Ah, writing. A storm has been rumbling all day over Halifax. The rain and wind are a cold couple, and the thunder is a trumpet call. For what? Well, the times are changing, of course. I finished my job with the YMCA on Friday. My job as Opinions Editor for the Dalhousie Gazette "started" a while back, but has gone to top priority now that the summer gig is up. I don't miss the kids, but I do hope I run in to them sometime ... knowing Halifax, I will. I'll keep my eyes open in grocery stores and movie cinemas from now on. My wisdom teeth come out on Tuesday and classes start on Thursday, so tomorrow is the last day in a long time I will be able to enjoy both empty time and solid foods, together. I intend to make the most of it. And journalism! I find it so hard to pick courses that aren't journalism related, and yet I get so many electives! I don't know what to do. If Dal had a fine arts department, I would take something creative. I don't want to have to write an academic paper, ever. Clayton and Paul's professor from the History department has been staying with us this weekend. She is cool, but the way she talks about Clayton and Paul's research papers ... I don't think I can do it. I don't have the attention span or the concentration. And yet I would hate to be bad at it, so I would kill myself to write a good one. In my mind, it does not sound like a pleasurable experience. It is a skill I would like to have, but not really as urgently as I would like to learn mandolin, crochet, welding, photo developing, quilting, farming and portuguese. Academic writing: not top priority. You can quote me on that.

This is complaining

This is not in pain:


This is in pain:



This is about being born human. This is about baby soothers and whiskey soothers and chewing on fingers.

This is about waiting at least a month for a removal. This is about being scared.