Another exhausting day. It feels good to be tired again, to feel like my eyes are made of lead when I lie down. Most of the summer was staying at home, barely moving, feeling restless.

Aaron and I went to the Unicentre to do some table tennis, and some cocky prick was mouthing off (rather loudly) to his friends about how he so easily beat them all twice. When Aaron heard enough he suggested a partner swap, just so I’d shut him up. I managed to beat the guy 21–3 (pre-2001 ITTF rules) and he promptly had to go.

I cracked and bought F-Zero GX and seasons one and two of Mr. Show on DVD. I must be crazy depressed.

A Halloween party is looming on the horizon, and Aaron and I are looking for costume ideas. If we can find enough good uniforms, we’ll be going as Super Troopers, hopefully with the both of us along with Trolley, Wheaties, and Nick. Other ideas were going as Bob and David, or as a white guy and a Chinese guy.

Speaking of Super Troopers, while Nick was swapping his burner at Future Shop with Stacey, Aaron and I went around the store pulling off the repeater, seeing how long we could go before the salesmen figured it out or got pissed off. We ended up being the ones pissed off though, astounded by how ignorant the salesmen were and eventually we’d both ditch the same salesman with looks of disbelief on our faces, one after the other.

A few factors have helped make things easier in the last little while, but perhaps the most significant is the realization that almost nothing around me has changed. That all cerebral influences have remained fairly static in activity.

And I think to myself, “How could I have been so stupid? How did I not come to this realization sooner?”

And having lived a little more, loved a lot more, everything seems brighter.

I was walking back through the campus today, a crush of students milling around me, while listening to the new Billy Talent. Ben Kowalewicz’s shrill vocals matched everything I saw, from the arrogant walk of that perky girl to the indifferent look on the face of that Chinese guy.

I’m sinking, I’m twisted
I’m broke and you can’t fix it
Don’t make me, cause I’ll do it
Red blood and then we’ll all go

I wished, if only for a moment, that I could pump this music through the crowds, to make everyone listen and move with me.

The lights were in my favor today.

I have to get this down before I lose it.

The new Starsailor album is out this month, and I’m not sure if I’ll buy it. There’s something about the general sound of Starsailor songs that evoke an almost ineffable emotion in me. I never even knew they existed until last month, but for some reason, their 2001 Love Is Here album cover is oddly familiar. Every time I see the sun-washed tracks falling into the horizon, I get an odd sense of déjá vu.

As one who rarely has such an ephemeral, mystical experience, this strikes me as a extremely poignant thing. I feel as if I know this album, that I’ve seen it before, even had emotions associated with it. It’s something I can’t explain, and whether the emotions are good are bad, I can’t recall.

Their music moves me nonetheless. The chord progressions are unpredictable yet dulcet, bitter yet sweet. I can’t decide if it’s sunset or sunrise music, and the album cover serves to emphasize this equivocality. I can’t even tell if the music makes me happy or sad.

And so remains my problem. Do I want to listen to this music or not? I always find it odd that someone would not want to think about or experience something simply because it makes them sad. Doing so seems to be so cowardly, as if one is running from one’s self.

Yet the problem remains, with other music as well, and as clear as this logic is for me I find it difficult to queue up certain songs. Listening to The Postal Service brings back so many amazing, unforgettable memories, but so many painful thoughts as well.

I choose not to ignore either, and end up being emotionally torn, unclear in my heart and in my mind.