aenemic attempts...


This evening, in a regular fit of antisocialness I watched Deepa Mehta's film Water that I had picked up at the library this afternoon. It was a good choice to watch this movie alone because I cried and cried, just like the time my younger sister and I watched The Joy Luck Club. Every scrap of tissue in my room was used up, my eyes are raw and sore, and generally I feel like junk. It was a beautiful film nonetheless, what some might call a mood piece. I don't know why I cried so much in this film... maybe it's a good idea to blame it on my iron levels, whisper aenemia ever so quietly so someone upstairs might give me some calaloo to take back with me to my Edmonhome.

Come September I will have been blogging for two years. What purpose I've served besides moments like these where I need to feel like I'm doing something other than waiting for my body to fall asleep. A person can go through my monthly archives listed on the side and read the whole lot of nothing that I have stored there. Looking back to this time last year I can tell that I was reading The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. That's what I've collected here, useless babble that one day I might look back on and briefly relive these moments of tediousness when sleep wouldn't come fast enough.

But my eyes are starting to get tired now. I think staring at this computer screen has finally done the trick.