My fish is bulimic. He always stays at the bottom of his bowl. When I drop food pellets in the water, he swims towards the ripples, nibbles on one, then spits it back out. Then he slowly floats to the bottom of the bowl again, resting his fins flat on the pebbles.

Along with the first spider of the season (which I killed tonight), spring has brought hope. For some reason, I think it’s going to be a good summer. I can’t even explain why. Maybe I miss the heat, or I had good memories of last summer, or this is happening again¹. I’ve been listening to the songs I discovered last summer in anticipation. Like this one, by Jenny Owen Youngs:

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Holy crap. Listening to this song now is…fucked. I always thought it was a good song, but never really related to the lyrics. Until now.

Due to the wintery economic climate², they’ve limited my hours at work. So much for keeping the brain busy; it appears that I’m running out of places to hide³. While this came at a time when I really needed the money, I’m glad to have more free time now. It seems like every day I’m rushing to do this or that, with barely a chance to breathe, living to work, instead of working to live. I’m wondering if I can just stop, decide to live with some debt, and just relax.

This was the first night I had to myself, and it was only because other plans fell through. The only chance I had to relax was spending an hour customizing the icons on my new Mac Mini. Aside from a weeknight here and there to catch up with John over some Warcraft 3, I haven’t actually sat down to play a game in a long time. I’m hoping that at some point, I’ll be able to slow down and enjoy things again.

Although I’m not sure if I want that right now.

1. Yes, I just referenced an entry I wrote six years ago. I tend to have a photographic memory for things I’ve written. [↑]
2. This term is stolen from an awesome movie. High five and a cookie if you got the reference. [↑]
3. This is totally a line from the Jenny Owen Youngs song too. YOU LIKE THAT. SHIT IS SO CASH. [↑]

Go outside. Right now.

It’s dark. It’s cool. It’s breezy. Grass has replaced the snow. Walking downtown, the smell of shawarma from every Lebanese restaurant, the people shedding their coats, the surfacing skin, it’s as if the world is blooming while the sun has set.

All I want is for you to be here with me. To share this moment with you.

It’s a pity to be alone on nights like this.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Spring is when you wake up, and you’re sick and you’re groggy and your hair refuses to co-operate, and your iPod ran out of batteries, and you’re late for work but you take your time walking anyway because the sun’s in your face and the wind’s at your back and for some reason you know that everything’s going to be alright.

The city begins to melt as the sun warms soil and pavement alike. Trickles of water run everywhere while the ice dissolves, a prescient sign of the streams soon to be come from lawn sprinklers and car wash hoses, as excess finds its way to sewer grates. By night, the temperature drops below freezing again and the small urban currents turn solid. Pedestrians practice their waddles in the morning as they maneuver across the slippery patches. The only remains of ice are the paths left compressed by the trampling of feet through the winter.

Every day I wake up it’s a little brighter, in my room, and in my mind.

I like to sleep with my window open slightly when the weather goes above 1°C.