August 12, 1999.

It feels like my life has drastically slowed down since I got back from the city. Granted, it wasn't moving all that fast in the city itself (I spent almost all of Sunday lying under a blanket on the couch, reading The Lust Lizard of Melancholy Cove and eating sunflower seeds), but the feel of the lazing was different.

I think the myriad unattractive tasks awaiting me here each morning (like cleaning my room) are poisoning my slothful vacation.

Bah. I have no real problems.

Ok, on to something a bit more exciting. I'm a blonde again. I wanted to go purple immediately after, but this silly town does not contain any deep purple hair dye that I can locate. So for the moment, I'm a lovely Nancy Drew strawberry blonde. Now all I need are two spunky friends and a variety of sticky situation that my attorney father can help me out of.

During the dyeing, I had the Conversation again, the "why are you applying to a school in Newfoundland?" conversation. I have this twice a month on average, and it's really difficult to convince anyone that I want the life experience of living out East and Memorial offers the cheapest & fastest B.Ed. in Canada. (Isa has advised me to get it over with as quickly as possible, as she found the class experience a total waste of time.)

I think of the Conversation as an interesting exercise in Central Canadian snobbery...in terms of admission levels and reputation, Memorial is classier than Lakehead, but since the latter is an Ontario school, people still recommend it over Newfoundland.

I like having the Conversation with Newfoundlanders, though...they get a stricken look on their face and insistently remind me that there are no industrial goth clubs out East. So, maybe it's time for some missionary work in that direction.

To return briefly to the subject of myself as the Birthday Princess, I was surprised and touched by the effort put forward this past weekend. It helps that everyone involved is a very good gift giver, something that I'm trying to cultivate in myself. For instance, Pixie & Q listened to my whining about the pitiful state of the Boy's bathroom and bought me a huge towel. Stacy read my glowing reports of the Bag and rants about too much stuff & got me little girly pink things. Dav (who didn't get many presents himself as a child) listened patiently to my drunken endorsement of Pat the Bunny & bought me a child-like comic that he swears will change my life (like The Meaning of Liff, I suppose). But more than the presents, there was this attentiveness, this flattering attention to detail.

It's a sweet feeling to know that I have friends who actively try to make me happy.

And of course, this doesn't mean that I only get that feeling from the people listed above. This is just the most graphic recent incident of warm fuzzy sentiment.

mmm...fuzzzy...

Pill update: I found a fresh deck at the 11th hour, and am not about to return to the Voodoo/Rhythm Method.

(Just kidding about that last bit. They have a technical name for women who use the rhythm method: pregnant.)