mostly dead sleepyhead

I cannot stop listening to the juno soundtrack. when I walk around in this breath-takingly beautiful weather listening to it on my ipod, I can't help but feel like it's the soundtrack to my life, even though my life is nothing like that. there's just something that happens when the music matches the beat of your heart and the spring in your step and the positive energy you're shooting into the universe that's getting shot back at you and being absorbed through the skin on your face and your fingertips.

today I wore oceane's vintage ring with my two vintage rings. I like the look quite a bit. especially the fact that I'm wearing her ring on my thumb. it feels so right there. I'd like to have a ring there all the time.

I climbed into bed at 8pm to take a thirty minute nap and didn't get up until midnight. and I wasn't even that tired. I got 8 hours of sleep last night. you'd think that'd be enough.
my dreams are vaguely drifting back to me:
someone died. as usual. I wore a long flowing dress with a deep plunge front that my mother thought was too deep. I was carrying around a carved wooden african figure that I realized later that I'd just picked up without paying for it. I was walking arm in arm with oceane on the sidewalk and a car pulls up with boys in it who want us to come with them. I glance at the shirtless flaunting boy in the front passenger seat as I say no. he is incredulous that anyone could resist the gloriousness that is his body. I resist the strong temptation to give him the bird. we keep walking. they follow. we go off on this dusty dirt path down a hill. they follow. there's something about a zoo. the end.

I was supposed to read a book on theatre theory tonight, in french. but I fell asleep. debating whether I should stay up and actually read my text for once or give in and go back to sleep. you'd think going to university I'd be a little more capable of actually going to university. you'd think. there are some things that just sound better the french way, like going to university, rather than going to college. it's probably the french connotation of the cognate that makes going to college sound like going to middle school and going to university like, well, going to university. even if most of the time I'm probably acting like a middle schooler, it's nicer to pretend to be acting my age.

middle school: a cog in the mechanism of the man, not allowed to chew gum or wear flipflops or do what I want during the lunch hour, where sometimes many circumstances come together in a useful way and I actually learn something. retrospectively appreciating, once again, mr. nolan and his bizarro friendship, inspiration and teaching, how he didn't want kids, his ugly red aztec that I always made fun of, my nickname of hey you, how he probably knew how much I loved jimmy nelson, and that one moment when he finished his speech and I realized he was talking about me and he was choked up and I was getting up and there I was on stage being awarded, the 5 foot 1 mm I was, that moment of completeness when things were transmitted by eyes and smile and handshake. because we were on a stage. and how could we have said it anyway? even if we were just standing in the hallway.

there's just some people that, for some reason or another, you never forget. and you wonder if sometimes they ever remember you, are ever silently grateful for that little while that we had the chance to know each other.