the sun`s in my heart, the stars in the sky, i just want to tell you you have such pretty eyes

the weather is getting better, and is bringing everything else along with it. i`m thinking about home, anxious to get back to parks filled with squirrels (and amazingly socially-conscious children) and nights cuddled on the couch. but you`re still with me here, i can feel you in me, and that`s making this time apart a little more bearable. having things be strong with us means that i can walk outside and breathe. i can take in the birds and the trees and the pretty cobblestone walkways, and feel peaceful and happy, knowing i`m still holding you close.

note to self

canadians get angry when you say that canada is pretty much like the us.

americans get angry when you remind them that the canadian dollar is doing better than the us dollar.

i said the first jokingly (kind of), and when a fellow canadian became rather irrate, i tried to recover by making the second comment, thus angering the american walking with us. he wouldn't talk to me the rest of the afternoon.

oddly enough, being surrounded by international students in sweden has made me rather more patriotic than i have ever been before. but i still hate that word.

oh, and then there's this: apparently 'washroom' is a distinctly canadian word. it's the linguistic equivalent of maple syrup, really. whenever i say it people either start laughing or give me that "you make no sense" look i've come to love so well.

mad girl's love song

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

-sylvia plath