I know it's not good to say I'll never...

But I’ll never put hairspray in my hair when I’m straightening it in rez ever again. This week, I had almost finished my hair when there was a POP and a little fireball - yes, it was fire, not just a spark. And I watched this little fireball fall away from my straightener and infront of my face until it went out, where thankfully there were no papers or real branches or matches or flammable materials lying innocently on my desk. My straightener no longer has a chord. I no longer have a straightener.

And I’ll never write a textbook, demand students read it, and then give three hours of lecture each week that are literally the exact same as the textbook. I don’t think I’ll ever like economics either. And speaking of textbooks and teachers, if (when) I become a teacher I’ll never read through the textbook faster than one could speak on fast forward and then put students on the spot, demanding answers and expecting them to know the stuff that I just “taught.” Everyone needs some time to soak in the difference between, and when to use, and why not to use the other, and what the other words in the sentence mean, and what on earth she said in the first place. Pendant, depuis, pour, en. Pendant this semester, francais is going to be a stressful class. Depuis the first day, I’ve known this. Pour some dumb reason I seem to be fabulous at finding faults with my French teachers. Maybe this is why I want to be a French teacher myself? Maybe I’m learning from all these supposed faults. Or maybe I’m doomed/blessed to find faults within myself?

I like that my French teacher has giant, deep dark eyes that remind me of a little girl I once knew. I like the textbook she chose. I like that she’s a tiny woman who speaks loud enough and definitely has control of the class. Maybe her control is because we sit, crammed together in the basement of a basement, in theatre seats where we cant open our books without being in the next person’s space. We cant move because of how close we are, and heaven forbid we touch the next person. And we all sit, waiting for her to randomly select our name and hoping we’ll be able to come up with the right answer – or one that’s not right but starts with the same letter and maybe she wont quite catch what we said. At least the basement of the basement is of a a beautiful building, I can try and imagine myself in a grand and glorious room upstairs, with magnificent old architecture. I sit beside a massive column and my boots squeek when they rub against the marble floor, and as long as I pretend that I went up the stairs not down when I entered the giant doors of Tabaret Hall, I can almost believe that I’m in a nice place, with a prof that inspires me. The one that I want to be like “when I grow up.” The one I’ll tell my unsuspecting students about, when it’s still time for them to be dreaming about how much better University is than high school.

I’m working on organizing my life this week. I need to have a place for everything, and apparently, all the places in my room were full before Christmas, so when I brought back more things – all useful – but still more, there were not enough places left. So I’ve reorganized my room. I’ve found a home for my empty suitcase, for my summer clothes, for my food, for my dishes. And now I’m on to organizing my school life. Yesterday, I sat on my bed, the sun shining, it’s beams warming me as simultaneously a refreshing breeze flows through my window. If I don’t look down, it’s possible I’d believe it’s Spring, maybe Summer. And the notes, that have travelled from binder to file to box to suitcase to Ottawa to various stacks around my room travelled back into one binder. Four and a half years of French. Enough to see my writing neaten, , the ridiculousness of how “just so” I needed my notebook to be increase, and enough to carefully see the shift from learning French in English to learning French in French. And of all these notes, all the time they stand for, the growth, the lessons, I chose the ones I needed, and was left with a pile of things I don’t. Now, unless you know me in some context which I can’t think of, or unless you’re just getting to know me, or don’t know me at all, you are going to sigh when you read what comes next. You’ll sigh, either as an expression of how proud of me you are, or simply because it is the best and most satisfying way to say “finally.” You’ll sigh alright, when you read that I took that pile of papers which didn’t make it into the binder, I held them in my hands for a minute, and then, sighing myself slipped them into the recycling bin. My room mate made me rip them up later.

I’ll never see those notes again.

Yes, I’m sentimental about my notes! And I’ll probably never not be.

Double negative intended.

Hopefully.

The end of last week was wonderful….I realized how strange it’s been being away from most of my Christian Friends. I went to Campus for Christ on Friday – it’d been more than a month since I’d seen everyone there. We had a good time at the Draft Pub afterwards, and then I came home and had a quiet evening to myself. Well, semi quiet. It was the first Friday back. Saturday I got some work and some relaxing done, and bought my French book. I had to go to a French bookstore, and for some reason, until I phoned to ask about their hours, it hadn’t occurred to me that a French book store would actually be French. I was very thrown off when the woman answered “bonjour?”. Thankfully, she didn’t treat me like a complete moron when I asked my question in English. But it certainly was weird being in the store, I know the cashier spoke English, because he obviously understood what my friend and I were saying to eachother, but he refused to speak it to us. I refused to speak French back.

I’d like to say I’ll never be so stupid again, but I’m pretty sure that I’ve done at least 10 equally ridiculous things since that moment. Maybe at least 10 a day.

Sunday morning I got up and took the bus to Orleans for church. I’d like to say that it is VERY weird having a bunch of people my age sitting with me in church! Lane has introduced me to a bunch of his friends there, and they often come and sit with me, as I get to church before Lane and his family. They like to take over the row and make Lianne (Lane’s mom) sit somewhere else. It’s very strange that the youth joking around in church are not my brother and his friends – but me and my friends. Don’t worry. We listen. We just have a little too much fun taking note of how many times Pastor Dan says “Time after Time” in his sermons, which sparks Sam to begin singing the song, and everyone to laugh as quietly as we possibly can. Even when he’s not sitting with us we at least smile when we hear it. Sometimes Sam does actions too. Sometimes I let my mature side win, and I ignore them, likely with the same expression on my face as when I ignore whatever shenanigans Tim and Nate and Samuel are up to. Usually not.

After church and lunch Lianne wanted to watch a movie, so we watched 500 days of Summer. Then Lane and I watched Spy Kids 3 and some ridiculous short clay-mation thing interviewing animals about aliens, and aliens about their immigration to earth. The last two were awfully funny. And by that I don’t mean really funny, I mean the kind of funny that is awful. I think Lane and I were just so completely shocked at how bad both were, and how crazy it was that they were on tv, and how sad it was that at one point all of us liked Spy Kids. We played spy kids, pretending to use our special devices and powers to save the world. We remember the Spy Kids toys at MacDonald’s. We remember how exciting the 3D parts were. 3D’s come a long way in the last 7 years. Then we set the table and helped with the finishing touches for dinner. I’m so thankful that they’ve brought me in to be part of their family!

Monday was interesting. I couldn’t find out which room my 9:00 Spanish Lab was supposed to be in, so I didn’t go to it. When I went to the 10:00 discussion group, there was another class in the room my schedule had listed, and another girl who’s schedule said she was supposed to be there for yet a third class. Even our teacher had the wrong room number. One student’s schedule suggested a different room, so we went down there. Nobody was there – so hopefully that’s actually where we’re supposed to be!

That brings me to today. It’s January 12, 2010. My best friend from Elementary School turns 19 today. I woke up, realizing that the feeling I had that I was getting sick is sadly reality. I have a nasty headache, no energy, and plugged sinuses, and school’s only been on for a week.

I’ll never get through a semester without being sick.

Oh, and by the way, I went outside without my coat today - it was brief, but it was still without my coat or mitts, or toque or scarf. It was so bright! And I thought to myself, "It's actually really warm today, for Ottawa."

Without the windchill, it was 20 degrees warmer at home. With the windchill, it was 30 degrees warmer.