I am eating pine nuts and they taste like tiny trees

I finished them as I was typing that sentence.

Right now, I actually have nothing to do. And somehow, that makes me feel guilty. It's like the second week of summer holidays, once the relief and novelty wear off and you're stuck in a zombie routine of reading, watching TV and going online. Reading, watching TV, and going online. Reading, watching TV, and going online. But unlike summer holidays, I have this nagging feeling in the back of my head saying I really should be doing something. Writing an essay or studying for a test. It's been 10 months since I've been at "real" school, and I still can't adjust to having nothing to procrastinate on. My art class ended a couple of Saturdays ago, and this coming Monday will be my last guitar lesson. I'm thinking of picking up a few commitments to replace the old ones, but I can't really think of anything. If you have any suggestions, feel free to throw them out there; I really have no idea.

My brother decided to be terribly nice to people today, and said it resulted in the best day of his life. I want to follow this shining example and tell people all the compliments I've held back, no matter how unconventional they may be. "You look like Kevin Bacon, only much less funny-looking." "You act the way Truman Capote writes." "You have a very look-at-able face." That kind of thing. The prospect of all this kindness makes me excited. I just hope I'm not too shy to carry it out.

I am seriously missing the dudes of Summerstock, despite not knowing them very well. Kevin, Kylian, Alex, Luke, Dean, Liam, Mike...those dudes seriously know entertainment. I need to kick myself into visiting someday.Maybe Friday. Maybe next week. I don't know.

I don't mean to sound so depressive. It just kind of happens when I sit down and type at a computer. Here, have some delight: http://bentobjects.blogspot.com/index.html

I love the whole world.

>>REDCARD

This is what I do instead of homework.

Respond with your name and...
1. I'll respond with something random about you.
2. I'll tell you what song/movie reminds me of you.
3. I'll pick a flavor of jello to wrestle you in.
4. I'll say something that only makes sense to you and me.
5. I'll tell you my first memory of you.
6. I'll tell you what animal you remind me of.
7. I'll ask you something I've always wondered about you.
8. Everyone must post this on their blog too.

That's all for today, I guess.

I wish I was in Victoria

North Calgary in the snow is boring.

Boring.

Boring.

Boring.

I need to find some things to do.

There's a new guy at work who kind of makes me...not want to work there anymore. He's not mean or creepy, just...awkward. He is awkwardness personified. Being around him makes me feel a little dead inside. Plus, he's having some trouble getting things right, and it's hard to tell him otherwise because he's at least 20 years older and 2 feet taller than me. Speaking of work, I had some chili that had been sitting out for at least 4 hours and now I am sick. I think I need to get out of the mentality that if it's free, I should eat it.

Alright, time to watch me some Steve Carrell. Bye pretties.

Goodnight ladies

I sometimes wish I was at university, just so I could have something to write about. I was inspired by cap'n wulf to start updating more often, so here I am...updating more often. Maybe I should make an effort to fill my life with wonderful and interesting things for the sake of this blog and/or scintillating conversation. But what? I should start seeing me some stage plays. Invite some strangers out to dinner and see how that plays out. Take the train as far as it will go and try to find my way back. Yes. How 'bout that.

I'm supposed to be writing a personal statement that will help me get into ACAD. Write 500 words about yourself. Sounds easy. 3 months later and here I am, still no further ahead than when I started. I've written little disjointed bits of it in a thousand different places, which really doesn't help at all because there's no way to fit them together. Maybe I should just lie. Tell the heartbreaking story of my childhood as a poor beggar growing up in a cardboard box. I would draw pretty flowers on the walls of my corrugated prison with crayons I pilfered from the daycare across the street. It was my art that helped me survive the harsh Mongolian winter. I would shiver in my trash bag clothes as my eyes rose to the pretty flowers on the wall. It was always springtime in that box of mine.

Goodness, that took no time at all. I think I've struck gold.

(Keep smiling. The snow will melt and we will have beautiful flowers once more)