Dear Ben

I'm not rightly sure why I have a blog. You are the only person who reads it. Perhaps I shall just email my thoughts to you. (less sites to check) That way at least I shall receive a reply.

People

What funny things we are. If you poke and prod us in the right places you can tell what is going on inside. Yet no matter how much we poke and prod we can never really understand who we are dealing with, or what is really going on. Sure, we can make educated guesses on what makes the person tick but when it comes down to what actually makes a person tock then all education goes flying out the window and we are just guessing.

Nitro does not help.

Aahhu :(

I miss my Ben so much, my chest feels like it is going to collapse in on its self.

Disappointment

The higher your expectations are, the more disappointed you are when they are not met. How do we avoid this? Hold less (not lower) expectations I guess. Go in with an open mind, willing to accept whatever you get for what it's worth. And learn something for next time.

Rain

It shore rains allot down here.

(Maniacal giggle inserted here)

Just a thought...

Arrow dynamic buses shaped like pencils.

Ok

It is a wonderful feeling to wake up in the morning and know your ok. Stress, shitty situations, bitchy people, the friggin city, these things tend to try to swallow a person, but as long as you know your ok nothing can touch you. Sure things will get you down for a while but in the end your simply ok.

Grownupness overrated

No sleep, big decisions, responsibility, can't hide, it won't go away. Can't cry, show emotion, give hugs- your invading personal space, that's sexual harassment.

Seriously overrated...

Kids, enjoy being told what to do, lots of decisions are easy but the important ones are ridiculously hard.

Plus once you grow up, eating ice cream all day doesn't cut it, it just makes you sick.

Pain

Where would the world be without pain? Pain gives us boundaries. It shows us that we are not Superman. We learn from pain, not to touch, not to screw up and it shows us exactly how far we are willing/able to push things. You can know it's coming or be completely blind sided either way, you can't run from it. It'll always getcha. And it's a bitch because it loves to kick you when your down. We cannot function without it, why can't we accept that?

Because it hurts.

Spiderwebs and Dust molecules

Stop and step back for just a moment.
Get your mind out of the race.
Take a deep breath and take a look around you.

There are so many amazing little things that nobody seems to notice. They are so simple and found everywhere. When was the last time you stopped rushing around trying to get things done and really took a look at your surroundings, the last time you looked at the reflection in a puddle, the intricacy if a spider web, the dew on the leaves, or the sparkling dust molecules that dance in the sunlight. There is so much beauty in this world that goes unnoticed because we can't take even a moment out of our day to see it.

If you just can't seem to find anything, ask a child. Children seem to have it figured. The next time a child brings something to show you, actually look at it and you just might find that it's amazing.

Too many thoughts, too little time.

So now I have bought a bloody laptop... hopefully I will be able to get internet access at home. That would be awesome!! Then I could post shtuff whenever... as you can see I'm kinda behind.

Vancouver

City. Lots of lights, lots of noise, lots of people, lots of houses, lots of cars. Sensory overload. Overwhelming yet wonderful.

Yuck

I am sad.

Epiphany

I love those really clear moments where your mind stumbles upon a strain of absolute truth and the whole world seems to make sense. These moments never last but if you can learn just one thing within that moment then it was not wasted.

Everything's Changing

In two and a half weeks we will all be gone. I can't wait to go to school, I never want to leave, I am so excited... and scared. I love change but it is certainly not easy. I have never been so happy or so sad.

XVIII

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed,
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course untrimmed:
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,
Nor shall death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st,
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

Sending a hug

Without the garlic this time. Get better kay? And watch out for Vampires.

Geordie is comming to visit!

It will be good to see him again. He should be here tomorrow and then he and Ben are taking off to the hot springs. Ben is looking forward to spending some time with another guy... Too much estrogen!! Hope-ly Miss Fancy Pants and I will be able to meet up with them on the weekend. I am excited!

My mind

Double, double, toil and trouble.
Fire burn and cauldrons bubble.

!!!!! * Congratulations * !!!!!

Ben was accepted into med school!!! UBC and Western accepted and he is on the wait list for Delhousie. Yay!! I knew he could do it.

Dead Ben

Today, Sirita, Ben and I successfully pulled off our third gruesome display for the P.A.R.T.Y. program. Quite a few of the kids started to look rather ill, a teacher cried and one kid feinted. Ben was a wonderful dead guy and I finally faced my irrational fear of public speaking to a 13 to 18 year old audience. I was very happy not to be the one stuck to the body bag with sugar.

A request

Please take the time to read that last post. I found it very interesting and true. Let me know what your opinion is.

The Pleasures of Love

By Robertson Davies

Let us understand one another at once: I have been asked to discuss the pleasures of love, not its epiphanies, its ecstasies, its disillusionments, its duties, its burdens or its martyrdom--and therefore the sexual aspect of it will get scant attention here. So if you have begun this piece in hope of fanning the flames of your lubricity, be warned in time.

Nor is my intention to be psychological. I am heartily sick of most of the psychologizing about love that has been going on for the last six hundred years. Everybody wants to say something clever, or profound, about it, and almost everybody has done so. Only look under "Love" in any book of quotations to see how various the opinions are.

Alas, most of this comment is wide of the mark; love, like music and painting, resists analysis in words. It may be described, and some poets and novelists have described it movingly and well; but it does not yield to the theorist. Love is the personal experience of lovers. It must be felt directly.

My own opinion is that it is felt most completely in marriage, or some comparable attachment of long duration. Love takes time. What are called "love affairs" may afford a wide, and in retrospect, illuminating variety of emotions; not only fierce satisfactions and swooning delights, but the horrors of jealousy and the desperation of parting attend them; the hangover from one of these emotional riots may be long and dreadful.

But rarely have the pleasures of love an opportunity to manifest themselves in such riots of passion. Love affairs are for emotional sprinters; the pleasures of love are for the emotional marathoners.

Clearly, then, the pleasures of love are not for the very young. Romeo and Juliet are the accepted pattern of youthful passion. Our hearts go out to their furious abandonment; we are moved to pity by their early death. We do not, unless we are of a saturnine disposition, give a thought to what might have happened if they had been spared for fifty to sixty years together.

Would Juliet have become a worldly nonentity, like her mother? Or would she, egged on by that intolerable old bawd, her Nurse, have planted a thicket of horns on the brow of her Romeo?

And he--well, so much would have depended on whether Mercutio had lived; quarrelsome, dashing and detrimental, Mercutio was a man destined to outlive his wit and spend his old age as the Club bore. No, no; all that Verona crowd were much better off to die young and beautiful.

Passion, so splendid in the young, wants watching as the years wear on. Othello had it, and in middle life he married a young and beautiful girl. What happened? He believed the first scoundrel who hinted that she was unfaithful, and never once took the elementary step of asking her a direct question about the matter.

Passion is a noble thing; I have no use for a man or woman who lacks it; but if we seek the pleasures of love, passion should be occasional, and common sense continual.

Let us get away from Shakespeare. He is the wrong guide in the exploration we have begun. If we talk of the pleasures of love, the best marriage he affords is that of Macbeth and his Lady. Theirs is not the prettiest, nor the highest hearted, nor the wittiest match in Shakespeare, but unquestionably they knew the pleasures of love.

"My dearest partner of greatness," writes the Thane on Cawdor to his spouse. That is the clue to their relationship. That explains why Macbeth's noblest and most desolate speech follows the news that his Queen is dead.

But who wants to live a modern equivalent of the life of the Macbeths--continuous scheming to reach the Executive Suite enlivened, one presumes, by an occasional Burns Nicht dinner-party, with the ghosts of discredited vice presidents as uninvited guests.

The pleasures of love are certainly not for the very young, who find a bittersweet pleasure in trying to reconcile two egotisms, nor yet for those who find satisfaction in "affairs." Not that I say a word against young love, or the questings of uncommitted middle-age; but these notions of love correspond to brandy, and we are concerned with something much more like wine.

The pleasures of love are for those who are hopelessly addicted to another living creature. The reasons for such addiction are so many that I suspect they are never the same in two cases.

It includes passion but does not survive by passion; it has whiffs of the agreeable vertigo of young love, but it is stable more often than dizzy; it is a growing, changing thing, and it is tactful enough to give the addicted parties occasional rests from strong and exhausting feeling of any kind.

"Perfect love sometimes does not come until the first grandchild" says a Welsh proverb. Better (by) far if perfect love does not come at all, but hovers just out of reach. Happy are those who never experience the all-dressed-up-and-no-place-to-go sensation of perfection in love.

What do we seek in love? From my own observations among a group of friends and acquaintances that includes a high proportion of happy marriages, most people are seeking a completion of themselves. Each party to the match has several qualities the other cherishes; the marriage as a whole is decidedly more than the sum of its parts.

Nor are these cherished qualities simply the obvious ones; the reclusive man who marries the gregarious woman, the timid woman who marries the courageous man, the idealist that marries the realist--we can all see these unions:the marriages in which tenderness meets loyalty, where generosity sweetens moroseness,where a sense of beauty eases some of the aridity of the spirit, are not so easy for outsiders to recognize; the parties themselves may not be fully aware of such elements in a good match.

Often, in choosing a mate, people are unconsciously wise and apprehend what they need to be greater than they are.

Of course the original disposition of the partners to the marriage points the direction it will take. When Robert Browning married Elizabeth Barrett, the odds were strongly on the side of optimism, in spite of superficial difficulties; when Macbeth and his Lady stepped to the alter, surly some second-sighted Highlander must have shuddered.

If the parties to a marriage have chosen one another unconsciously, knowing only that they will be happier united than apart, they had better set to work as soon as possible to discover why they married, and to nourish the feeling which has drawn them together.

I am constantly astonished by the people, otherwise intelligent, who think that anything so complex and delicate as marriage can be left to take care of itself. One sees them fussing about all sorts of lesser concerns, apparently unaware that side by side with them--often in the same bed--a human creature is perishing from lack of affection, of emotional malnutrition.

Such people are living in sin far more truly than the loving but unwedded couples whose unions they sometimes scorn. What pleasure are there in these neglected marriages? What pleasures can there be in ramshackle, jerrybuilt, uncultivated love?

A great of all the pleasure of love begins, continues and sometimes ends with conversation. A real, enduring love affair, in marriage and out of it, is an extremely exclusive club of which the entire membership is two co-equal Perpetual Presidents.

In French drama there used to be a character, usually a man, who was the intimate friend of husband and wife, capable of solving quarrels and keeping the union in repair. I do not believe in such a creature anywhere except behind the footlights. Lovers who need a third party to discuss matters with are in a bad way.

Of course there are marriages that are kept in some sort of rickety shape by a psychiatrist--occasionally by two psychiatrists. But I question if pleasures of the sort I am writing about can exist in such circumstances. The club has become too big.

I do not insist on a union of chatter-boxes, but as you can see I do not believe that still waters run deep; too often I have found that still waters are foul and have mud bottoms. People who love each other should talk to each other; they should confide their real thoughts, their honest emotions, their deepest wishes. How else are they to keep their union in repair?

How else, indeed, are they to discover that they are growing older and enjoying it, which is a very great discovery indeed? How else are they to discover that their union is stronger and richer, not simply because they have shared experience (couples who are professionally at odds, like Prime Minister and a Leader of the Opposition, also share experience, but they are not lovers) but because they are waxing in spirit?

During the last war a cruel epigram was current that Ottawa was full of brilliant men, and the women they had married when they were very young. If the brilliant men had talked more to those women, and the women had replied, the joint impression they made in middle-age might not have been so dismal. It is often asserted that sexual compatibility is the foundation of a good marriage, but this pleasure is doomed to wane, whereas a daily affectionate awareness and a ready tongue last as long as life itself.

It always surprises me, when Prayer Book revision is discussed, that something is not put into the marriage service along these lines--"for the mutual society, help, comfort, and unrestricted conversation that one aught to have to the other, both in prosperity and adversity."

Am I then advocating marriages founded on talk? I can hear the puritans, who mistrust conversation as they mistrust all subtle pleasures, tutting their disapproving tuts.

Do I assert that the pleasures of love are no more than the pleasures of conversation? Not at all: I am saying that where talk is good and copious, love is less likely to wither, or to get out of repair, or to be outgrown, than among the uncommunicative.

For, after all, even lovers live alone much more than we are ready to admit. To keep in constant, sensitive rapport with those we love most, we must open our hearts and minds. Do this, and the rarest, most delicate pleasures of love will reveal themselves.

Finally, it promotes longevity. Nobody quits a club where the conversation is fascinating, revealing, amusing, various and unexpected until the last possible minute. Love may be snubbed to death: talked to death, never!

Time

Yesterday I timed out for the first time since I joined the service. Last summer all my co-workers were timing out constantly but I always managed to get just enough rest between call outs. It's not much fun though, all I wanted to do was go home have a shower and go to bed.

I'm sick but I'm pretty, ba-by!

Buckleys is the devil. On the bottle it give dosages for children six to twelve and two to six...why would anyone give Buckleys to a six year old kid. That's just mean. I have to say though, the results are pretty instantaneous.

Rain

I love rain! It's like someone adjusted the colour setting on your vision making everything more intense. The bricks are so red, the lines on the black pavement are bright yellow and the new baby leaves are startlingly green. Rain puts me in such a good mood. Now all we need is a good thunder storm and I will be unlivable.

Yay

The snow is gone!

Hey!

Alicia has left the blogging world yet again... WTF mate? After badgering me into joining stupid facebook... ( This is me shaking my fist at you!)

Eieech

My tummy has a weird feeling in it.

Code 3

A good way to take something exiting and make it really really boring is having to do it for a full hour. Example: Driving code three to ... Prophet River. Yay, I get to drive! Ok, well this is fun. Are we there yet? Stupid siren.

Despite my bitching I really did enjoy the call.

Ahh Prophet

There is nothing quite like going to Prophet River. It's like you've suddenly stepped off this plane of reality into some twisted, insane dream. The kind where you wake up sweating.

Evelyn Cameron

I just stumbled upon this interesting Lady. I have some research to do but I am rather impressed initially with her story. From what I gather she was a wealthy Lady in London who left her home country to find her way in the " Wild West" with her husband. In 1890 they moved to Montana and began a ranch. During her life in Montana, Evelyn Cameron was able to capture the west by way of photograph. She has an amazing collection and I am intrigued by this pioneering woman's story and her photographs.

Happy Birthday!

My little Sistah turns 18 today! Honey, one more year and I'll be taking you bar hopping! Until then we'll just have to party at my place... hopefully on Saturday.
Happy birthday to Miss Fancy Pants, who's birthday seems to have lasted from the first weekend in March to yesterday. That girl, I don't know how she does it.

Drivel

I am sick of drivel. It drives me crazy, people go on and on about things that have little to no meaning what-so-ever. Conversations, arguments, sporadic verbal diarrhea, so much time and space is wasted on fruitless, meaningless exchange. Imagine how much confusion and heartache would be avoided if we all just spoke directly and quit avoiding the issues we try to cover up with drivel.

What disgusts me the most is that I am the worst offender.

Spring

Spring smells like poplers, warmth, melting snow and thawing chickenshit. I almost miss it... Nah.

Moving

Over the last two days I have been packing up my belongings with a strange sense of melancholy. Taking my little sister's pictures off the wall, stuck on there with wads of blue sticki-tack - not real tacks, I was feeling a little sad to be leaving my first place. I'll get used to it. I hope to be moving around allot for the next few years. Home is where you hang your hat I guess. I am really looking forward to moving into the new apartment. It will be pretty empty - I am able to fit all my stuff into my car, but a simplistic, uncluttered environment is definitely not a bad thing! I think I'm gonna hafta find me a bed though.

Snow

I think I have had enough snow for a while. Spring will roll into Northern BC in the second half of May, at least six or so weeks after it "officially" starts. I will enjoy this brief summer then I am moving somewhere warmer. The Okanogan is looking pretty wonderful. Kootneys? We shall see.

A recommendation

I am really enjoying my new CD - Regina Spector, Begin To Hope. I would like to recommend it to anyone who likes "a little bit off the wall" music. She is a Russian artist that has come to North America an put together some great sounds. Most of the songs are piano and her voice - there are some interesting beats shuffled in there too. I really like it.

Andy

Andy is another story altogether.

Home

I really enjoyed my last trip home. I went alone and was able to spend allot of one on four time with my crazy family. Who, by the way, were so off the wall ridiculous, psychotically funny, completely inappropriate and politically incorrect that had anyone sat in on one of our conversations they would have seriously considered pink slipping the lot of us. Good wine, good food, good conversation, a wonderful, heavily ADD flavoured time in Toad River.

I love home.

Vacation

Buildings, streets, public transit, new smells, wonderful nuns, beautiful churches, colic babies, fresh ravioli, fish on ice, cheese, music, crazy pubs, dirty Mexicans, dancing all night, destruction in Stanley park, seeing Ben, Broadway productions, books, rain, steam clocks, the smell of the ocean, flowers, cigars, Turkish food, little Max, sunshine, spending time with curly hair, getting lost, driving in the snow, conversations, terrible movies, the Abby, stained glass, more rain, little old ladies, awkward conversations with ex-boyfriend (little old ladies' grandson), sense of euphoria, looking forward to September.

Seven amazing days in Vancouver.

Thtickies!

One of my co-workers just came in to submit her availability and she brought her three year old son with her. I was eating a Caramilk bar as they arrived and to give her a chance to do her paperwork I offered her little boy a hefty chunk of chocolate and invited him to come sit at the table with me. At first he was a little shy but when he took a bite of his new chocolate and found " Thtickies!" inside he was sold. I had given him four squares and he didn't believe me when I told him that there were "Stickies" inside each one. With each new square he would take a bite and exclaim in amazement as the caramel stringed from his little mouth to the chocolate still left in his hand. Wow we made a mess! I shall never look at a Caramilk bar the same way again.

Such a Fillyjonk

Note to self: Stop cleaning!

Life, God and Growing up

In the last twelve months much has changed and I have come up against a whole new variety of challenges. Out of which came a great deal of confusion. In the end I have realized that this is it, this is life, quit waiting for "it" to happen. Nothing will get done unless I grab it by the throat and make it happen.

I am also giving allot of thought to my position on God and all matters related. I am not sure what has sparked my interest in this, I think it was a combination of now being an "Adult", having four people die on me, the resources to really research it, a great sparing partner, and way too much time on my hands. For the majority of my life I haven't given this area too much ponder time, when I did my thoughts on the matter were: Yes there is a God and He loves us, but once we die that's it, your light goes out and you mentally and spiritually no longer exist. I have since decided that this is not so... problem is, I no longer know what I think. So, homework time.

No matter what I am trying to get through it always comes back to doing your homework.

Growing up. Wow, I don't think I am even half way through. I feel like a six year old who does laundry and has a job instead of playing and going to school. Sometimes I don't feel old enough to be making some of the decisions that I do. I hope that doesn't change as it keeps me humble, a little cautious and quite willing to do my homework.

Through the challenges and confusion though, comes the satisfaction of being a young, independent female who loves her family and friends and has a wonderful life.

I am happy.

It is very late (early?) and I must sleep.
G'nite.

Interviews

My good friend is off to Halifax for the first of four med school interviews!

Good Luck Ralf!

Home

I love coming home. It reminds me that there are others out there that are just as psycho as myself. When you get five of us in the same room all sanity flees and the most wonderful conversations are born. Topics that are not normally spoken of are explored, and most talks end with:
"What drugs are you on? - Share with sugar bear!"
or
"Are we really related? Mom? Can you prove that?"

Oh dear.

A Touching Story

A picture is said to be worth a thousand words, but a touch is worth a million. You can say so much through a hug, a touch to the hair, hand, rubbing their back. Things that sound ridiculous when voiced make sense when communicated through touch.

Here's one for ya

So, a baby seal walks into a club...

My Job

I love my job. Even when I am bored out of my mind, that's just part of it. Really how can I complain when I get paid to learn how to play guitar, sleep, read my book, watch psychedelic screen savers, think wild and crazy thoughts, post those thoughts on my Blog, drive Ralf nuts... the list goes on. Then, when I forget that I am actually sitting here for a reason, the phone rings, the pager goes off, I get a wonderful yet fleeting jolt of adrenalin and the real part of my job starts. The part that I love the most if I may be redundant. Hell, I could be sitting at a pool yelling at other peoples demon offspring. ( No offence to Lifeguards who like their jobs. It's just not for me.)

Stars

What is it about them that fascinates me so? They're gorgeous, I love the way they sparkle. Hummm!

February

February sucks. I end up feeling blah for the stupid month. I am all lonely and I am pouting. Humph.

As a Rule

Mats are not allowed to be transported until the contractions are at least 10 minutes apart. One of these days our luck will just run out and we will have a baby on the bloody plane.

Wisdom in Friendship

Friends (in this group I include my family) are wonderful things. They are able to look into your life and point out the obvious things that you cannot see initially and cannot figure out how you missed once they are pointed out.

Conversations

It continues to amaze me how quickly conversations get twisted in this house. Very twisted, to the point that the people who began the rather normal exchange are not quite sure what they were talking about.

Conversationalist #1: " I got an interview on Wednesday!"
Conversationalist #2: " Congratulations! I am excited for you."
Interjecter #1: " What? She's pregnant?"
Interjecter #2: " Yes Dear, with triplets."
Conversationalist #1: "Well it had to be immaculate conception."
Interjecter #1: " What? The second coming of Christ?"
Conversationalist #2: " No, the second coming of Tri-Christ."
Inerjecter #3 from other room: " Well, she'd better find a big manger!"
Conversationalist #2: " Oh dear."

A Thought

How can you mourn the loss of something you have never had. Finding out that there is something missing that you weren't aware of is like realizing that that pocket in your sweater is really just a gaping hole. Now try to fix it.

Fancy Pants' Third Date?

Come for a beer... and supper, and, oh, its pretty late, you'd better stay in the guest room and drive back in the morning... after breakfast of course... well you didn't offer to do the dishes and you ARE still here so why don't you help trim the horses feet? A day and a half later the guys finally seized the opportunity to flee. Poor Fancy Pants, she finally found out what it is like to be a Leake kid.

Frou frou...

Where arre yooouuuu?

Sleep?

Nah, not me. Nor me poor pardner. Hell, I thought we were setting trend this weekend. Red eyes, hair sticking straight up and incomprehensible speech is totally in. You should try it. (See addiction post)

How odd

Nothing puts me in a better mood than getting a really strange call.

Oh boy..

Well, isn't he just the hottest thing since D5W.

Anonymity

Last night my girl and I went out dancing at the less seedy bar in town, and between the two of us we saw at least four people that we have met professionally. Two recognised us and one knew both of our names. Yuck, so much for anonymity. It must suck to be a cop.

Words

I love them, hate them, enjoy them, they drive me crazy. I have too many and yet never enough. I want to push as many into my head as I can. I have to fish for them but most of the time they all come bubbling out. I seem to have very little control.

I should.

Addiction

I love coffee.

Onions

Lovely veggie, but in my good friends unwavering opinion not worth the work and pain it takes to prepare them. Call me a machine-ist but I like the damn things.

Crazy Rat

Mars is Ama-azing!

Ah, wonderful

My birthday has been fabulous.
Thank you
for phoning
for polka-dot hampers
for teaballs
for flowers
for staying up all night
for eating movies and watching pizza pops about moving bodies
for singing to me
for dinner
for making my 20th birthday absolutely wonderful.
Thanks guys.

Ralf says..

"Sarah's dumb"

Such a Girl

I was given flowers for my birthday and... I love them! Pink flowers. In pink wrapping. In aprox three days they will have wilted and I will only remember them. What a odd present flowers are. What struck me though, is how much I love getting such a fleeting and girly gift. It made my day. They are right up there with polka-dot laundry hampers on my list of really cool birthday stuff. :)

Mmmm, food.

My silly friend (who I must come up with a name for... any Ideas?) is making me dinner tomorrow night!
I am excited!

How about Ralf?

It's mah birthday!

Today is my birthday and at aprox. 16:00 I will be two decades old.
who'da thunk?
A silly friend of mine stated that now I am 20 years old I will have to start acting my age. Alas, I should grow extremely bord and go completely out of my mind. Then what would happen?

I love Birthdays.

Yuck

I don't like Christmas Cake.

Our Frou Frou has left us...

Our Fou Frou has left us all behind,
She 's now in Chilliwack,
And of sounder mind.

At first she's unhappy,
and so is us,
I'm not gonna lie,
I feel like pus.

But things will get better,
so hang in there,
and some time soon,
We'll come play with your hair.

Boing.

Timing

People always seem to require assistance at 2:00 am and 5:00 am. Hmmmm..

Oublioirs

Oublioirs: a collection not of memories but of forgets. oo-blee-wars