let me tell you about my life these days
it's pretty hilarious.
i'm living in a shit basement appartment that i'm slowly transforming into a livable space. for the first three weeks i slept on the futon in the living room, but recently i've moved into the bedroom. however, i haven't unpacked anything, and so i sleep on a naked mattress in the middle of the room surrounded by boxes, clothes, and half-assembled furniture. (it's like a nest.) every morning around 8 i'm woken up by someone upstairs pacing back and forth in the kitchen. they keep it up for around 20 minutes or so, and the motion translates through the floorboards as a hideous creaking. the bathroom, which is the size of a small closet, has no sink in it. so when you're finished on the toilet you have to wash your hands in the shower. (that's my favourite part of the whole place.)
i hang almost every weekend with a crew of 3 girls: sonja, jess, and carol. i met sonja and jess through my friend dave, and carol through sonja and jess. as a social unit we're primarily interested in drinking and dancing. i've danced more in the past 2 months than i have in the previous 2 years.
inevitably, i'm getting over my ex-girlfriend. it's a drawn-out process, but it definitely helps to be with people who've never met her and living in a space she's never set foot in. i've reached a stage where remembering her is like remembering scenes from a movie - they happened (i saw them), but they didn't really happen 'to me'. and then i come back to it, realize yes, in fact, these are scenes from my life, and the potency of that feeling is strange and off-putting.
i receive, format, and proof press releases for a living. basically, this means i process large quantities of data. it's an extremely post-modern job: i don't produce the work, i merely disseminate it. i call it working at the data factory.
a large part of me is interested in having sex again, but an equally large part has no idea what it would mean to be involved with another girl. the thought has this odd, disjointed quality to it. it's like trying to imagine yourself in moscow's red square: sure you COULD fly to russia, and that moment COULD become reality. but as for right now? it's just an abstraction.
anyway, things are alright.
i'm living in a shit basement appartment that i'm slowly transforming into a livable space. for the first three weeks i slept on the futon in the living room, but recently i've moved into the bedroom. however, i haven't unpacked anything, and so i sleep on a naked mattress in the middle of the room surrounded by boxes, clothes, and half-assembled furniture. (it's like a nest.) every morning around 8 i'm woken up by someone upstairs pacing back and forth in the kitchen. they keep it up for around 20 minutes or so, and the motion translates through the floorboards as a hideous creaking. the bathroom, which is the size of a small closet, has no sink in it. so when you're finished on the toilet you have to wash your hands in the shower. (that's my favourite part of the whole place.)
i hang almost every weekend with a crew of 3 girls: sonja, jess, and carol. i met sonja and jess through my friend dave, and carol through sonja and jess. as a social unit we're primarily interested in drinking and dancing. i've danced more in the past 2 months than i have in the previous 2 years.
inevitably, i'm getting over my ex-girlfriend. it's a drawn-out process, but it definitely helps to be with people who've never met her and living in a space she's never set foot in. i've reached a stage where remembering her is like remembering scenes from a movie - they happened (i saw them), but they didn't really happen 'to me'. and then i come back to it, realize yes, in fact, these are scenes from my life, and the potency of that feeling is strange and off-putting.
i receive, format, and proof press releases for a living. basically, this means i process large quantities of data. it's an extremely post-modern job: i don't produce the work, i merely disseminate it. i call it working at the data factory.
a large part of me is interested in having sex again, but an equally large part has no idea what it would mean to be involved with another girl. the thought has this odd, disjointed quality to it. it's like trying to imagine yourself in moscow's red square: sure you COULD fly to russia, and that moment COULD become reality. but as for right now? it's just an abstraction.
anyway, things are alright.