A new day passes

And I am reminded of the unbounded and boundless beauty and mirth in people.

I did not have more or less a restful sleep than otherwise but I think that the fever which gripped me so suddenly last night burnt off somewhat by sunrise. My head still throbs from the battles within but I have begun a small recovery - who knows for sure? Some wave of turmoil, tsunami proportioned, must have crested and crashed upon the rocks of my physical self and I was laid low by my own thoughts of trouble perhaps?

I did spend a good portion of the day reading and re-reading the copy of Cosmopolitan down in the U-Pass production room that is our little dank, dark corner of the Koerner library. Kirsten and Erin will attest to my continued mirth and tittering over what I was reading.

"If you read Cosmo to get a better perspective on women, you will get a pretty twisted view" quoth Kirsten. She spent the day, when uninterrupted by my constant giggling and guffaws, immersed in the 5th Harry Potter book.

I had meant to spend some time this weekend visiting my parents, since I had not seen them since before I left for my holiday in New York, but it was thought quite natual that I should be put to work right away, fevering and rotting away in the doldrums that is the quiet, sunless, flourescent-lit room that is our temporal dungeon of the U-Pass production room.

I have been saying that I am, as yet, unused to the change in pace from New York to Vancouver. Yet what must also be true is that even though this last adventure seems slightly less that my last great one in and over Australia, I am still feeling its lingering hold over my spirit and the wild tumult of the uncompromizing streets. I have always felt that what is inside me is a bird of fire - a flying creature of colours myraid and bright, yet kept chained in a small, close, drab and heavy iron box, in a dark room. Perhaps we all feel that way, but I feel it as strongly as ever and have a difficulty in reconciling the fact that a road of infinite possibilities lies before me and yet I am forced to turn away and return to my closed and darked cell. Something within me yearns to yell and scream about as when we were young and carefeee upon a field of verdant grass. Has life become so staid as to become a small personal hell of diminished and unaccomplished dreams and hopes?

And yet I draw strength and some small confidence in seeing the unrestrained care and youthful joy in Erin as I talked to her briefly today about going to a bridal shower, her trip, her unknown cellular stalker, and her stretching on the carpet. I noticed that she has crystal clear eyes as she lay there, feet up against the wall vertical. Then again, perhaps it was the blood rushing to the brain. I gave thanks for these kind and unpretentious women and their acceptance of my own fun in reading the fabled cosmo.

And for being them. Thanks for reminding me.

Hope.