a dirty room and a clean sheets candle

there are a pair of greek men in my bathtub. one of them looks straight out of the 80s, with a matching leather pant-jacket suit. the shoulders are squared and military; they make me think of the good times. except the good times usually don't involve broken faucets in both the kitchen and the bathroom. i need a shower, whether or not it's "national don't take a shower day," according to facebook. he's yelling now about having to get us a new lock. he's neglecting the mold on the bathroom ceiling.

it is 52 degrees today, and feels like 52. the congruity is a major shift, and it, much like the nicer weather, is a significant change. the mystery of winter escapes us--the false advertising of televised temperatures.

i'm trying to write macros for a screenplay template on my computer. this confuses me, and i suppose it's a good way of avoiding the actual writing. sarai and i used to play barbies, but would probably spend the bulk of the time dressing and brushing the dolls, and organizing the barbie furniture in the barbie closet, and prepping the dolls for the scenario that we would never actually play out. i think we used to sleep in the closet, too, just to be close to them.

a few more months in montreal. i'm feeling a bit reclusive, as we millikens often do. thursday i walked north into the sun and little italy. i dove into a little cafe and read a magazine in french and ate a subpar pain au chocolat.

my room needs to be cleaned. i brought to montreal only clothes that i wanted to get rid of, the thrift store destined objects from my wardrobe. i still have too much and am anxious, in a way, for these months to finish so i can throw out all my things in a redemptive act. they've been led on, in a way, these items, and i should have been more honest with them from the getgo.