed at the thought that the noise could be a bloody SNOWPLOW and as usual, wrench open the blinds. This morning I don't stumble to the shower satisfied. THIS morning, I open the blinds to find a guy a foot from my face, cleaning out the gutter of my house, in one of these:
















I swear to god I have never ran to the bathroom so fast in my life. All I remember is this plaid-clad guy laughing his ass off at the look on my face.


And there was snow on the ground, to boot.