And quiet in reality
But there’s a buzz
That cannot be heard
Even by the few that pass by
Cogs whirring and plans cementing
Wasn’t the weekend the outlet of the bold?
Not so this damp morning;
Dreams of a Monday
In the recesses of the mind
And into the rhythms of time
But only in location
Planning out the rest of the week
By a tree stump sticking out
Into a mountain of shovelled snow,
Interesting to no one else
But all I can see as I look out
On this damp, empty day.
Where did the world creep away?
There’s no one else here
Empty, post apocalyptic;
But calming, in some odd way.
It’s funny how your perceptions of Sunday are always changing, depending on who you are. Is Sunday your rest day? Is it the day to catch up on cartoons? Is Sunday morning, as Kurt Cobain said, everyday? Or perhaps as Lou Reed said, a time when the world’s behind you?
To me, it’s the calm before the storm, in every single way.
Universities tend to be quiet on weekends. Every person who walks by is a case to be thoroughly examined, Sunday is when they won’t be lost in the masses. It’s the morning after Saturday’s madness and a chance to catch your breath. For me, it brings the excitement of the next week, the Monday when I do my radio work, and a chance to do my homework and chill out simultaneously, without being guilty.
Ah, the many shades of a Sunday! How’s your Sunday?
It’s started to snow! I’ve already gone and fallen into a thigh-high pit of snow by walking where I thought there was ground, which is a perfect way to begin the winter season. Here’s to four more months!
Here’s a little mind chow: why do so many kids want dogs? I know it looks really good through a good quality camera in a sunlit picture with tons of grass behind, but here’s the thing: you probably have never seen a good quality camera in your life and have accepted your iPhone as a permanent substitute, there are no “sunny” days in the winter, and going by the climate reports, there isn’t much of that grassy plain left for you and the pup to roll in.
I’m serious, we’re more city-kid than we’d ever thought we were. For example, I had a little trouble digesting spring allergies, and it’s not because I never had heard of them before. Spring fever, hay fever, pollen allergies, they’re all fundamentally your body attacking spring because it thought it was something dangerous. Putting it this way, your body has no idea that spring’s just this harmless, temporary reprieve from the winter and reacts to it the way you did if you saw a flying dog in supers garb, i.e., undies.
… Just to be really clear, I meant surprise, shock, whatever. Something tells me a lot of first reactions would probably be to whip out a Real Good Quality phone camera and yell, “Awwww!!” as they film.
That’s probably why a lot of kids think a dog is a great idea.
I don’t have spring allergies though. I don’t think I’ve had enough regular, periodic exposure to spring, pollen, grassy smells or clean, non-city air enough for my body to recognise it and go, “Here we go again team, those damned seeds are back again! Lock into anti-seed mode; nose! I’m gonna need all the ammunition you can get! Call on Sinus and Lung for backup, hear?”
“Eyes, you’ll have to gain system attention, signal that idiot to get out of there on the double and back to safety indoors! No one likes casualties and we can do to avoid an unnecessary fight.”
“Sir, I don’t think that’s how it—” “Water!!” “Oh well, if you insist.”
“Pores, get ready! The bigger you appear to your enemy, the greater the intimidation. Swell up those arms and legs, soldiers!”
“Sir, I think you’re cooking up the wrong allerg—”
“PREPARE FOR WAR, FIENDS OF SPRING!!!”
At any rate, why I’m so familiar with them is probably because literally everybody else in my house seems to be a walking weather cursing machine.
I’d only really given that sort of credit to dust allergies before. That seems more up my run down city alley. *Cough, cough* *Sneeze!!*
So the dogs. God help you if you’re also allergic to them or their hair. That perfect photograph with the spring and the dog and the dust gathering on it must really be the perfect nightmare for you. Why kids want dogs, I cannot fathom. Dogs are too much like people. My cousins’ puppy runs away from new people in an explicit fashion that my own social anxiety finds admirable. Because if there’s one thing worse than having to talk to people, it’s both parties being awkward, and then you going the extra length to make it seem like you’re not awkward, only for you to realise afterwards that your trying too hard probably made your awkwardness more obvious and then you worry to death that the next time you catch a glimpse of them you’re going to remember the incident and will need to find a place to hide, but in truth, (in my case, at least) you don’t even remember who they are the next time, but they, my friend, remember everything. So much for your personal Annexe.
The other thing with dogs being so similar to humans, is that you, the kid, need to manage them. It’s like going through puberty while you’re still going through puberty. It’s like volunteering to go through puberty for someone else. Maybe if this ever became official a theory, schools and convicts would start counting dog-keeping towards their hours of community service.
That’ll be the day.
In the meanwhile, if you want a pup, try some PUP. I’m really just throwing in this link because I’m happy to not be looking at NYC or Seattle in videos for a change. And because it’s nice to see Toronto again.
It’s a little hard to get into the Christmas spirit when you’re up at 9:30 AM, half asleep and stumbling in cotton pyjamas and your university’s thin cotton CS Frosh tee that has somehow turned into your nightdress top while the sun shines bright outside and streams down the window onto your now seemingly out of place Christmas tree.
It’s a little hard to get into the Christmas spirit when everyone around you is in their most hideous Christmas sweaters (and I mean sweaters that scream Christmas with lights and sound to go with it, probably) and you’re in a cotton shirt and everyone thinks you’re an alien for not feeling cold in the slightest.
It’s at that point that you take things into your own hand to make yourself feel Christmassy.
You do everything from dressing like a candy cane to coming one step short of volunteering to be Santa and climbing up the chimney for a sweep.
But Christmas eating is such a miraculous mess that I have no idea how they feed kids the idea of someone who’s been holidaying for a few weeks and feasting on sugary treats coming down a narrow chimney wearing white and red—white! As the French say, quelle horreur! How will Monsieur Santa ever get his nice new white clothes clean?
(Out of nowhere, you hear a chime and a jingle. From out of the chimney somewhere nearby or out of your hot cocoa, whichever is more convenient, a well dressed woman steps out, curiously enough, she is immaculately dressed for someone stepping out of your chimney that was last swept—two weeks–? Two… years!? Honey, you haven’t cleaned the chimney in two years?
Anyway, the woman steps out and smiles a dazzling, Happy Dent white smile (why a woman you ask? I’m casting!) and asks you, “Are you having trouble with stubborn stains? Is the soot on your duds resistant even to Santa magic?
What you need is the all-new Tide Holiday Home Magic TM. It’s E-Zée Clean formula TM makes sticky stains vanish! And with its Holiday Special Peppermint fragrance, you’ll be smelling like Christmas all season. So go on up ahead, climb that chimney!” And the woman nods to Santa who sticks a shoulder up the chimney and the camera puts him in the background and focuses on you. Weird grunting noises follow. You call out, “Santa?” All you hear in response are muffled sounds. Clearly, Santa’s mouth is stuck up there too. The lady puts a hand to her face but then shrugs and turns to the camera, flashing her pearly whites as she makes a last pass at the camera. Tide TM Holiday Home Magic TM, peppermint. Perfect for your holidays.)
… where was I?
Right, the Christmas spirit. It’s really not that interesting a story. I played Santa for my little cousin without actually going up the chimney. I basically wrapped his presents and ate his cookies.
Doesn’t that count more towards being Santa than dressing up and sitting in a maple while pesky little smart alecs pull on your fake white beard?
But I’ve learnt through an hours-long gift wrapping tenure that present wrapping is a socially constructed nightmare.
What will X think about that awkward fold sticking out the side?
My family shouldn’t care about my crappy wrapping, should they?
*crunching sounds follow as you proceed to cover everything up in a crinkled newspaper*
Darn those pesky kids who simply will RIP the paper open and will never the sheer hours gone behind this five square inches’ beautification…
It can kind of get intense.
But I guess at the end of the day, it still is nice to see people so happy and excited to rip open their presents (yes, even the ones who absolutely destroy some quality art of a wrapping sheet) and enjoy their gift.
Just don’t mention that I said that, because I’m an icicle.
Anyway, I don’t feel cold, but a lot of other people do, so keep warm, and have a merry Christmas! (Or a day off, at the very least.)