(no subject)
You know, I should have turned 22 years ago. I keep declaring that 22 is going to be the year of things. Year of getting on with life! Year of eating breakfast! Year of regrets I don't regret! Year of the whim! So far is is proving to actually be the year of many of these things. Also of tan lines and of reading things in contextually inappropriate locales. Sleazy Nabokov on the Greyhound from Moncton, seated beside a grouchy old lady who was reading something about making amends with God. Early Dostoevsky with my toes in a flower bed at Public Gardens and a duck quacking happily at me. At the beach, a couple of Sartre's short stories about anti-Semites and shooting people in the stomach. But I actually love it a lot when juxtaposed things are so wrong for each other.
Now I am biding my time until my flight to Toronto this afternoon for the Great Apartment Search! It's a little nerve wracking, because my search efforts thus far have been mostly fruitless, and my familiarity with the city's geography is pretty minimal. But outdoors there is a small chorus of children singing little arpeggios "motorboat" style, so I'm going to take that as a sign of good things to come. Or at least adorable things to come.
Anyway, Corrine visited for part of the week and she took this photo of us at the beach, which I love. I love how the sky in Nova Scotia is always exactly like a child's ideal sky they draw in pictures. I love that we have messy beachy hair from the ocean water and wind. I love that we are squinty from the sun like newborn babies and that I have such ridiculous tan lines.
Basically I am becoming my mother. At least insofar as terrible circulation is concerned. Everyone around me was wearing bikinis and shorts. I was wearing a sweater and still freezing!
We had a picnic of fruit and cake and sandwiches. There was a cherry resembling a tiny heart until I ate it!
THE ATLANTIC OCEAN! Which was obscenely cold as I remember it. I think that frigid salt water is just embedded in my soul. I kept floating around in it thinking "I AM IN THE OCEAN! RIGHT NOW! THE OCEAN!". And just as I would get caught up in how right it felt, a huge wave would come and splash me in the face. I think this is maybe why Maritimers are so humble.
AWESOME POSSUM! This boat owner is my kind of person, probably. Also check out the menacing shadow of the memorial commemorating local soldiers and combattant people, featuring a man-in-kilt!
When we left the beach we went driving around some of the charming-er little small towns. I wanted to eat at this restaurant, but it was slim pickins for those who don't eat fish. Which is maybe not surprising for a restaurant with a huge lobster painted on the side of their building and a patio over the ocean. But it was so quaint, you guys!
Another day I decided to work on knitting another hand-holding smitten outdoors. I went to the same lake where I appropriately used to hold hands with older boys who wore torn up hoodies and gave themselves piercings and were in bands and thought it was lame that I listened to wussy indie pop, but I still pined after them anyway. Story of my life! I also read some Hemingway and paused at all the most flowery parts about the sea.
Is Foucault on a swing contextually appropriate or not? I don't know. It was so sunny out that I could barely open my eyes enough to read, even with sunglasses. Anyway, I picked this up at my favourite ever used book store! Here is a story about the book store- while I was browsing, this art student started chatting me up. We talked bonded over shared love of Nietzsche's aphorisms and browsed through art history and philosphy texts together it was all rather charming until suddenly I was hit by shy and compelled to abruptly run away. So I just said "okay bye!" and left, immediately afterward chastizing myself for being so inept and awkward.
Does anyone else have that same affliction beyond the age of like, 13? It's not that I'm torn up about it at all, I just realize that I do that all the time and that I am basically doomed to be like this forever. Whatever, I ended up with $4 Foucault so that's something.
Oh, have I mentioned yet that Francis Fukuyama is no longer (such) a crazy neo con? My world has basically been turned upside down with this news. But I think probably in a good way. A hopeful way.
Now I am biding my time until my flight to Toronto this afternoon for the Great Apartment Search! It's a little nerve wracking, because my search efforts thus far have been mostly fruitless, and my familiarity with the city's geography is pretty minimal. But outdoors there is a small chorus of children singing little arpeggios "motorboat" style, so I'm going to take that as a sign of good things to come. Or at least adorable things to come.
Anyway, Corrine visited for part of the week and she took this photo of us at the beach, which I love. I love how the sky in Nova Scotia is always exactly like a child's ideal sky they draw in pictures. I love that we have messy beachy hair from the ocean water and wind. I love that we are squinty from the sun like newborn babies and that I have such ridiculous tan lines.
Basically I am becoming my mother. At least insofar as terrible circulation is concerned. Everyone around me was wearing bikinis and shorts. I was wearing a sweater and still freezing!
We had a picnic of fruit and cake and sandwiches. There was a cherry resembling a tiny heart until I ate it!
THE ATLANTIC OCEAN! Which was obscenely cold as I remember it. I think that frigid salt water is just embedded in my soul. I kept floating around in it thinking "I AM IN THE OCEAN! RIGHT NOW! THE OCEAN!". And just as I would get caught up in how right it felt, a huge wave would come and splash me in the face. I think this is maybe why Maritimers are so humble.
AWESOME POSSUM! This boat owner is my kind of person, probably. Also check out the menacing shadow of the memorial commemorating local soldiers and combattant people, featuring a man-in-kilt!
When we left the beach we went driving around some of the charming-er little small towns. I wanted to eat at this restaurant, but it was slim pickins for those who don't eat fish. Which is maybe not surprising for a restaurant with a huge lobster painted on the side of their building and a patio over the ocean. But it was so quaint, you guys!
Another day I decided to work on knitting another hand-holding smitten outdoors. I went to the same lake where I appropriately used to hold hands with older boys who wore torn up hoodies and gave themselves piercings and were in bands and thought it was lame that I listened to wussy indie pop, but I still pined after them anyway. Story of my life! I also read some Hemingway and paused at all the most flowery parts about the sea.
Is Foucault on a swing contextually appropriate or not? I don't know. It was so sunny out that I could barely open my eyes enough to read, even with sunglasses. Anyway, I picked this up at my favourite ever used book store! Here is a story about the book store- while I was browsing, this art student started chatting me up. We talked bonded over shared love of Nietzsche's aphorisms and browsed through art history and philosphy texts together it was all rather charming until suddenly I was hit by shy and compelled to abruptly run away. So I just said "okay bye!" and left, immediately afterward chastizing myself for being so inept and awkward.
Does anyone else have that same affliction beyond the age of like, 13? It's not that I'm torn up about it at all, I just realize that I do that all the time and that I am basically doomed to be like this forever. Whatever, I ended up with $4 Foucault so that's something.
Oh, have I mentioned yet that Francis Fukuyama is no longer (such) a crazy neo con? My world has basically been turned upside down with this news. But I think probably in a good way. A hopeful way.