so lovely dancer, call a dancer

So, I have a little less than a week left. I've officially decided to nix my two weeks of further gallivanting. ("Gallivanting" is now officially my parents' favourite word in reference to me.) It's not that I've had enough -- may the universe open up and swallow me whole if that ever happens. It's more... I know what I want to do, and while I can't do anything about the timeline, I can't help but feel that my time (and money) can be better spent elsewhere. So, I bit the bullet and called Air Canada to move my flight -- and, promptly understood why everyone bitches about them. Seriously... I was on hold for 40 fucking minutes. Roaming, long distance toll charges apply and everything. Rogers and Air Canada... what a crap sandwich they make. My heart broke a little, but I'm okay with it for the most part. The parents were kind of mad -- mostly because I never told them I'd be traveling post-internship. (My bad.) But, I think my mom is (not-so-)secretly glad that I'm headed back earlier.

Switching topics: My dad's made peace with my decision, I think. So much so that he's already making plans to get me my own place (our old condo... tenants will have to be displaced) and thinking about what kind of car to buy me (because god forbid I use any of his babies). It's more than a little alarming listening to him, really. I don't want to sink back into all that. It's partly why I left in the first place after all. I realize it's ridiculous to be complaining about this sort of thing, not to mention a little tacky... but, whatever. It worries me, is all.

Just got back from Prague a couple of days ago. But, I don't want to talk about it. (Yet?)

Whatever.

It's kind of gross, but all I've been listening to for the past couple of weeks: Tessellate (Tokyo Police Club); After Hours (We Are Scientists); Keep The Car Running (Arcade Fire); and the albums Places Like This (Architecture in Helsinki) and For Emma, Forever Ago (Bon Iver). That last one has never failed to put me in a wall-staring funk of smoky yearning and silvery, quickening tide pools. Should this worry me, I wonder.

(A Prague-reference: I may never be able to listen to MGMT again.)

And, I'm out.