I freaking hate the internet

So here I am, I'm all happy, I'm in Odessa and filming away to my little amateur's heart's delight, and I find there's an internet cafe in my hotel... awesome I think. But whatever, the MSN doesn't work, and my e-mail brings me nothing but empty inbox which should by rights be overflowing.
I should just never use the internet. I should turn my back on it completely... it only ruins things... but I'm so addicted to the connection that it always draws me back -- even if the connection is only one way, apparently.

K & J - Thanks for your constant and punctual replies... you give me hope.

Cheers.

The Most Depressing Post ..so far.. Optional Reading

You know that optional reading for class, that you really should do, but won't be included on the exam? Well if I were conducting a course of me right now, this would be on the optional reading list, and no one would bother.

So stop. Right now.

Is there a saying somewhere that 80% of news is bad? I know there's one that says no news is good news... I'm starting to agree. I might instate a regulation on all e-mails to me "You Shall Not Send Me Any Bad News" But then how boring would the narrative be?
Lately, between Illness, Death, Absence, Regrets, and Internships, I've come to certain further conclusions about life as a whole.
- I'd rather die suddenly at 40, like the good old days, than die lingeringly at 100, as we seem so anxious to do now-a-days. Maybe our life expectancy has been too extended, and maybe we were never meant to live past 60? Maybe that's why there's such a rise in cancer? I mean, I'm 21, and I feel like real life hasn't even started for me yet (I keep phoning, but the Real Life Office is always closed -- they keep similar hours to the International Programs Office at Queen's). But if I'd lived in a different century, my life would be more than half over, and I'd be well on my way to becoming -- well actually, I'd probably already have been burned for a heretic, but that likelihood aside -- maybe I'd be a novelist (well, maybe a poet) already, writing under an assumed (male) name, a habit which would be fondly tolerated by my husband of 5 or 6 years, as long as I popped out enough babies.
- The most tragic thing about life (at least, I think so at this moment, but my opinions change like seasons - which by the way it's f-ing cold for October) is that you must make choices, without any assurance that they will be the right ones. For instance: I would much rather be at home right now, holding the little blonde paw of my dying dog than be in this godforsaken country (it's not actually, it's quite the opposite in fact, but any country can be godforsaken when you don't want to be in it) -- but how could I know when I left that some stranger would be holding her when she got the final shot? Choices are a most extreme form of torture - as are helplessness and regret.

Okay, sorry, I'll try to be happy the next time I get my hands on a computer. I'm going to Odessa on Thursday, so all you filmies expect pictures of me in footsteps of Eisenstein.

cheers?

I cannot stress this enough:

I AM NOT IN CANADA. and I really wish the exchange office could get their act together... Today I got a nice little formulaic e-mail, probably which was sent out to all the exchangees with the name and location changed for each, telling me that I needed to do all the things that I've already done -- in advance, like the good organized little anally-retentive perfectionist that I am -- so I had to respond, and waste my time explaining to this woman all the things that the exchange coordinator already knows. Couldn't I have had some nice e-mails today? At least I got one from the b/f telling me what fun TG weekend was -- which brought out in relief how much fun mine was NOT, being that I was sick in bed nearly the whole time and duly resented by the other units occupying the apartment, because I take up the whole couch when I'm in bed -- regarding which TRIUMPH! The goddamned couch actually DOES pull out into a bed - now occupied by me! It's no wonder we couldn't figure it out before now, it's freaking tricky, but I must say we were surprised that any self-respecting Ukrainian apartment wouldn't have a pull-out at least, since (sorry Ikea) they are the REIGNING MONARCHS of space-efficient furniture. Everything collapses and folds away... EVERYTHING: There's even a housekeeper who lives in a drawer under the sink who unfolds and shakes herself out for her bi-weekly cleaning of the apt-- you should hear her giggle when we run the garborator. See my straight face?
All joking aside though folks, there are new pictures up on the web if you care to check them out. They are all accompanied by succinct litte narratives. You can follow the link on the side bar -->
Also in terms of postcards, well, I'm working up the nerve to enter the post office and mail them. I'm putting them all in little envelopes so they don't get lost or.. read, I guess.

That's it.
Cheers

The latest saga of my brother's well being...

... is that he has developed arthritis. Of all the things we thought he might be afflicted with, to be honest that one never crossed my mind, although it's a helluva lot better than other options I had been entertaining. A little Celebrex and it's cleared right up almost. He's walking funny, but he just sort of looks like he's trying to keep his pants up, which I think he does normally anyway. So I did a little research, and there are certain varieties of arthritis that attack young people - usually men (haha, check another one in the pro girls column) - mostly around the lower back and hips (exactly what was up with my bro) but that is manageable with the right amount of excercise and good posture. So I guess we better start whipping this boy in to shape! And sit up straight dammit!
In other more exciting news, for all of you anyway who saw fit to send me your addresses, I spent an hour in a little bar yesterday, caffeinating myself and writing postcards. I bet if you hook up with all the people who got one, and stick them all together... well, some of them say the same thing but... you might get a whole letter. Awesome hey? It's like a scavenger hunt -- who does A like enough to send a postcard to and how can I find them when their address is probably under their roommate's name? Yeah, I'm getting kind of lame here. Better luck next time you check this site... I'll try to perform up to par in future.

Cheers

Cripes!

Gripes? I don't know, it sounded like an exciting title.

You know what would be nice? A little give and take in this cyber socializing I have going here. And by that I mean a little more take on my part, and a little more give on the parts of other certain individuals who shall remain nameless, but then, generally they always do on this site... except for me, and I think I've just slipped up a couple times.
You know what would also be nice? Some indication in the anonymous posts of the identity of the anonymous poster... I know that this sort of defeats the definition of the word anonymous, and if I weren't so damnably good at identifying people by the sound/way of their typing I would be not a little put out.
I'm having trouble lately keeping the running of my thoughts on the same track, let alone in the same stadium, and am finding that the things that I write are suffering in that they begin some where and end up somewhere entirely different. I'm sure you've all noticed, those of you who have gotten e-mails longer than 3 lines in the last week. (Some of you have gotten THREE such e-mails and still do not deign to respond. Ahem, ahem.)
So, on this note, I'm foregoing the market dissertation. I think I might go there today anyway, and maybe find some new interesting material while I'm there... as long as the little old lady sitting on the upturned milk carton doesn't kill me... she's been looking shifty lately. Damn westerners, buying food, eating, feeding themselves... how dare they?

Did I mention I feel a little resented in this city?