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So I should probably be doing homework, or preparing for the 3 labs I have next week, or going to the library to copy the lecture notes for my classes, but I don't really feel like it.

I'm here at university, the University of Western Ontario, my home for the next 3 years at least. It's strange. When I'm on campus I love it--there's no place I'd rather be. But when the day is done, when I have to go 'home'.....it gets depressing. It feels like I'm living with strangers, probably because I am living with strangers. I don't not like them, but they're not my type of people. It's akward, not comfortable at all. If I last the entire year here, I'll be surprised.

I bought an off campus meal plan so I wouldn't have to eat here, but res food is the same thing day after day, and for the price, it doesn't taste that great. So now I'm thinking about going back to cooking for myself. It seems a trivial enough matter, but there's no space in the kitchen. All the cupboards have already been claimed, and with six other people in the house, the fridges will be packed full.

On a happier note, frosh week was very fun. There was everything from a hypnotist, to a concert by sloan, to a carnival, and even a Foam Party. The Foam Party was the definitely the highlight of the week. Basically, an area of UC Hill was fenced off and as we danced to retro music, we got sprayed by foam, kind of like bubble bath.

In an attempt to get involved with school/meet new people/fend off boredom, I joined a program called Foot Patrol. It's a campus program that has coed teams patrolling the campus and providing safe escorts home to students from 6pm to 1am. At the very least I'll get some exercise and have one more thing to put on my resume.

The price of textbooks is outrageous. Over seven hundred dollars to cover my five courses!

I think that's all for now. I need food.

When I ask Mila to describe me, the adjectives are usually always the same: shy, quiet, anti-social, complex, logical, methodical. The last two I especially agree with. Since the second grade I've had a very detached, utilitarianism way to decision making. My teacher (I forget her name) had us fold a piece of paper in half and at the top of each column we wrote the words 'Pros' and 'Cons,' words unknown to me at the time. Later in life they would become my guides to all things.

And now I find myself sitting here, scratching a line down the centre of a yellow post-it-note. On the Pros side: saving money, less hassle. On the Cons: comfort, less stress, better health, greater ability to focus on school work.

So now I have to decide, and I don't think I can. If I move out of this house which I hate in favour of a one bedroom apartment, I'll be taking a substantial hit (in the neighbourhood of three thousand dollars), but on the other hand, when I say I'm going home I'll actually be going home. Is my personal sense of well-being worth three thousand dollars? How can I even gauge something like this?

All I know for sure is I don't like it here. I realize I've never actually been happy for more than 5 minutes, but this is different. I haven't been this unhappy in a very long time. At night all I can think about is how I wish things were, how they should be. Everyday as I walk across the bridge over the Thames I think to myself "you know, you could just climb over this rail and make it all stop." Similar thoughts have plagued me through all my life, but never so many in such a short amount of time. It's becoming frightening, but never has been before. Does this warrant throwing three thousand dollars (everything I have saved) away?

What if I go through with it and I'm no more happy than I was? What if my living arrangements aren't the problem? What if it's just me? How can I know? Will I ever be happy? Or at least not unhappy?

I think I'll give it 'til the end of this month at least, and then go from there...

And so things are better now, and random thoughts of suicide no longer fill my head (as much--it's never completely gone), and routine has saved me, or cursed me, or made it so I don't have to time to look at my problems. In any case, things are better. I'm ready for school now. I'm ready to push my low confidence and discertainty aside in favour of 'waiting it out,' to view this year as a means to an end.

I'm becoming involved with a number of activities here--whether to interact with more people, or less with my thoughts I can't say--and things are looking up. So far I've made plans to start working out with Miss Roth on a regular basis. In addition to that there's Foot Patrol, and probably a few clubs/courses: inline-skating club, yoga classes, racquetball classes, Salsa club.

I'm tired of the way this site looks. I plan to re-design the entire thing when (read: if) I get some spare time.

I made a new friend today, I think, a colleague at the least. And now I no longer need a lab partner for chemistry. So far for the weekend, there are no definite plans. Friday Desi /might/ be taking me out, and my sister may be coming at some point.

This is turning into a rather boring entry, so I'm out for now.

During the summer, while still working at the Cafe, a girl came in with an older woman who was likely her grandmother. The girl was about 20, very typical, and yet is in my thoughts a few times a week. They ordered a roasted veggie wrap, and decided to share a bottle of Arizona Iced Tea. That day was particularly slow, and the girl and her grandmother were my only customers all afternoon. While they were eating, I decided to prepare some produce in the kitchen.

At the Cafe, the lettuce had to be cleaned, then rolled up in paper towels--the process kept the lettuce fresh for up to a week in the fridge. I had a large portion of paper towel layed out with lettuce placed along it, and was beginning to roll the lettuce up when the girl walked in. About half way into the rolling I stopped and moved to the counter. Before I could stop it, the lettuce had unrolled and spilled all over the floor, to which the girl made a gesture with her fist and proclaimed "drat!"

I remember musing in my head about what kind of person says 'drat,' how different she was from everyone around here, what fantastical imagery and magic must dance in her head, how her soul must thrive. Since then, I think of her at random moments, and at times I find myself, under my breath, muttering 'drat!' when I've spilled or broken something.

I don't know what the point of this entry is. But surely something so prevalent in my thoughts deserves a place in my journal. And maybe someday--perhaps years from now--in one of those moments when the universe opens up and breaths understanding over me, I'll understand the deep significance of this memory, and like the girl who can use 'drat' in everyday speech, my soul will thrive, or at least grow.

Last night I took a big step. Most others would think it small, but for me, it was very difficult. I'm glad I did it--it's a huge leap in the direction I want to be going.

For awhile now Desi has been trying to convince me to come to her gay youth group. I've consistently turned her down for a number of reasons: images of dimented weirdos flash in my head at the mention of it. I think 'What kind of people go to a youth group? What's wrong with them? I don't need to go--I'm perfectly fine. They'll all be plastic, abercrombie-clad automotons with nothing on their minds but sex. What if they don't like me, or take one look at me and ignore me? I don't need that.' Last night was the second night I backed out of it last minute

But I did meet up with Desi after and we went to Cafe One, where a bunch of them were meeting. From there, we ended up at a party at someone's house. And it wasn't as bad as I expected, not bad at all in fact. Certainly every group has their freaks, but the freak factor was no greater than at any other gathering. And there were some very nice people there, some people I wouldn't mind getting to know better, some people that it would be nice to have as friends.

Another thing I found out last night was that, compared to them, I'm a really crappy dancer--they were nothing short of amazing.

The weekend has been fun, kind of. Last night I spent some time visiting Kristin and her boyfriend at Medway. There were movies, and pizza, and Kylie, and random hot guys showing up and introducing themselves. Life in residence seems really fun--I feel like I'm missing out.

Today I was driving back to London, coming out of St. Thomas (my first real visit back) and I felt a terrible emptiness. I miss St. Thomas--as much as I hate it, I miss it, not the city in particular, but the people, my friends. I miss rollerblading with Sam and John, late nights at Tim Horton's, adventures in the park, running into people I know at Wal-Mart. And even the city seems empty, emptying, everyone leaving, many already gone, and now me leaving too. It made me wonder if I'd ever see any of them ever again: Sam, John, Cynthia, Baillie. Mila and I have barely said two words to each other since summer ended. I saw Steph for the first time in a month on Friday. The others--their names already beginning to blur together--I've gotten at most an email from, in most cases not even that.

As I turned onto Wellington in the dark, leaving the city, wondering if I'd continue to drift further and further from my friends, the song Graduation came on the radio. And I couldn't help but wonder, will we be friends forever? Can a friendship overcome the vast spans of time between seeing each other? Can our friendship endure the university years, the years of new people and new experiences? Will we ever go rollerblading again? Have I seen my last religious debate with Cynthia, my last shopping trip with Baillie, my last 3 hour phone call with Mila? Will we ever drive through the park flashing our high beams at parkers again? Or will I ever find myself again in Desi's basement watching, horrified, soft core lesbian porn? Will we ever break into the kiddie pool at 2am to go swimming again? I hope so, but I don't know.