I think I'm starting to become addicted to being alone in busy places. I like the feeling of
possibility, and even the feeling that
someone might be staring at me.
I went to Future bakery for a few hours and did some studying, interspersed with staring at the homeless woman outside and copying phrases off of bathroom stall doors. I like this neighborhood. I really like it. You can smell the bread and the spices and the people who forgot to wear black, and get away from the dead-faced staleness wafting over from Bay and Bloor. You can look at the homeless people without feeling lost, without wanting to shiver uncontrollably with them like the woman on Yonge. And people look at you on the street. I like that.
Tonight I think I will sit around and have tea with boys who look like owls. And then I'll worry about how I'm going to pay for school next year and pants this year. And then I'll decide that this worrying will only destroy my security, and I'll go back to wasting money on alcohol and poetry, the way it should be. And then I'll go to sleep and wake up in the middle of the night to the sound of sirens and my roommate talking gibberish. It's beautiful, really, the combination of these things. I'm going to miss this next year.