It's amazing what smells can do to you. They say that smell is the most powerful memory aid, and I swear to God it's true (taste follows - I had a flashback of the rice-paste I used to eat when I was 2, last week.) Laurent and I went out to a tea-house in the Beaches, and the smell of scones (the cream wasn't quite right, not Devon cream, but still thick and very nice; the pineapple/orange/raspberry iced tea was great) takes me back to England, and the smell of the lake when we hiked out to the beach (well, I hiked - 4 hard-cover school books make for heavy walking) brought back Ogunquit, salt-water taffy, good vacations with my parents, rock-climbing next to the Atlantic Ocean, seaweed and seagulls, a good deal of happy times. It was such a clean, real, fresh smell. I never realized how nasally boring Toronto is until today.
Secondly, Seneca is a HOLE and I HATE IT and it's UGLY and I got LOST. (But it really is a hole anyway.) My books are DRY and BORING and I'm not looking forward to this anymore. I want it to be over with.
I want a vacation, in Maine, by the beach, RIGHT NOW.
Readin' can't remember
Listenin' to "The Singular Affair of the White Cockerel"
Thinkin' about bed, mostly. And being lonely tonight. And my aching back.
Most recently I was 
