Was in Montreal Tuesday night. You would've thought downtown Crescent Street would be the best place to spend St. Pat's. Apparently not. Jailbait everywhere. I left the university bubble to get away from the children in adult bodies, the immaturity and recklessness of it all, and traded it in for even more children. Sixteen year olds dressed up like whores.

Something else happened to me that night, a kind of booty call gone wrong. I surprised myself with a lot of poorly timed realizations. Just because you shove your baggage into a corner so you can't see it, doesn't mean its not there, doesn't mean you'll forget about it. Apparently I have a lot of unresolved issues that insist on resurfacing. I try to push them away and ignore them, but they push back harder. It was a miserable experience.

The end of the semester dawns on this town. Hours in front of books and my computer await me. But after that, its over. I don't know if I'll take spring classes or find some bullshit job to occupy my time, but I do know that I'll be moving out of this frat house. That is such a reassuring thought. I know once thats done, my daily stresses of dealing with life won't be so diffucult to cope with.

I have two cats who follow me everywhere I go. They are such empathetic beings and must know that deep inside I'm a bit lonely. I enjoy their company, and laugh as they follow me upstairs to downstairs, room to room, and purr and cuddle with me in bed. Who needs men when you have cats.