I write this missive from the carcass of what was once my room, now just a desk, some lights, and a bed. Maybe I should try to live like this. It would be slightly Kafkaesque, I imagine (or maybe like the main character, Michel, from Bresson's "Pickpocket"). Maybe I don't know what the fuck I'm talking about.

Anyway, I don't have much to write besides that I'm readying myself for an exam Thursday morning and to fly out Thursday afternoon. It's kind of like juggling, but with only two balls. They're oddly shaped balls though, awkward. I have to do very good on this exam, one, and, two, I feel almost like I am already home, or at least like I'm the waiting room before getting home. It's probably because of the in-betweenness of my surroundings.

Update on living on $20 a day: It doesn't even phase me anymore. I'm eating oatmeal every morning, a big lunch and then beer at night. Perfect, right?

It's tacky, but I like the holidays just like I love the Toronto Film Festival. It's big and ugly and overall pretty stupid, but I don't know ... It's as much the lights all over the place as it is a different experience of time, I guess. Maybe this only resonates with people in school, I don't know.

Also, I'm reading F. Scotty Fitzgerald's "This Side of Paradise" and it's quite lovely thank-you very much. I will be admitting far too much about who I really am to say that I strongly identify in many ways with Amory Blaine. If I ever get a cat or have a child I will call it Amory.

St. Catharines: See you Friday?
Toronto: See you Saturday!

N