Random Channel Surfing

Spend time with the sis. Watch Girls with the sis. Update some writing stuffs for the sake of my well-being. Sit down to write a few things (note: Blog entries do not count.) Start  The Search . Play with my new (as yet unborn) baby niece, Juliana. Read my friend's amazing fiction. (HOPEFULLY) Get inspired by said fiction. *sigh* Read the GoT series and squeal about its awesomeness to Clea via email. Sit down and plan  The Novel . Watch Pitch Perfect on repeat. Watch Girls solo just 'cause.

Special treat from Linda!

I hate being so hung up on a guy I literally get annoyed by the fact other guys exist. I have problems.

'Cause I'm feeling that. I'd rather stay in, read a book, watch a show, pop in a DVD or serenade my stuffed gorilla, George, than go out and meet up with my friends today. Or tomorrow, for that matter. I just don't want to leave. And it's not because I don't find what I've planned with my friends fun. Quite the contrary! I'm excited because I'm going to the movies to watch Paranormal Activity 4 today! And I really like my friends... but... but... but ... why does it involve me having to leave the comfort of my home? Siiiiiiiiiiiigh.

I hate feeling afraid, but it's probably one of the emotions I experience most. I'm afraid of change. I'm afraid of surprises. I fear monotony. I fear going outside my comfort zone. I cringe at the thought of my greatest fears coming to life. I cringe when I realize I'm self-realizing a lot of shit I never wanted to happen. But I don't know how to not feel this terror. I don't know how to be without relying on my safety net and it's impossibly frustrating, knowing I'm holding myself back from doing a lot of great things because I don't want to risk not landing safely. I know I'm stubborn, but in addition to being as unyielding as a pebble in cement-covered sidewalk, I know I'm prideful. Most of my fear is tied to the complete and utter desolation I feel when I'm afraid that I'm about to fail. And I hate it. In retrospect, I think moving to Montreal is like another guarantee at safety for me. It's as though I've convinc

Sometimes even a twenty-six year-old woman needs to cuddle with her plush toy after a really long, really bad, really regret-filled day.

So Nicole moved into her own place on Sunday. Own as in she bought it. She owns  it. It's hers. Funny how us three (Jenn, Janis and me) live vicariously through her ;) The crew:

Bossy people drive me bananas. Sometimes, though, I stop and think about the times I've ordered someone around and I realize how hypocritical my anti-bossy-people stance really is. Now, that's not to say that it's wrong per se. No. That's not entirely true. The reason why I'm so frustrated right this second has more to do with my existential crisis du jour. Fuck. J'ai besoin d'apprendre à m'expresser comme il faut. Je n'ai pas besoin d'être si stupide ou être si fatiguant. God. Will I ever stop speaking in rhyme?! Even to myself, this form of communication tires me. eclipses me. Merde.

Is it pathetic that I remember every one's birthday when they can't be bothered to remember mine? How is it that my memory is flawless, while every one else's is not? Goodness.

Suddenly overwhelmed with all of this feeling. I'm frustrated. I'm insecure. I'm angry. I'm sad. I'm disappointed. I'm relieved. I'm vindicated. It's not always good to be right.

Suddenly regretting my honest nature. I must learn to bite my tongue around cute boys. FML.

I hate going onto someone's blog and seeing it covered in ads. Meet local singles! Lose weight fast! Pretty dresses for CHEAP! And I don't hate the ads because they're flashy and tacky. No. It's because I know these ads are custom-tailored for me and my preferences and are, therefore, a reminder of things I already know and don't need reminding of. They're smug ads. They're abrasive and the one I saw today was so eerily in-tune with my life and recent conversations I've had these past FIVE days that I'm starting to think an internet sprite is hovering somewhere close to me and is whispering my secrets into the ears of some internet demon and they're set on ruining my life. Yes. I am dramatic. But this odd coincidence crawls under my skin, wriggling and embedding itself in my brain, making me question everything. I mean, is this blog ad a sign ? I gave up believing in signs when I lived in Montreal and learned to distinguish between what

I remember idealizing you. It was easy to do. Your blue blue eyes and your Grecian nose and your full full lips. I knew the effect you had on my life was permanent. A deep scar--sensitive scar tissue that tingled with every rippling memory--a handprint sunk in cement for the world to remember that Marcela fell in love quickly and loudly, a firecracker. A reminder that all it took for someone to gain admission into my heart was a timid smile and a soft touch.  Foolish. Stupid. Naive. A girl that tripped over her too large shoes on her too small feet. Bumbling through life and never quite learning. Always trusting too quickly and too surely.  How many times must I learn the lesson for it to stick? But all of this is irrelevant when I find myself wondering how you are doing. Hoping that you are well and that you are happy and that you finally   finally   realized how funny and charming and clever you are. Not many people saw past your facade but I did. I saw the cracks in

Is there a way of liking a person without feeling like you're in middle school?

The rain was falling. The work was flowing. 'Twas good.