I have new blog.  New chapter, new blog.  Don’t question.  Follow blindly.

So, I’m here.  I’m in Nova Scotia.  I’m in Halifax. I don’t like getting drunk and partying.  It is not why I came to school.  And so, Perky Girl with luscious blonde locks and short shorts, I will not come up to your party on the seventh floor.  I will lie to your face, and tell you I am on my way, but I will not come up to your party on the seventh floor.  And isn’t it enough to tell me, Student Council, that there are condoms readily available at every corner?  Must you give me one as well?  I don’t want a condom, and even if I did, you’ve given me the knowledge, in spades, that I’d need to get one.  Is this really what people want school to be about?  Condom demonstrations (that poor banana) and rules for what type of cup to carry my booze around in?  With a groan, I think to myself how great it would be if classes could start.  Everything about NSCAD agrees with me.  Everything about Dal, however, so far has sucked.  They can’t even get me into the system four days after I arrive.  I still have no internet access, and my phone is screwed.  Although, I must thank them, for if I did not have to go searching for computers at NSCAD campus, I would never have found this beautiful Mac which sits before me.  It is not mine, but I’m allowed to touch it.  

I’m sure things will improve for me at Gerard…they have to.  Or at least, I’ll realize things aren’t going to change, and go looking for what I need elsewhere.  So far I’ve not seen any Christian group type things around.  Either they are hiding, or they simply do not exist.  And the only churches I’ve seen in the surrounding area are Anglican, Catholic, or Salvation Army.  Sooo…slim pickings.  I may have to travel more extensively…which shouldn’t be difficult, since everywhere is mostly walking distance…or bussing distance.  But I haven’t tried the bus yet.  It seems less intimidating than Hamilton buses though, so I’m going to get on it soon.  

It has rained 8 times in 4 days.  Foretaste of the near future.  Apparently winter is not known here for snow, but rather for rain, sleet and hail.  The north and south streets and sidewalks are fairly level…but traveling up and down the east/west streets will be fun when they are covered in ice.  I asked my mother to send me skates, and/or ice climbing shoes.  She said no.  But Mother!  Think of all the artwork that will die on the way home!  Think of Allie, dragging suitcases to the airport shuttle!  Oh well, I think skates would be counterproductive, and ice climbing shoes would just look ridiculous.  And I’m all about appearances.  

I think a Malawi blog should have probably come before this one.

My mother just told me that “it makes sense” for me to have a Mac.  Good things in my future?  Yezzzzz.

Would that such frivolity might win a heart.

Whelp.  Klaxons are rad.

Here are some local, recent, thoughts.  Which really aren’t that local or recent, merely revisitations of oldness.  Unfortunately, my moving on skills are unused and corroded.  I need new ones. Ergo, here are my revisitations.  

It is raining, and I’m reminded of things I wrote three years ago…in the rain, hence the connection.  They were full of hope and anticipation.  But what I was anticipating wasn’t worth the paper I wrote about it on.  At first I was sure that I’d become stronger for coming through the experience.  That was when I was moving on, getting out of Uxbridge and never coming back.  On the conveyor belt to a bigger, brighter future.  But in the face of the hopelessness of this past year, I am finding that experience to be one I wish never happened.  Maybe that is unfair.  No, it is.  I suppose it is just one ingredient in the cake of despair I’ve et this year.  Look at me, I’m friggin’ over dramatizing everything.  Well, maybe not everything.  I have had a pretty shitty year. 

But—but Africa!  Malawi!  Halifax!  What about God?  What about the fact that he has brought me through so much?  What about the fact that even though I can’t understand His language and I blindly look right past his pointing finger, He is still bringing things together and leading me!?  What about all this?  How can I let one experience, or the lack of it, undermine so much of who I am? How can I be so rattled by someone who means nothing?  How can I possibly not let go?  Forgive.  Loosen the grip—its grip.  Get on.  Go.

Something always brings me back to you.
It never takes too long.
No matter what I say or do I’ll still feel you here ’til the moment I’m gone.

You hold me without touch.
You keep me without chains.
I never wanted anything so much than to drown in your love and not feel your reign.

Set me free, leave me be. I don’t want to fall another moment into your gravity.
Here I am and I stand so tall, just the way I’m supposed to be.
But you’re on to me and all over me.

You loved me ’cause I’m fragile.
When I thought that I was strong.
But you touch me for a little while and all my fragile strength is gone.

I live here on my knees as I try to make you see that you’re everything I think I need Here on the ground.
But you’re neither friend nor foe though I can’t seem to let you go.
The one thing that I still know is that you’re keeping me down.

-Sara Bareilles

I’ve become disenchanted with men.  I need someone to prove to me that they are not all selfish, hormone driven, swine.  So far, they’ve all been disappointments.  I mean, my standards aren’t that high!  I just want to be respected and treated like someone who means something to somebody.  Lots of other people have that.  Apparently it isn’t so unusual.

Outside is the most beautiful.  More beautiful than anything.  Fantastic and lovely.  Gorgeous and divine.  Delicious, quenching.  I live for the moments when I turn off the engine to hear and see the life and colour all around me.  Life is so much fuller outside.  Flooded in colour and light.   Warmth everywhere, fresh wind, and the shade is like water.  You can’t capture it in words or pixels.  Go outside!  Do it. Go.

Hello, how are you? 

I’m good, how are you?

I’m good.

That’s good.

Well, aren’t we all just sickeningly, monotonously fantastic.