march 24, 2000.

Chaotic morning, this. I went to bed with my ear plugs in, and woke up at 8:15. I really need a shower. But at least I made it to work 20 minutes later.

It's kind of a shame; I had a terrible dream this morning that could well-afford to be cut short. In it, the Boy had moved into a large, one roomed apartment, furnished with metal warehouse shelves and lit by a swinging bulb. I couldn't believe that he'd given up his cute little place with St. Steven for such a hole. Although the power of entropy does seem to be stronger in that apartment. Posters fall off walls, the ceiling has developed a drip, and the VCR abruptly gave up playing tapes in favour of eating them. But how can you be angry at an apartment that came with Canadian Ska stickers on the fridge?

I'm very excited right now. I can feel the weekend's potential rising up to meet me. This is the first weekend in months that I haven't spent working or writing essays, and I feel liberated from it all. I want to go dancing on the backs of the poor. Yeah.

Unfortunately, Project Mayhem will not be held this weekend. Apparently, ticket sales were low, and this is the only sensible plan. It's a great big drag...I was looking forward to a rave experience significantly better than the Science Centre one. Sure, we got to play with our perceptions, not to mention the perucssion instruments on display in the sound room. But it's not an experience that's heightened by the addition of mass quanitities of teenagers, mushrooms and dance music.