lienne: A fountain pen nib, lying on paper. (Default)
some kind of horrible inertia i don't even know

c'mon self it's not going to be that bad

except now it will because you went and skipped two hours of the eight you should be getting to sleep in

(had a cold, don't have a cold anymore, going back to work now, stressed over things)
lienne: Craig Olejnik staring in total noncomprehension. (emotion: bewildered)
The title of this post is an exact transcription of what I spluttered immediately on reading the last sentence of Robin McKinley's Pegasus.

If you are at all fond of closure and are thinking of reading that book, don't. It doesn't end; it stops. The last scene, the last sentence, the last word, just compounds the problems that have been mounting since the book started, none of them are ever resolved, and I am given to understand that Robin McKinley doesn't do sequels.
lienne: Craig Olejnik staring in total noncomprehension. (emotion: bewildered)
I... have a job?

Interview happened at ten in the morning. Email with a job offer happened at quarter after four in the afternoon. They move fast in this place!

It's a tiny startup company that's doing really fascinating shit with file systems. I am excited as hell. And inexplicably not terrified! HERE'S HOPING THAT CONTINUES.

omg you guys.
lienne: Craig Olejnik staring in total noncomprehension. (emotion: bewildered)
Every week after class I take the subway to the end of the line and then get on a bus to go the rest of the way home.

Lately the station is being renovated; they're fixing up one of the escalators and, for reasons that escape me, replacing all the doors leading out to the bus platform from the waiting area.

Which is how I ended up last night coming upon the amazing visual of a big sign proclaiming BARRIER FREE ACCESS TO BUSES over a doorway from which the door had been removed. And temporarily replaced with wooden planks. A barrier, you might say.

If only I'd had a camera, I would've made it a macro.
lienne: A fountain pen nib, lying on paper. (Default)
Trigger warning I guess; also, I feel it is important to say before I start writing the rest of this entry that I am in no danger, and you can stop worrying now.

A dramatic retelling of my thought processes. )

Really, I just need to pin down my sleep schedule and stick to it like a burr. And people wonder why I try not to screw around with my wakeup/sleep times. Fuck. If I wasn't going to bed within spitting distance of midnight and waking up within spitting distance of dawn, maybe I could get a better handle on this bullshit.
lienne: A fountain pen nib, lying on paper. (Default)
Okay, so let me make something clear.

I love Toronto.

I love our ridiculous architecture. I love our giant penis with its accompanying lone testicle (it's called the Skydome, guys, Rogers Centre my ass). I love our land made of garbage.

I love the U of T campus. I love Queen's Park. I love the ROM, even with its giant spiky tumor. I love the Science Centre.

I love Yonge Street. I love Spadina. I love the Danforth. I love the hour-long walk from Bloor to Eglinton. I love all the movies that film here and try to pretend it is New York. I love the TV shows that film here and don't.

And the assholes who decided to host the G20 in the fucking downtown core, and the assholes who decided to pass secret laws denying us the rights we expect—the assholes who decided to let cop cars burn while they were busy harassing and assaulting peaceful protesters, the assholes who decided to beat up journalists, the assholes who decided to arrest more people than have ever been arrested en masse in the history of the country and then treat them all like shit: as far as I'm concerned these people have just walked up to the city I love and punched it in the face.
lienne: A fountain pen nib, lying on paper. (Default)
That G20 thing that just happened in my city?

Here is some of the shit that went down, and the original link. Um. Trigger warning for... I don't even know. Police state bullshit. Inhumane treatment of prisoners.

I know it's selfish of me, but (fuck it, that was the depression speaking, I'm allowed to have personal reactions) one sentence really caught my eye:

We heard stories of at least one person with Type 2 diabetes inside the Centre who had been deprived of insulin and fell unconscious.

Yeah. I'm... just going to cry now. Mom had Type 1, not Type 2, but somehow I don't think that would have mattered.

This is not my city anymore.

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