I think I am hilarious.

My name is Natalie. I live and study in Toronto.
I really do think I am hilarious. Sorry.
Not Sorry.

Technically, it’s ‘summer-time’ for me — I have finished all my exams and my final grades are all in — but it doesn’t feel like it at all. Not just weather-wise, but just in the little things, as well. This is the first year in all of my five years of living in Toronto that I’m not moving at the end of April. It’s also only the second time that I’m not frantically job searching, either. It’s very weird.

My head hurts. It hurts from time to time, but I always forget to take an advil or tylenol bc I constantly forget that humanity has evolved to the point of having headache relief in the form of a pill. How weird — I constantly complain about the fact that wifi doesn’t work in so many places, and yet I forget that I can take a pill to cure my headache.

I’m tired. It was a long Easter weekend — I was home from Thursday night until Monday night. I cooked all day long on Friday, because it hit me that I’m not going to be the baby of the family forever, and one day, I might be the one responsible for making hunter’s stew and cabbage rolls and perogies and borscht to set the table with. I might be the one that has to pick out the cuts of meat from the butcher, and simmer the cabbage until it’s done. That, too, is an incredibly strange and uncomfortable thought. Anyway — I cooked all day long on Friday, and felt really proud of myself by Saturday, although my cabbage rolls could have used a little more salt. I am a perpetual, uncure-able under-salter.

I’m very excited for this summer. The beginning of summer always feels like I am cracking open a fresh, clean, blank notebook.

Today has been a day filled with good friends, good food, laughter, sunshine, 3/4-length jeans and ballet flats. Every once in a while I try to step back and soak in all the goodness that is in my life. I am so thankful everyone in my life, both good and bad, because the bad ones have helped carve me into the person I am today, and the good ones have helped support me and have gone out for cheap beer and listened to my silly anecdotes throughout it all. I am so lucky to be here.

I have been living alone-ish

for about ten days now — my old roommate moved in with her boyfriend at the beginning of the month.  Technically her lease doesn’t end until May 1st, which is when my new roommate is moving in.  I am so happy for my old roommate because how exciting is it to move in with your partner and start your life together?  To go home every night to your person and decide whether you want to watch Netflix and stay in or go walk in the park or whatever.  To brush your teeth side by side.  To argue over what plays on the radio, and how best to stack the dishes in the drying rack.  To have a sleepover with your best friend everyday.

I’m also really excited for my new roommate to move in.  I have been very lucky to have been living with my old roommate, L, for the past year, because she’s so considerate and lovely to live with, but I also think living with my new roommate, M, will be a blast as well.  

Also — interestingly enough — I’ve come to the realization that I hate living alone.  The past ten days or so have been a bit of a whirlwind, because I’ve been tangled up in exams, and I’ve also been cleaning out my place (I figured since my old roommate moved out, maybe I should downsize a bit as well and clean and get rid of some old things I don’t need).  I didn’t really hang out with my old roommate too much — we’d bump into each other in the kitchen from time to time and chat, but it was still just so nice to have someone there in the other room.  To just hear someone in the kitchen turn on the tap, or shuffle through the living room, or close the squeaky door into the bathroom.  It feels so weird, leaving my place after being at work and having it come back, untouched and unlived in for eight hours.  I don’t like it.  It feels weird.  Which is great, by the way — living with people is so much cheaper than living alone, so this discovery is kind of like finding out you’re allergic to lobster and caviar but can’t get enough of the taste of ramen noodles and lettuce.

Anyway, life is good and I’ve been very lucky, roommate-wise, for the past year.  Thank goodness.  I feel like I’m coming very close to being able to say, “Oh, I’ve had every single type of roommate imaginable” — but it’s very nice to be able to say that the past year has been super pleasant and I’m totally certain that this coming year will be really nice as well.  

Oh hey friends, if you’re looking for me I’ll be sitting in my bathtub, fully clothed and eating rice pudding with a soup ladle, just cryin’ away about my future.

Oh hey friends, if you’re looking for me I’ll be sitting in my bathtub, fully clothed and eating rice pudding with a soup ladle, just cryin’ away about my future.

mymodernmet:

Napkin Notes by Garth Callaghan

A 44-year-old father with terminal cancer writes 826 notes on napkins to pack with his daughter’s lunches for everyday she has class, through high school.

(via coffee-and-yoga)

I am great with names.

  • Me: What was his name? Damien? Daniel? David?
  • Jasmine: ...Albert.
THIS IS THE MOST HEART-BREAKING THING I HAVE EVER SEEN

THIS IS THE MOST HEART-BREAKING THING I HAVE EVER SEEN

(via dutchster)

Sometimes I just don’t know what I’m feeling.

Yesterday morning I left my apartment

with my black coat on, the one reserved for not-so-cold winter days. I hope this means that spring is just around the corner. The sun was rising and I was walking to the subway station and I was behind a very tall man who walked with a tiny hunch in his shoulders. He had a proper black jacket and dark slacks on and fancy brown shoes — he looked like whatever comes to mind when someone says a “regular business man,” you know? Except that his socks — which kept peeking out as he took a step — were bright turquoise with white stripes.

image

And I thought, “how funny,” and immediately imagined him as like, a goofy dad whose daughters dance by keeping their little sock feet on top of his, or like, the kind of man who hated brussel sprouts all his life and when he became an adult he decided he’d never eat them again because he had a say in what he had for dinner, or perhaps the kind of person who enjoys listening to the BeeGees. I don’t know how or why, but I saw his socks and felt like that made him an interesting human.

The desk in my room faces the window, and sometimes when I’m doing work, I’ll look up and just people-watch a little bit. It was 6:25pm, I was studying statistics and feeling oh so hopeless, and I peeked out my window and saw Turquoise Socks walking back from the subway station, with his proper black jacket and shoulders with a tiny hunch.

Maybe he is a grouchy man that hates the BeeGees and loves brussel sprouts. Maybe he prefers Nirvana to the BeeGees, maybe he is allergic to brussel sprouts, or maybe he is none of those things but this morning he woke up and realized he had none of his regular black socks left and his partner said, “You can wear a pair of mine, but the only ones I have are these,” and so he was stuck and had to wear turquoise socks to work and spent the whole day hoping no one would notice.

Andrew Bird

—The Happy Birthday Song

I started off my birthday by un-glamourously going to No Frills for groceries (apples and cottage cheese for health, bagels and brie cheese for luxurious lunches on my birthday week, and easter egg chocolates because I am a child). I listen to my ipod a bit too much I think, but this song came on just as I was leaving Dufferin Mall and I listened to it along my walk home. Bloor and Dufferin is not the prettiest area, but sometimes if you walk slowly along the sidewalk and listen to a song like this, even chipping paint and ruffled pigeons and crumpled garbage have something lovely about themselves all together.

I got my tattoo yesterday. I fell asleep at 9:00pm on a Friday because I have had very little sleep this week — school and stress, you know?

The streets were wet this morning. I think it’s because all the snow is melting. March is my most and least favourite month — most favourite, because it is my birthday, and least favourite, because the city gets very ugly with all the melting, gritty, dirty snow and the piles of cigarette butts it uncovers and all the potholes that the salt wore away into the roads.

I got my bangs cut yesterday. She cut them a bit too short (she always does) but that’s okay.

I don’t mind that it is a quiet Saturday afternoon. I am somewhat hopelessly studying for my upcoming statistics test (you know those classes where you give up on trying to be one of the top students and instead you just hope you don’t fail?). I talked to my mom on the phone today for a long time and she made me laugh so hard that my stomach hurt. I listened to a show on the radio about people who don’t get any pleasure from music and it made me sad, because I can’t even begin to explain how much music means to me. I thought about all the times I went to see Regina Spektor with my cousin. I thought about how listening to Polish Christmas carols warms me from the inside out, like an old house getting warmed by a furnace. My favourite thing to do when preparing for a party is make a playlist, and I will always associate certain artists with certain places and people and seasons. Feist is summer. The Sound of Music is Jasmine. Fleet Foxes is moving from my old apartment to my current one, last May, in 2013.

When I think about all the good things and people in my life, my heart starts to feel like it’s going to burst.