L

Without fail, my parents have ordered ribs when visiting the restaurant St. Hubert. Here, I too have a regular meal from which I never stray. For as long as I can remember, animal-shaped chicken nuggets have been my weakness. Served with fries and gravy, my nuggets are nestled in the front seat of a cardboard Volkswagen Beetle; the bright yellow colour of which will catch my eye as the server places it on her tray. Munching on a giraffe-shaped piece of chicken in the company of my parents, although pleasing, can become embarassing, especially in the presence of an ex-boyfriend and his friends. Although highschool is now behind me, I know that from the time they notice me it won't be long until all my old classmates find out. I'll finger the cellphone in my pocket in anticipation of calls that unavoidably start with the line "You're eating what? And with your parents?" To save face, and partially just because I can, I've gotten into the habit of ordering my animal-nuggets with a beer. Confused, the server will give me a helpless look, unsure of whether to ask me for ID and what to do upon receiving it. Luckily for me, the 12-and-under rule on the kids' menu is really just a suggestion.

Long Hair and High Heels in London
Little girl, sweet thing, got bored and started lying. Scared of people finding out that she wasn't what she said (and alas, they knew already but said nought about it), she acted out her mistruths to justify them. Tales of wild parties, drunken nights filled with energy and lust; these became reality. Her liver begged for relief from the burdens that came upon it so suddenly. Her clothes were torn by the hands of lewd men. Those with whom she surrounded herself knew of her not as a liar but as a drunk and a tramp. There grew a void where her soul once lingered. But this was the goal, for the boredom would have been far too severe.

My newest plan that I will in all likelihood eventually abandon is to make sure I write something every day. I did after all plan on being a writer, and my writing-intensive courses have disappointed me in focusing solely on academic writing.


Looking for patterns is a typical human tendency, and one which I consider a hobby. I once watched as the female protagonist in the film Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind laid on a frozen lake, where gazing up at the stars she asked her companion, "What constellations do you know?" From this came my fascination with stucco. I'll lie next to someone in the dorms and, pointing at the ceiling, and ask that very question. I have yet to be answered, my friends choosing instead to remind me that we are indoors, but I am convinced that they would see something if they gave it a moment's thought. I myself always see sea-creatures, usually lobsters but sometimes fish or octopi. I wonder if it's normal for my mind to construct images with this underwater theme, or any theme at all really. Is there something my subconscious is trying to tell me? I might have a better understanding of the meaning of these patterns if someone would simply tell me what constellations they saw. Rather than assuming a lack of creativity on their part I imagine that they worry that what they see is boring, or perhaps disturbing. To what extent are we defined by what we imagine? Or the better question- To what extent do we think it defines us?

I'm sitting on the couch at my parents' house in Ottawa. This city is such a dump. Nothing's changed since I left- Cat still has absolutely no consideration for other peoples' ability or desire to commute and cares only about whatever boy she thinks she's in love with this month, Becky is never without Ross on any occasion lest she be accused of something along the lines of relationship-treason, groups of kids still make up the homeless population, the Rideau Centre still scares the shit out of me with all its nameless faceless people, and there's always a group of baked highschool douches on any given bus. I miss Vancouver so much. Despite the good times I have had and how happy I was to see Cat and Becky again despite all that highschool crap, I never want to come back here again. I've been in town five days and all I can think about is leaving. I don't know how I made it three years or how I'll manage two months this summer. I slipped on the driveway coming home from a fun day of Cat telling me to hurry up and meet her and Becky then being two hours late and asking if I had told Becky to come yet then having me bus to St. Laurent to sit around and do nothing with her, Boo and, of course, Ross. He was my friend in highschool but he's turned into some lazy fucked up kid who used to and might still beat up his girlfriend. I don't want this in my life. I hate this. I don't want to always be worrying about people or going out of my way to spend a day with them. I love my friends but I wish I could just leave and be gone rather than staying in touch and knowing every terrible detail of their monotonous, unchanging lives. I am fed up and want to leave, never to return. I am bored out of my mind of having to deal with the same dumb problems that existed in highschool. My elbow hurts from my fall, I'm pissed off, tired out, fucked up, and I want to go home to BC right fagging now.