WHEN I CLOSE MY EYES/ YOU’RE THE FIRST THING I SEE

There is no greater motivation to updating the blog than procrastinating on an impending deluge of homework.

School has indeed begun again and it’s busier than Britney Spears’ ___________ at a __________ convention . The only shitty thing is that it has been solely classroom work so far which isn’t all that inspiring. However, after next week we are shooting for most of February, which should be totally rad. I can’t wait for that to start.

The last couple of weeks have treated me well. My pals Jhen and Skip have returned from their drug mule camp abroad and held a swiggity-sweet Justin Timberlake themed party at their place on the 20th. Pictures of said party can be viewed here

It’s awesome; in every picture of me I am standing by myself not talking to anyone. I am a fucking gem.

Most of the weekends, however, have been monopolized by CBC triple-headers of hockey, going to the theatre and getting horribly, horribly addicted to the HBO series Deadwood – see it! I am left shaken and stirred.

As far as major motion pictures are concerned: Blood Diamond and, going back to JT, Alpha Dog are both well done - the former being the better of the two, for sure.

For you right-brained music nerds, I am in love with the Jeremiah Tattlebaum album Woke Up With a Bellyache. “When I Close My Eyes” is the song of the month. I long to say those words to a smiling girl in rain soaked sneakers and a runny nose.

The not drinking and healthy diet have been adhered to since New Years I am proud to say. The diet is fine, I have no problems with it, the drinking I’m not sure will take. It can make you pretty effing grouchy to be surrounded by drunken people when sober. And as odd as it may sound I think drugs, alcohol, sex, whatever your vice of choice might be is not so much as an escape as it is a leveler.

Allow me to explain. When functionally completely sober I am constantly tossed between ecstatic and depressed. I find a comfortable, chewy middle ground impossible to stay on for more than a bus ride. Alcohol always put things in prospective for me. If happy, it killed my inner Momus and allowed me to loudly express it. If sad, it elated me or gave me an (seemingly) appropriate theater in which to vent and get it off my chest. I don’t know why that is and it kind of bothers me that it’s the case. Or maybe boozing stopped me from writing verbose and pedantic blog posts. Shit, maybe I just like getting drunk…but after Christmas break, I don’t think that’s it either. Ah, whatever it’s a moot point. At this juncture I can’t honestly afford to be a regular six-pack of Lucky Lager enjoyer.

I think over things too much.