What an odd, creepy night last night. Instead of enjoying the night dancing at Zaphod's, I spent it on the couch, whining about my leg. Why? If I were melodramatic, I'd say the world is fucked. But no. Rather, on my way to the bus stop, two kids shot me with a pellet gun. Pleasant, really. Completely unprovoked/unexpected/unnerving... whatever you want to call it. More freaky than scary. It's not so much the pain that annoys me [although it does bloody well hurt and looks sick, etc, etc]. It's the lack of... not necessarily respect but... what is happening? What karmic wrong did I perform to deserve this? At least, that's what keeps cycling through my head... especially with those who love me saying I shouldn't be walking alone at night. But really... why shouldn't I be able to walk by myself at ten o'clock on a Sunday evening in a residential neighbourhood? Why not? I probably won't after this, but... it just seems so wrong [not that I'm insinuating anything in the world should be right, or even is...].
I guess this means no Sloan for me this week... or at least not tomorrow night. Sick. It just feels and looks sick. Meh.
On a happier, less confused note, this is the current mixtape mix, 'this is the one':
I should mention I got the cutest, sweetest birthday present from the kindest boy. An adorable button that proclaims 'sexiest woman in canada'. I wore it all weekend to the rock n roll shows [sianspheric + sonora, blurtonia + guided by voices]. superb weekend, all in all.
'I look like a big man, but I only got a little soul' - Pulp
