Immeubles

Sometimes, staying in one city too long feels like house arrest. The bigger the city, it seems, the longer you last. But when you're surrounded by everything the same, the same now as it was so many years ago, the expiry date draws nigh. It's like itching powder sifted down my shirt, upping the dose every day, making me move, or at least want to. The irony is, the ones who pour the powder are the same who are pulling back, saying no, no, no.

Why I shouldn't be in broadcast.

the riddler

We've heard the riddle. It's about as puzzling as the case of the chicken or the egg, and just as persistent.... If a tree falls in the middle of nowhere in the woods, and there's not a lumberjack in earshot to hear it, does it really make a sound?

But with lumberjacks replaced by tractors, and fewer handsome woodsmen to saw away at the pines, we're left with the need for a new update on the age-old riddle. And when you're working your weekends away, you do a lot of thinking, and not a lot of colourful story-telling―no catching up over coffees, no stories over Starbucks nor Strongbows, no face-to-face heart-to-hearts. So, Riddle me this: If some story-worthy, unbelievably exciting thing happens to you, and you have no one to tell it to (at least by the time it slips your mind), is it really that great after all?

You tell me.

The In-Betweeners.

A quasi-familiar feeling tonight.

My laundry's halfway done—the clothes are clean but lying crumpled on the floor.

My schooling's 49 per cent—essays and assignments complete, exams yet to be written.

I'm halfway up the stairway to health, with smoothies and salads during the day, but hot dogs and re-heated cookies at night.

I'm somewhere between sobriety and bacchanalia, somewhere in the 150s of a 300-page book, stages of sleep and rest confused between the bed, the couch, and the floor.

I can't decide between super-sweet Sugar Ray and The super-sick Sonics.

The only thing I've completed is the (fully-necessary) full glass of water in front of me.

Spring's here, but summer's peeking its red-hot face 'round the corner.
Evenings are long, but too short to be considered the epic nights of an endless summer.

I'm queen for a day, but joker for the night.
The glass sits half-full, and half-empty, but either way, it's at tipping point.