Subconsciously, it's Anything but Traumatic.

Two days ago you said that you had something very important to tell us. You were very excited. Mom and Dad got very excited because they thought that you were finally not living in sin. You were not, in fact, not living in sin. But you told us that she was pregnant. Dad threw an empty cardboard box at your head. It hit you directly in the face. The impact set off a fit of rage comparable to a hyperactive thirteen year old boy having a temper tantrum. I could not help but laugh. Not outright, the way you would if you saw someone slip and fall on their ass, or if you heard a teenage girl on the bus speaking earnestly about, well, anything that teenage girls speak earnestly about. This was silent laughter, the sort you keep to yourself. That inward snicker that becomes your only defence against the unruly and the totalitarian. And then I realized that I've been doing it, without realizing, my entire life.

PRESENTING TITANIC IN 30 SECONDS (AND RE-ENACTED BY BUNNIES)

Through random chance, slight web log addiction, and utter workplace boredom, I've stumbled upon the most amusing animation site I've been introduced to since becoming acquainted with Homestar. I recommend the Icon Story.

Could of? Would of? Should of?

Question: why is it that so many people do not understand the subtly blatant art of contractions?

I've never really been one to heed the shrill cry of grammar harpies; frankly, I couldn't care less about the use of contractions in everyday speech. Or writing, for that matter. But for the love of crap, people! You've got to know what they mean! It's not like these are particularly challenging concepts. The 'it's's and 'what's's and 'must've's of the world are pretty straight forward. Most people understand these contractions quite well, and yet a large portion of this most is at a complete loss when it comes to translating meaning into text. So here, kiddies, is a simple grammar lesson from Sarah, honourary harpy:

've >< of; 've = have. HAVE. For the love of crap, HAVE!

Thank you, and good day.

The Lost Lamb, The Lost Bread, The Lost Boys

Lyla Jones claims that she is like a little lost puppy making her way back home. I, on the other hand, feel like a baby whose mother left her on a doorstep in hopes that she would be taken in and find a better life. Of course, my 'mother' is acting more on her own desire for a better life than her desire for me to have one. And she left me on the doorstep in -40 degree weather. I keep trying to tell myself that I should not be as distraught as I am. In the overarching web of the world, this is not so devastating a life event. Nonetheless, my neck is starting to stiffen and I can feel a familiar tightness, the sort that tends to preceed the formation of a lump in my throat, pulling against my chest. Eid Mubarak Sarah.

Please, Could you not?

Everyone has a few little things that make them cringe. Not everyone can rank them, though. My top X please-could-you-nots:

1. Write little notes in my planner or on my notes. Pencil is forgivable, but ink shall incur my wrath.


2. Eat or chew, even for a few seconds, with your mouth open


3. Call me "Sarah Malik" with those horrible, grating, short North American a's


4. Leave used tissues lying around. Under pillows, in blankets, on couches and tables... the answer is always EWW!


5. Stare - at me, or over my shoulder - from within two feet of my side

"She can almost forgive capitalism for that."

Where would I be without any of the smallest things that have made me myself?

"Only the best art can order the chaotic tumble of events. Only the best can realign chaos to suggest the chaos and order it will become." - Michael Ondaatje

Perhaps my life is just that. A set of little baubles, events and plans and people, coming together and falling apart, moving in and out of the foreground like ants on a grass curatin in the wind.

Sinking In

Back in the soul trap that is the government, I'm not quite as despondent as I was the last time around. I'm not sure whether my current situation is better than my previous situation or not. These days the tedium is mostly characterized by a lack of things to do. The boredom is punctuated by a few very interesting projects, but, for the most part, there is less punctuation in my boredom than one might find in a second grader's failed attempt at grammar homework. I suppose I should not complain though. No, wait, the purpose of this entry was to find out whether or not I still have reason to complain. Note to self: when contradicting self, there is no need to make note of said contradiction in a recorded media which can be retrieved and used against self to prove self's mental inadequacies. In my previous situation I was constantly tense because of the overwhelming amounts of tedious data work that was piled atop me. So I guess the titanic clash today equals Situation: Overwhelmed-with-Tension VS. Situation: Underwhelmed-with-Boredom. Who will win? They say that only time will tell, but we all know I'm too impatient to wait for time.