february 3, 2001. Sulk over. I got three very nice letters last night, from Javina, Paul & Abby - all expressing sympathy & concern. I wanted to know that there was someone listening, that my diary wasn't just another channel in a million-channel universe. Bratty diva, that's me. I'm up for a cabinet post in Dav's Brat King Empire. But I digress. I had no idea that more than one of my friends worked for CityTV and/or Daniel Richler. (Upon consultation with Dirk, I have discovered that most of the people Ms. Woo met were his friends. And here I was surprised by my own popularity...) Conversations with the cat, Thursday night: me: when's the boy going to be home? (out loud, looking at my watch) holy cow, it's 7:15!! at this point, Ceilidh bolts off my lap. she lands close to my feet, quickly turns on herself and hurriedly begins bathing me: oh, I see. you had a 7:15 appointment to lick yourself. don't want to be late for that, I bet. she stares up at me during this taunting, then gets up and walks slowly into the next room. me: (imitating the cat) I don't need to take this. There. I had a complete conversation with myself, imagining parts for the cat. Is there anything more pathetic? Don't answer that. On Wednesday I did something I haven't done in a really long time: I got piss-drunk in the middle of the week. Earlier in the week rumors swirled about what was to happen on Wednesday. There were promises of karaoke in the college bar, mingled with the thrilling j.d. news that a group of people would be drinking through class. How high school (not my high school, but still)! I was excited. That night I played NIN until I felt reckless, drank a swallow of Bailey's and set out to class with my PVC pants in my backpack. (For some reason, class was really good that night - and I mean in an intellectual sense. Maybe it was the massive sugar wave I was riding or maybe it was the joy of finally having something to do in the night. In any case, I got a hell of a lot out of the three hours.) At the bar there was no karaoke. None. The organizers had cancelled it. So seven ed. students and me sat down to enjoy ourselves - which for me, meant getting horrendously, falling down drunk with Hermione (formerly known as The Girl Who Looks and Acts Like Ophelia). It was a hell of a good time: I feel like I'm really starting to make friends here. This is a good thing. I wasn't totally happy about lurching up the hill by myself at half past one in the morning - not only were my balance and reflexes severely affected, but it was snowing a blue streak. Big pretty flakes that melted on my face & piled up before my feet, making me think that it was just too much & I couldn't take one more damn thing. But I got home. Sleep was a welcome coma. Waking was agony. And then I realized how much second- & third-year sucked. Too many mornings like this one, where I could only wish for crackers & hope that I wasn't about to toss my cookies. I'm way out of practice for this sort of thing: it took me until today to fully recover. Somewhere Preacher, Poet & Palaver are laughing at me. That's okay, though.

notes on this month's design: the writing fonts are from the blue vinyl cafe. the hearts & flowers are from a font by lindkvist. i may not be original, but i'm honest.