Sweet Keith

Not dead, just writing. Hence, the blog is less travelled. I can barely make sentences that don't obey academic syntax.

In light of Miriam's decision to finish her degree in time for spring graduation, and thus avoid paying another semester's tuition, and in support of the view that her life at this point has been reduced to wearing a pair of pyjamas five days in a row, while carrying large piles of 8 X 11 paper and rainbow coloured file cards from room to room in her increasingly messy apartment. Given these "paradoxical" circumstances, it can be inferred that by all measures, Miriam is thinking herself to be mentally unstable, that is in colloquial terms; "fucked in the head" if she for a moment believes she is actually going to get it all done in time.

Anyways, speaking of fucked in the head, over the past two weeks I have:

- poured ginger-ale into a pot reserved for noodles
- milk into the base of an espresso maker
- jumped onto a moving treadmill

Otherwise behaved like a muddle-headed academic type who's got wool in her ears.

In other news, tonight while cooking noodles sans ginger-ale emergency, I was listening to the cbc and they were doing a piece on this lady:

Yeah - friggin awesome! Marie-Pierre Arthur and she's cute too! The other songs they played on the radio were actually better if you can believe it and I mean like hella better, I mean like I stood there staring blankly at the noodles bubbling while I listened to Pas le courage and felt like weeping.

So it's not all bad, except that last night I literally dreamed that I was classifying texts for my lit review, when your sleep in indivisible from waking life that is a bad sign.

Oh yeah, and Steven made me watch The Life and Times of Tim, also truly astounding but for different reasons:

Okay back to work