Yesterday took a neat turn. I went to class feeling kind of depressed and didn't say much of anything during the lecture. At the end of class Paul invited everyone out for dinner with the film crew, but I was intent on getting home and waiting out the rest of the day. I went to Robarts to see if Subway was still open, but it had just closed, so I went to catch the subway home.

I'd say I'm an adventurous guy, but sometimes I have these moments of hesitation that I end up giving myself a hard time over later. Heading to the station I thought about how good it would be to go out for a beer and relax and talk with someone. While I was waiting for the train, Dru and Andrea (from the film class I took last semester) came up behind me and reiterated Paul's invitation, so I went along. Another Ethiopian restaurant on Bloor near Ossington called Queen of Sheeba. It was mostly the same group that went out for Dru's birthday - graduate film students Sarah, Paul, Sal, and Alicia, plus Tony. After eating six of us walked to a bar at Dundas and Ossington and got wrecked. It was fun sitting around, talking shit and letting loose. Tony gave me a lift home at the end of the night and I told him and Sarah that they'd made my day.

Simple enough, but I was glad to get a second chance at turning my attitude around. The funny thing is that more than one person last night mentioned that they didn't like Wednesdays. I'm completely in that camp. Something about Wednesday gets to me. But yesterday proved an exception to the rule.

Today I wrote a poem about my mother.

I went through some of the boxes I had stowed away in my parents' basement. They were already well on their way to being impossible to get to amid the stuff my dad is clearing out of the garage; forty years of history adds up. I did rescue a few choice texts. More than I had anticipated, in fact, so I'll have to pack them in a separate suitcase for the return trip. It was hard to narrow down under the orders echoing through my head. "You should have a copy of The Canterbury Tales, just in case." Right. Well, whatever helps me sleep better (the inflatable mattress is barely covering it).

My brother-in-law Mike celebrated his birthday with a party at my sister's place. It was good to see Sarah again. She's stressed about her job as an education assistant looking after up to 15 kids a day during her week. My other sister Holly, the one who just got engaged, works as a receptionist in a methadone clinic, so both of my sisters are experiencing pretty high stress environments. Sarah is having panic attacks and she's just started back after the summer. One of the kids she looks after even made her a card telling her she hoped everything would be under "controll" for her. "It's pretty bad when even the kids can pick up on it," my sister says. They won't give her an assistant unless she's looking after at least 16 kids. Needless to say she's fighting just to get to the weekend. The party was fine, but I need to be more folksy with the people in Mike's family (I'm shy).

I picked up a Conair shaving kit so that I can keep my facial hair under "controll." It has 30 pieces to it including a how-to DVD. I can't WAIT to see that. Imagine being asked to compose the music for the Conair shaving kit how-to DVD. Imagine being asked to ACT in it. You'd be feeling as if you had the most perfect beard on the planet afterward. The best example of appropriately-shaven Conair can find. I'm going to screencap it and post it later.

The night wrapped up with watching The Man Who Never Was with my parents, a great flick about Operation Mincemeat from WWII. Gloria Grahame from It's A Wonderful Life co-starred in the melodramatic bits, and the thriller elements were crisply directed, exciting without too much bravado.

Today I went with Holly and Steve to Wendy's, and promptly left when Holly noticed someone in the restaurant she didn't want to talk to. It's a shame when your appetite is spoiled like that.