october 30, 2000. We did a very strange warm up activity in English methods class today. Maybe you've heard of it before; the people who presented it said it was a world-wide phenomenon. What happens is this: you close your eyes. A speaker asks you to visualize a desert. In that desert, you place 5 objects, one by one. Each object represents a different part of your life. The nature of each object and its relation to the others is supposed to speak volumes about your state of mind. Sort of a mind's eye tarot, without the problem. (I'm sorry I'm being so vague, but a big part of the impact is in doing the exercise before you know how each symbol corresponds with your life. I know it's just a visualization exercise, but I'd hate to ruin it. See? I'm always looking out for you.) I was kind of depressed when we got to the interpretation - it seemed to confirm what I'd already identified as personality problems. But that's the dangerous thing, right? It's like looking in someone's eyes when they're crying; sooner or later you see yourself reflected in those tears. Still, the visualization itself was fun. I love those moments of meditation when the instructor's voice manages to take me out of myself for a brief while. A me without the me - now that's inner peace. Speaking of inner peace, I just about flew apart this morning in a tornado of frustration. Consciousness started out well, because daylight savings time has done me a real favour this year. I woke a full hour before the alarm went off, and was ready to get out of bed when CBC started the news run-down. Bonus. The trouble started when I tried to find some plastic container to transport my lasagna to school. The usual cupboard was bare. The supplementary drawer was innocent. The cabinets came up empty. I began to wonder if the Boy was throwing the stuff away instead of diligently bringing it home. Because that's what happens when you come across something inexplicable, right? You have to blame your housemate. Them's the rules. It wasn't until I opened the fridge that I solved the mystery. Our tupperware was holding a vast array of leftovers, and thus was not available for my lunch. You wouldn't believe what we've been hanging onto, either. Exhibit A: chicken drippings from Thanksgiving weekend. Exhibit B: white rice, 3 weeks old, developing dark blue mold. Exhibit C: cranberry sauce, see notation for A. Exhibit D: a half cup of beef & barley soup, one week old. Exhibit E: tuna, date unknown (although Ceilidh seemed to enjoy it). Exhibit F: 5 or 6 spoonfuls of baked beans, 2 weeks old. Not to mention organic cider that's lurked in the back of the fridge for a month. My fridge was a cavalcade of horrors, mes amis. Horrors carefully preserved in Tupperware. It's time to sleep now. Woops. I suppose that's the downside of fall: by 8 p.m. you're ready to call it a night. Ah, Daylight Savings Time. You're making me into one well-rested geek.