Homemade wine tastes like homemade wine.

John stayed over last week-end and we had a great time. It was good to be able to simply be totally relaxed around someone, instead of being cautious, as is the case with even the closest of friends. It was enjoyable to have someone I can be completely open with.

I think it’s a rare bond that he and I share. I often believed that I would never be able to have someone know everything about me. The idea scares me, makes me cringe. Yet in this weekend, we were able to understand each other in such subtle ways that no explanation was needed for many subjects. I realize that John knows everything about me. He has such a history with me that I can feel comfortable with such an idea. He’s the only person who has met every one of my girlfriends.

One of my favorite conversations was about the way he manifests his support of the FTA by stealing (also delectable) lemon mints with the words “Down with the FTA!” printed on the wrapper. Another memorable one that comes to mind was concerning our dads mid-life crises. When he found out that a Boxter was part of mine, he told me that his only did something as benign as getting re-married. I couldn’t stop laughing when he said it, because it spoke of such a quirky understanding I have of his father. Yet it also so discretely tells of the value of his relationships, another things which I’ve come to understand in him.

I believe the appeal of these conversations is the way in which we can communicate. Most of my friends are people whom I can have a good time with, instead of being able to relate intellectually with. My relationship with John allows for both, and I always feel refreshed when I’m finished talking with him.

I can only hope that the effect is mutual.

I found out that I unofficially passed all my courses. I won’t believe it until I get the official transcript.

I just came back from watching Gangs of New York. I don’t think I’ll be going to a theatre again anytime soon. I paid thirteen fucking fifty for a ticket, when I could wait for it to come out on DVD and rent it for a third of the price. There wasn’t anything in the directing of the movie that made me think, “Oh, that’s Scorsese”, which was slightly disappointing. Day-Lewis’s presence on the screen, on the other hand, was amazing. His elocution was just perfect. I walked home afterwards in the thin, but dense, falling snow. It felt good.

I also watched a movie called The Center of the World yesterday, with the delectable Molly Parker as a lithe redhead. It wasn’t very good all around; acting was bland, story was bland and exaggerated, camerawork was shoddy (even though it was meant to be), but the sex was good.

I think I’m shmitten. Bad.

Dolly is getting spayed next week, so I’ll have to find a way to get her to the hospital one day, and back the next day. I might have to take a taxi for the four trips, if I can’t find someone to give me a ride.

I have a fairly easy term, since I only have three classes and a final project to complete. There’s also the fact that I’m not working, so that’s another dozen or so hours I’ve saved. I tried to take a course at Carleton instead, but it turns out that there’s no equivalence. It’s such a pity; my second attempt at galvanizing some of the stagnancy in my life has failed miserably, much like the first. I’ll need to look for a permanent job this term, hopefully computer related.

I seem to be struck with a great need for mental and physical antipathy lately. Everywhere I look, things are filled with beauty, and I am unused to it. I’m not sure what has changed; whether it’s myself, or the world around me. It often feels like there’s too much to take in, too much to experience, and that I’m unworthy. I wish that I could be cold and bitter as before, so that I could feel better about myself, that I didn’t feel so ugly and ashamed.

Everything is so much simpler when the world is black. My mind is made up, everything is stable, I can create. Yet there is always something that is missing, something that I’m always striving towards.

I think it all has to do with the fact that I’m still uncomfortable with contentment. It’s still an awkward feeling for me, something that I’m not used to yet. Antipathy could change this, but I can’t bring myself to hate again.

My antipathy has mostly left me.

It hasn’t been six months, but I still ain’t money.

I went to Aaron’s for new years yesterday, and we played some euchre and Canadian Trivial Pursuit. My partner for both games, which was Karen’s brother, was much better than Aaron was for Karen, I’m sure. We ended up winning all matches for both games. Jacques…must still be exhausted. It’s good to know that I can still laugh so hard that my sides start to burn from hypoxia. There was much fun had by all.

Sometimes I read about a disorder, and I start getting scared that I have it. I wish I wasn’t such a hypochondriac.

John’s coming over today. He’s driving, so we’ll have the car for three days where I can do some heavy grocery shopping. I feel like I’m having too much fun, like I should be stocking up on a fruitful holiday of entertainment in preparation for the coming term.

My first attempting at cooking something from the Naked Chef cookbook has been partially successful. I think the substitution of red wine instead of white created a sauce that was a little more tart than it should have been. The mushrooms absorbed the flavour of the sauce, but didn’t retain much of their flavour. The thyme did give everything a unique taste, but I had no porcini so it feels like something was missing in the taste of the chicken.