I've forgotten what Canadian forests feel like. Sometimes, on my runs, I catch a familiar smell and I figure it's Bucharest cuz that's way closer than Toronto. It smells the way it used to when Grandma would lock her kitchen and open the windows that gave into our building's inner courtyard garden (over-glorified title really considering it was basically a concrete wreck filled with cigarette butts, bread crumbs and pigeon nests)
Anyways, there's nothing like running. Yoga's wonderful and all and I love it for the peace of mind and longer legs and thinner torso but there's nothing like running.
Running's what I do best. I just tear across the road and feel the wind and I'm free. Sometimes I don't go out friday nights so I can run. Truth.
And that's okay. Most of my friends are leaving soon.
Therefore.
I'm going to have a very full summer. I would like July to rip at the seams. I am currently working on finishing the Book List I made in January.
By July I need to complete:
Enchantress of Florence
History of Beauty
Hellen Keller's autobiography
Ada or Ardor
and the Science of Laughter
I've also begun Kerouac's On The Road. I read that during my lunch breaks and it's breaking my heart.
This summer I am only reading Foreign Literature and Poetry.
- 100 Years of Solitude
- The Castle
- E.E. Cummings
- Baudelaire
- Rimbaud
- Jean Cocteau
- Plath
- Eminescu
- Cosbuc
That'll be enough for now. I have anxiety for life. This place makes me forget I'm a woman. I haven't thought about sex in months. I'm basically 16 again. Reading, highlighting, polaroids with friends and I feel pure. Dipped in honey and wax and left beside some white linens or something. Does this make sense?
Probably not. But I feel something. Something magical is about to happen. Soon.
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