Sitting on a cornflake, waiting for the van to come.

Weird story time.

I told my Mom today that I wanted to sign up for the other watercolour class I mentioned in an earlier post. Expecting resistance and a speech she replied with “Well I guess I can give you a bit of money for that.”

. . .

NO RESISTANCE. Not only no resistance, BUT AN OFFERING OF MONIES. She won’t pay for my degree but she’ll pay for this?

So I asked her. I said right there with my mouth still agape in shock: “Do you want me to be an artist or something?” she replies “Well you can’t really do anything with that, but you could sell paintings” to which I say “THAT’S WHAT AN ARTIST DOES, MOM.”

So then I tested her.

“Maybe after I get my degree in Political Science I’ll go do a Fine Arts degree. I could offer private classes like Pat Ryan does [the person who teaches me]”

DO YOU KNOW WHAT SHE SAID?

“There you go, that’s a good idea.”

I swear to Our Lady of Guadalupe she was serious. I will never understand her for as long as I live.

Your mail's not safe in this town.

This week The Lady of Shalott finally got hung up on my wall. What? I’ve only been living in St. John’s for over a year, we’re still trying to get organized.

As she sits there quietly above my desk, I realize it’s the first thing I’ve hung on my bedroom walls. To hang something up means permanence. A plan to stay. My own Mom never hung a single picture or painting up in the whole house until my brother came home for a visit in July and was like WTF where are my baby photos?

I came home from the North in August to a house laden with graduation photos, Sarah/Darryl montages and pretty much any piece of artwork my brother or I ever did that was framed. We get it, Mom. You love us.

I don’t plan on ever living in St. John’s permanently. Well, unless I get some ridiculously awesome job which doesn’t happen EVER (read: Axel Meisen moves to Alberta for a better job, THE IRONY IS NOT LOST ON ME, FRIENDS).

But, it occurred to me that I treat my new home as a hotel. A lot of my stuff is still in giant Rubbermaid containers from the move a year+ ago. It’s sad.

Unfortunately I don’t have the gumption to change it. I don’t want this to be my home. I don’t like anything about this home or this city. Man, how I loathe this city!

What to do, what to do. . .

Vendredi liste d'amour.

There is only one thing on my love list this Friday: Charlie the Unicorn.



I'm filled with joy and joyness.

You can't change what doesn't happen.

I ran into someone today that I rather wish I hadn’t. Okay, that sounds bad. I was actually really happy to see him and the smile I offered, when it registered in my head who it was, was a genuine one.

All that aside, it still threw me for a loop. Kind of like, they don’t exist here. Does not compute.

And the conversation that ensued would be the reason why I was subconsciously dreading this meeting. . . We spoke for probably five minutes covering a wide range of topics, but neither one of us said what we both knew the other one was thinking. It was the most palpable definition of the phrase “the elephant in the room” that I ever witnessed.

I pathetically had a hundred questions I wanted to ask but I walked away with a “see you around” before I exploded with them.

Ugh, guilt gut. Stop thinking about it, Sarah.

In happier and completely unrelated news, a new scarf is in the works! This one is being completed with giant new needles and natural wool. It's so frigging soft, I'm never using acrylic wool again.

Brown scarf, 10 stitches
59cm long

Peppers and an uncompromising Iran.

Insomnia is a bitch.

I'm going mad with this lack of sleep. Covers on, covers off. Music on, music off. Temperature high, temperature low. Fan setting on, low, high, medium, low, off. Check alarm. Check alarm again. Get up and pee. Covers on, covers off. Check alarm once more. One pillow, two pillows, three pillows, no pillows.

Sleepless nights come and go, but this has been an endless one going on almost two weeks. I slept in yesterday. I had a morning class at nine and I slept right on through it past ten. It was with hot prof too. :(

In other news, my painting class went really well yesterday and I’ve decided to sign up for the advanced watercolour class which starts at the end of October. I super like the painting I’m working on now. We started still-life which is actually something I’m familiar with thanks to Deals.

The painting is of three peppers and I’ve decided that if I don’t screw it up, I’ll get it framed and give it to my Mom for Christmas. Her two requirements for giving me a small fortune to pay for my art supplies were a painting and credit for starting my art career when I’m a “famous artist”. At least I can assure her the first. She actually ended up paying for my current class too, which is shocking on its own. If I didn’t know any better I’d say she was encouraging my art infatuation. . .


I’ve been trying to research this paper for my International POSC class. The prof posed the question “Does a nuclear Iran represent a threat for Canada?” Obviously I immediately thought “YES”, but after reading a few articles I’ve decided it’s much easier to write paper if I say “no”. So I’ve started over again which kind of blows on a whole other level.

Do you think a nuclear Iran poses a threat to Canada?