well, not me, not yet at least, but maybe george hotz will be. this kid managed to strong arm the iphone until it cried uncle. not only did he unlock it to be compatible with the facist at&;t, but also to be used internationally. did i mention that he’s a 17-year-old blogging nerd from new jersey? i’m really impressed, and i’ve got a new internet crush. i’m interested to see how apple is going to handle this news: they seem to be totally disinterested in furthering the iphone, but this poor kid will have to sell his innovations (and his soul) for some kind of bargain basement price.

anyways, as of now, i’ve been in toronto for the past couple of days, painting, cleaning, crying, whatever. something about the moving process overwhelms me, and the sheer number of tasks that need to be completed makes me want to suddenly have my genes mutate so that i can either a)grow an extra couple sets of arms, or b)splinter off into a myriad of mes. i’m screwed–there is so much to do. but somehow i think that it’s more interesting to watch the trailer for the darjeeling limited a hundred times and obsess over owen wilson’s suicide attempt (not to be confused with ‘castro is dead’ web rumours). i want to BE owen wilson, or at least a tennenbaum, so why does he want to die? oh well, i guess that’s sorta how it works. if either of these distractions fail, there is always kitty to cuddle with until she bites my nose. and chin. that’s love.

regardless, the darjeeling limited looks awesome: india, camels, trains, jason schwartzman! i didn’t realize that it was going to be released so soon. after everyone erroneously thought that the life aquatic was a flop, i immediately turned to see what mr. anderson’s next project would be (besides that fantastic fox thing or whatever). it’s here, and long story short, time goes by too quickly and i’m getting old.

i’ve been thinking about the passage of time lately, and i think that i’ve decided that i would like to live to be no more than 60 years old. that would mean that i’ve lived a third of my life already–the past is behind me, i’m in the present, and the future is to come. i’m growing up–i can tell, and to have my life arranged in some sort of three part play is sort of comforting. i figured that the rate i’m going, i will be graduating at 21, and can have my master’s and phd by 24 and 26, respectively. i’m smart, i’m so smart.

last night brian and i went out to the ben wicks and sat beneath blue lights (yes, byueyights) and just sort of shot the shit about this stuff. i think everyone has become obsessed with zeitgeist, that phantom internet movie (thank you, nick maitland) about myth and conspiracy, that i have since sort of discredited because the filmmakers cite alex jones as a resource. buh, why does perfectly good logic have to be tainted by former neighbours? at least watch the first 40 minutes, and then praise jesus, amen.

anyways, i’m tired, but i would like to at least tack on another random bit of writing i did on the train on the way home. it’s sort of related, and entirely long winded. no industrial strength rubber gloves required.

no matter how you explain it away, it still feels totally abnormal. it was that really clear time around ten am when the sun hasn’t yet become a blazing ball of fire, but is still a pleasant warm light glimmering under your eyelids creating veiny shapes like clouds. the room was cold, used, alien–it was a place that i had never been allowed to be, but was now passed on, semi familiar. i had fallen asleep the night before dizzily drunk, the liquor swelling my face until my eyes could no longer stay open. my head had hit the mattress (after an excruciating half hour of fiddling with shoddy swedish manufacturing and design), and that’s all it was–a mattress, a cover, and two very flat pillows that ended up crimping my neck into such an accordion that i am still forcing my shoulder blades back as a remedy–and after that it was a fight against gravity and my body to manage to throw a baby lung pink felt blanket over top of the coils and crash.

the entire day had been a series of misfortunate events: i had arrived to my new place only to discover that not one of the past five year’s tenants have so much as thrown away their old food upon their usually very sudden and mysterious flights. i wept all day as i struggled paint my bedroom, standing tiptoed upon dirty milk crates salvaged from within the dirt coated storage room at the bottom of the stairs, trying to reach the tops of the walls where taping had become an impossible task. i’m a germ phobic; ask anyone that has lived with me for the past few years. although i am innately a disorganized and messy person, i usually prefer to live without rotting onions in my cupboards and limescale caked in my bathtub. however, when mess and dirt begins to accumulate, i simply shut off, fearing the intense dirt, and allowing it to only mutate into phantom stains on the walls and black oozing stains lodged into corners and cracks in the floor. the task becomes too much, too possibly toxic, and i would rather hide moldy pots in the garbage can than crack out a bottle of vim. so even cowering in my bedroom, assuming, irrationally and falsely, of course, that there is little to no harmful dirties in there, that all of that stuff is contained to the various other areas in the house that i had mentally quarantined. wrong.

every time i had to pee, or much worse, take a shower, i would go up the stairs, out the front door, three doors down to my old place, unlock the door, fight past the attention starved kitties, down the stairs, and into my old bathroom. whew. so, therefore, my preparations to make myself at home in lyndsay’s new bedroom were not without reason. sleeping in other people’s beds is a tricky business for me: i am incredibly particular about my sleeping arrangements. if you’ve ever seen my bed you will understand, or perhaps not, as it, i suppose, may look totally unsleepable. i keep a stock of no less than eight pillows, half throw and half regular arranged in an inverse ‘L’ shape, as well as one thin blanket and afghan (in the summer months) and one thin blanket, one afghan, and one large goose down duvet (in the winter months) on my bed. add to that my various distractions at any one time: a remote control, a cell phone, a lighter, my pot tin, my mac book, a book or three, one bottle of water, sweaty clothes that i have removed whilst asleep throughout the night, and perhaps some unfinished crochet work. i’m a bit of a hoarder, that i’ll admit, so i like to be circled by my things, just so i know where they are. or just so that i don’t have to get up and out of bed at anytime. all i need is an industrial strength bed pan. so, to wind up this long drawn out version of my oddities and phobias, i’m sure you can understand why staying in a friend’s very minimalist cell would be unnerving.

as i was saying, i at first became vaguely aware that the room around me was turquoise. well, i knew that already, but the colour was very significant, because i had spent at least thirty minutes in the shower the previous evening scrubbing paint off my body and down the drain, watching as the smoked oyster, autumn purple, and galapagos turquoise mixed and became EXACTLY the shade of taupe that i was after in the first place. it was strange, however, as i felt cool, although not uncomfortably so. this was strange because, prior to this very ethereal moment, i had been sweating like a roasted pig on a spit next to brian. my sleep had been spastic; i tossed and turned, trying to fold and re-fold pillows onto themselves to provide myself with an addequate support for my noggin, as well as remain modestly covered with the blanket (as i was, after all, only wearing my panties at the time), while also fending off the heat, and the sweat, oh, the sweat! irregardless, it was suddenly very blue-green and cool, like a cucumber, or any other primarily water based food. it was lovely. except. i was convinced, although not totally, or even partially awake, that i could hear lyndsay in the next room speaking to salina. i cursed myself for sleeping so long, and wanted to get up at once and get out of her room, because, you know, i didn’t want to impose, or even further my seemingly strange behaviours, as i’m sure that salina was quite uncomfortable with my presence there. i tried to move, and suddenly became aware that i was stuck, frozen, locked into place, my muscles seizing tighter and tighter as if i was being wound up. i couldn’t breathe either, and had the vague sensation of being totally under pressure, like i was being vaccuumed sealed into the bed by one of those little wizard machines that are advertised on the home shopping network. i wanted to yelp, or cough, even choke, i wanted my body to respond to any of the commands i was sending it, but it wouldn’t. i was panicked, totally. eventually, and after a great deal of what felt like spine shattering effort, i turned over to face the wall, finally realizing that all of my limbs were thoroughly numb; i was covered in goosepimples and pins and needles.

my mother said that i had an out of body experience this morning, but this explanation is too hoky poky for me, and i prefer to think that it was only extreme sleep paralysis. my mind is, after all, just THAT much quicker than my body, and do you blame it? i was spooked, i still am, as i sit awkwardly on my tailbone on this late go train ride back into burlington. i glance into the window, illuminated by the fierce lights reflecting off of the glass, darkened by the night, just to make sure that my soul didn’t really slip away, that it all managed to crawl back into my body when i finally surfaced from whatever it was. one of the ‘ultra credible’ wikipedia sources i read today claimed that you’re not supposed to try to wake up from such an experience because you’ll lose a part of yourself. so what did i lose? what’s left? as long as it’s not my sharp sense of humour and my lightning quick intellect, i’ve got off scot free, right?

it’s too dark out to even watch the train yards and scrap metal warehouses go by, how boring.