I can never win
So I did a massive spring-cleaning over-haul of the apartment tonight. You name it, I cleaned it: I swept the floors, then mopped them for good measure, bleached the counter tops, scrubbed the sink and wiped the dust off of the cabinets. Et caetera.
And here I was, feeling quite satisfied with my ability to pretend that I'm a functioning human being, until I open the fridge door. Oops! I forgot to go grocery shopping. I've had to resort to a dinner which has consisted of crackers, cheese, and frozen fruits. Can I never win?
St. Patrick's Day Manhunt
Oi! So sorry about the delay, I've been a bit lazy/busy lately. I hope you all had a lovely St. Patrick's day-- mine consisted of a delightfully wholesome evening of fondue and euchre with friends. I couldn't have asked for better.On Sunday however, things got a little bit more interesting. My friend Heather and I headed down town, among the throngs of people who had amassed there to watch the St. Patrick's Day parade. Although we did stick around to watch it, Heather and I had something entirely different to attend: a manhunt. Now what is a manhunt, you ask? It's a bit like an urban game of hide and seek, mixed with a dash of tag. Basically, a group of twenty or so individuals meet up at a rendez-vous point. There, the organizers hand out highly visible arm bands, which all of the players are required to wear. The rules are explained and the boundaries delineated (roughly 3x3 blocks). Then, one hunter is designated. His (or her!) role is to stalk the other players and tag them. If you get tagged, you become a hunter as well. But here's the twist: there's no way of distinguishing hunters from huntees! Let me tell you, this is one tense game. Here I am, prowling through parking lots, sliding down snow drifts, scoping out the drunken revelers suspiciously, when my heart tries to beat out of my chest: in front of me, blocking my way down an alley, is another arm-band wearing player. We eye each other warily as we cross each other. I try to bluff, adding a little swagger to my step, hoping to pass off as a hunter. But no dice; the man starts sprinting, and I'm not fast enough to outrun him. I can't wait until the next game! I will definetly be practicing my stealth skills in anticipation. Hey, I'm a 007, right?
Yes, endotrophectoderm is a real word.
I'm having major angst about graduating.
I find myself waking up in the middle of the night, covered in a cold sweat, screaming No! No, I'm too young to graduate!
After three years, my undergraduate career is coming to an end. While it seems unfair and premature to finish after only three years, I also feel as though it's impossible to deny that the show's over. We are all packing up, looking forward to bright and exciting futures, too distracted and troubled to be able to focus on anything concrete like, say, school work.So. I am going to pretend that I've matured and learned important Life Lessons during my time in Montreal, that I am now a B.Sc. graduate and not completely worthless. I will put my framed diploma on my wall and gaze at it as I try to remember what, exactly, an endotrophectoderm is. I will convince myself that without the vibrant city life-style, without the snails and the fabulous hairdresser, without the witty, intellectual and inspirational friends, I am still Victoria.
How much of your personality is dependent on your surroundings? Will moving back to D.C. induce a regression-- will I mysteriously sprout braces and develop an awkward, adolescent gait?
R.I.P., gentle backpack.
My darling backpack: you broke on me last Friday, at approximately 5:30 P.M. It is with great sadness that, after a week's worth of struggle, I've finally decided to let you move on to that great backpack place in the sky. We've had some great times together, you and I. I purchased you back in the 8th grade, and, although you came with a lifetime guarantee, I'm surprised you've lasted this long. You've been a near-constant companion through-out my formative high-school years, and very nearly made it until the end of my university years as well. You've endured my mistreatment like nothing else could have-- tolerating my knack for over-stuffing you with little more than a groan, allowing yourself to be soiled, kicked around, and generally ill-respected, even eventually substituting as a make-shift pencil case, as I got sick of continually losing mine-- and for that, I am grateful. You've also been my invaluable travel companion on many, many memorable trips. Light enough to pack within my larger backpack, yet sturdy enough to hold up against the elements, you've always been by my side as I discovered the wonders of Puerto Rico, France, Spain, Madagascar, and Poland, just to name a few. It may seem callous that I've replaced you so soon, backpack, but please try to understand where I'm coming from. I tried to hang on to the dream, really, I did. But it soon became obvious that pinning you up with safety pins just wasn't going to work out. For either of us: you just looked ridiculous, and had a tendency to pop open at the worst of times (i.e. when I was running to catch the bus), and I just got tired of pricking my fingers and wasting so much time fastening you open and shut. I'm sorry. But know this: just because I've replaced you doesn't mean that I like it. I don't like this new backpack of mine, full of snazzy compartments and clips.Go safely with the knowledge that it won't ever hold the tender place in my heart that I've reserved for you.
Photo caption: my backpack (left) meets true love on Walden Pond, MA. April 2002.
So much to do! So little time!I have roughly two months left in Montreal. This has thrown me into on hell of a funk, let me tell you. What to do? Who to see? Should I focus on school work? Or disregard it entirely? I'm like a spinning top, trying to make every moment precious. I'm so heartbroken and frightened, yet try to put on a brave face. Everyone else seems to be ok-- I should be ok too. Just as the ice was melting, Montreal was pelted with snow, snow, and more snow! It's beautiful-- my friends and I dive recklessly into the snow drifts and leave snow angels. We're soggy for the rest of the day, but it's worth it. Tonight is la Nuit Blanche-- an all night winter festival in Montreal. All of the museums are open and free all night, the Old Port turns into a general party, and free breakfast is distrubted at 4:30. It's going to be brilliant.