"That elf is coming at you with a shovel." - Sarafina D.

It's gonna be a long night in the laundromat - this place is a fucking madhouse right now. I'm stealing WiFi from some dude named Jaco and waiting for a dryer to open up. I should have eaten before I came here. It's been a long day already; in fact, it's been a long month, and by month I mean February, and by February I mean "depressing." I have not been myself for the last little while - though I am nonetheless on cloud fucking nine about how certain bits of the past two weeks have gone. Did you know I can still get nervous on a date with the above-quoted elf-spotter? I didn't, till Friday. I'm not sure why that makes me happy, but it really does.

Speaking of eating, yesterday was Teen Girl Squad's one-year anniversary at 3QF. I bought them a box of salt to commemorate. They commemorated by playing thumping electronica while I was trying to watch Nicholas Roeg's Walkabout; a pretty decent film, and worth seeing. I spent all of yesterday doing some contract HTML work on my living room floor and watching Deep Space Nine, which is not a bad way to spend a Saturday if you have nothing else to do. The "I never sit down" feeling is subsiding; now it's turning into "I just want to go outside." What I could really do with right now is a nice long walk. Like from here to, say, the Ex. And then maybe up to Christie Pits. I wonder if my iPod (whose battery, like every other battery in every other electronic gadget I currently own, has gone to shit) would last that long.

Today while waiting for a table at the Bay/Bloor Starbizzle and contemplating the Manulife Shield which prevents all incoming and outgoing transmissions, I happened upon a ten-year-old blonde boy who was absolutely losing his shit; he couldn't find his father. I tried to help him out some, and when his father finally arrived, the man turned out to be a rather standoffish Brit who immediately started scolding his son for a) not being able to find him, b) losing his shit, and c) dressing his coffee wrong. I was relatively cheesed off after that so I went and made friends with a 3-year-old named Daniel, who (without prompting, mind you) confided in me that "Darth Vader is the scariest." It sort of made my day, along with realizing that I've been sort of muddled and anxious in my mind lately, but that it's all right, and not permanent. "All right and not permanent" actually describes most thing we get all knotted up about. I may have to make a little card I can carry around in my wallet.

Dryer's opened up, 6 minutes to go, and I'm done.