Dear Diary, today was a Wednesday. It kind of sucked.

Well, this will be a lot like a journal because I don't really have anything... pertinent to say.

I'm still friendless, which means I spent a lot of today walking, driving, and sewing... really, anything that you can do alone... comfortably. I had to cook dinner. Stuffed Bell Peppers. They turned out pretty good. I am no longer amused that I can cook well. I dashed garlic powder onto the onions and tomatoes and rice and ground beef quite drably. I am slightly more excited about my sewing talents, recently discovered.

Last week I bought a ginormous couch from The White Elephant (a second hand shop that donates to the Children's Memorial Hospital in Chicago). But the couch is a tad bit gaudy, so I decided to make plain colored pillow covers for all of its cushions. Sadly, I only had enough fabric to make one cover (the pillows are equally ginormous). But I think I did a good job. It's a very pretty yellow pillow now. So I've been hugging it, transferring dying emotions to the inanimate object.

Which is another thing! The level of boredom I'm feeling has caused me to become very reflective on every relationship I've ever had that didn't end completely negatively. So, like four (out of sixteen).

Friendly Fires!!! ARE. AMAZING. I am actually very hurt that they aren't playing more than one show in America, and that one show is in New York City... when I'll be out of the country. Screw you Friendly Fires! I'm probably one of your biggest fans. I have been listening to their new album, Pala, almost constantly. My favorite song is Blue Casseette, which has a pretty awesome abstract story behind it:

I found a tape in my back garden
A blue cassette covered in dirt
And through the dust the reels start turning
And played some memories stored in it

As I hear your voice 

it sets my heart on fire
That with all the noise
It sets my heart on fire

And I can't stop the reels from tuning
I can't stop the tape machine
As I hear your voice 

it sets my heart on fire

I found a place
I thought was stolen
A place that's built on noise and needs
And in my hand it spins so gently
Fills a void rewinding in me

As I hear your voice
It sets my heart on fire
That with all the noise
It sets my heart on fire

And I can't stop the reels from turning
I can't stop the tape machine
As I hear your voice 

it sets my heart on fire

Lay back down I told myself
How could I ever forget you?

As I hear your voice
It sets my heart on fire
That with all the noise
It sets my heart on fire

And I can't stop the reels from turning
I can't stop the tape machine
I found a tape in my back garden
A blue cassette covered in dirt

It's pretty much the most amazing song I've heard in the last two and a half months. The percussion is also super sweet. See, I like Vampire Weekend, but sometimes I feel like they get too carried away with making their drumming/percussing sound too abstract. I feel like the percussion for this track just makes sense. It's anticipatory, really. I also really like the phrase "Heart on Fire." curse you cut copy!

I missed the last day of the fabric store sale because I spent about an hour trying to fix my accursed bobbin fixture. It came out of the machine!!! I'm not a mechanic. I wish I could be. I wish I could marry a mechanic. But as it were, I am not a mechanic nor do I possess the inherit ability to pull things apart and put them back together again (yes, I know, if I was Anakin Solo I wouldn't have any of these problems, and I'd be the sexiest combination of black hair and blue eyes known to the extended universe of Star Wars).

But even before I decided to throw my life away sewing all day, I took a walk to Walgreens to pick up my family's eight prescriptions. It would've been nine, but I have NO IDEA HOW PRESCRIPTIONS WORK! Good thing there will be pharmacy students at Rosalind Franklin next year. Maybe I can bother them with how all of my twenty prescriptions operate on completely different, and yes, I'd say arbitrary, rules. I AM LEGITIMATELY SICK! IT SHOULDN'T BE A MIND FUCK TO GET PEN NEEDLES. WHAT NORMAL PERSON WOULD WANT TO HAVE PEN NEEDLES? WHAT DRUG ADDICT WOULD WANT TO HAVE PEN NEEDLES?! Anyway, on my walk back, all the packets of drugs shoved into my cute little backpack, and I, wearing my cute little red skort and matching headband, I felt very much like a North Shore Drug Mule. I also decided to take obscure routes back to my house. I saw a beautiful blue crane on a path that I had never taken before, one that winds around the Northfield Fire Station. The crane and I locked eyes (it had huge eyes), before it flew away quite awkwardly (they are very lanky... more lanky than even I!) People say walking is good for you, and because I do little of anything ambulatory, I've decided I should try to move for at least thirty minutes a day. I'm becoming a fat sack of crap, yes, you're right.

And with that, those offenses mentioned above, and all the other little horrors this life is throwing at me, I shall go to sleep, clutching my ginormous, yet beautiful, yellow pillow that allows me to reminisce about that French-Canadian I haven't thought about in four years, and listening to Blue Cassette, the very excellent song from the Friendly Fires which shall allow me to consider all the interesting voices that have set my heart on fire in recent years and determine which one continues to be the most incendiary.

Auditory Recall.

You all sound 
and continue to sound
so idiotic.

Why couldn't I have slept with a Chris Willis?
Or a Sam Sparro?
 
Alas, always alas, my ears fell for
toddler-esquely frayed and high tones 
or those
Low, slow, and stupid. 

My piano teacher, years back
complimented my perceptive sense of pitch
while condemning my hands and their inability to practice
yet I don't shudder when I heard you speak, a bad clash of incorrect chords 

Recently, only her's was even somewhat close 
to being perfect,
to being something worthy of dreaming of,
of falling over, tripping on the articulations of tonal arpeggios,
and even then. Well...
Small sample size statistically invalidates all propositions.