Sorry internet compadres - it was, believe it or not, pointed out to me that I had gone a negligently long time without posting anything on my beloved blog. People were without procrastination material and that, frankly, is inexcusable.
I had been without the internet while my mum and I drove from Southern California back up to my sweet home in Calgary, and upon our return I reverted to being a 14-year-old.
Seriously.
Ok, well, not seriously, but hyperbolically to prove a point.
Whenever I return to my childhood home, despite any impressive advancements I've made in behaviour, routine or responsibility, I revert back into a child. I stopped living full time in that house when I was 14 and started attending boarding school (not because my parents hated me, for the record - for some reason that is the first question that arises from any mention of "boarding school"...which is awkward, because, what if that was why, asshole?). So throughout highschool and my undergrad, home was the place I went for vacation, to relax and be coddled. And that is apparently psychologically ingrained in me. I would stay up until 3 am watching videos online, sleep in until 11:00, eat all kinds of indulgent garbage, and cease any possible productivity. I didn't even blog, so imagine what the state of my thesis is.
Is this an isolate phenomenon, or do other people experience this? And is it as absolutely harrowing for others as I find it? It scares the sweet God out of me that location and environment may be entirely responsible for my maturity. Truly a frightening proposition if you are acquainted with the heights of my maturity [read: Law & Order].
Well, worry not, for now. I am back in Montreal, and I have already gone out with friends to watch a hockey game, unpacked, stored my winter clothes, gone grocery shopping, swept and mopped and am heading to yoga. Thesis work pending.
Some progress made on the Snakes & Ladders to Adulthood? While in Calgary I was able to go through and cull some of my clothing. I am an awful packrat and, as readers are well acquainted with, an ardent materialist so parting with possessions, particularly clothing which I have worn and loved too long is hard for me. But, realizing their implicity bro-douchebaggery and their status as strong lesbian indicator, I parted with my Lacoste polos.
But not without a proper send off...
And yes, I am aware that "poster" style on my new camera makes me look like I either have an unfortunate sebum problem of the T-zone or am made of plastic. But it's
so edgy.
