October 4, 1998.

The universe is playing a new game with me. It's called the Transit Game of Ultimate Irony: as soon as I got a metro pass, and began to depend on a certain streetcar with a particularly long cycle, the city installed pressure points in the sidewalk about 20 meters away from the bus stop. This means that I invariably see the streetcar go by a mere 40 seconds before I get to the corner & reach the stop. I've taken to shaking my fist & muttering at the saucy, rebellious streetcar. There's a certain freedom in bizarre, derelict-inspired behavior. Remember that, kids.

Talked to Sister Sunshine at length this morning before she had to dash off. She's being wined & dined at the Gemini Awards this weekend (this would be the Canadian equivalent of the Emmys). She such a satisfying girlfriend to bitch to; when I related Christina the Shameless' parting comment, she sucked in a groan, and then said those classic words - "don't worry, darling. We'll beat her up." Of course, she's irritatingly sensible about the whole thing & thinks I should calm down in general, but that's the clarity that comes of perspective. Perspective on one's own affairs is a funny thing...can't own it, can only rent it at a usurious rate. Your epigram for the day, sweetie darlings.

Trevor & I have been talking about ridiculous things we feel necessary to our relationship. Namely jewelry. There's an ornament gap in our relationship right now, and the level of commitment far outstrips the amount of cheap, kiosk finery. We even talked about getting tattoos. I suggested little tiny penguins...even if something happens down the road, we're left with a little tiny penguin on each of our bodies.

I dunno, I can't explain the impulse very well. I was a bit out of it. The thought struck me just after I'd finished crying for a solid hour on Friday night. Post-weeping endorphins, perhaps, because I've never thought about penguins in that way before. Past time, then, right?

one year ago today: bored ball-busting virago