:: Monday, November 25, 2002 ::

rusty swingset, bouncy playground

I miss elementary school sometimes. They really did have your best interest in mind back then, and they gave you everything you needed in order to excell. You arrived at school, you learned to spell some new words and how to add and subtract. Recess. Just before you go stir crazy, they send you into some fresh air for fifteen minutes and let you run out your energy. Tag. Statues. Red Light, Green Light. Red Rover. Hide and Seek. Back inside, you do some art, and you learn about composting and taking care of the environment. Lunchtime. You eat healthy snacks packed in tupperware, not saran wrap, because last week you learned about recycling. Learn some more cool stuff, like about animals or countries or something else important. Naptime. You wake up, you listen to some music, and play interesting instruments like xylophones and bongo drums. Gym class. Play Dodgeball. Objective: hit other kids with balls as hard as you can while teachers supervise and encourage. Go home. Do the same thing the next day.

I miss that. I miss being in a school where you have the same teacher and the same classmates every day. I miss that sense of trust and security with your educators. I miss schools that took all your needs into consideration - that recognised that you couldn't just learn all day... that you needed diversity in your subject matter and you also needed fresh air, activity, music, art, and sleep.

I should be an elementary school teacher. Maybe.

Last night was my third birthday party - and my actual birthday. Dinner at The Eatery, followed by tripping out in a playground in East Van. So much fun. I forgot how much I loved swingsets. I turned my new mittens orange with the rust but it was worth it. I haven't laughed that hard in so long. Remember that, Grade 4, potty humour or something equally stupid, laughing so hard that you couldn't make noise any more, but just shook and cried silently until you could barely breathe? Then the big intake of breath, the pain in the diaphram that lingered for days, and the confused looks from everyone older who couldn't see what was so funny? I really miss that sometimes. Last night I laughed so hard I gave myself a headache. Too much.

Too much.

If you look objectively instead of subjectively - which is almost impossible to do - there is no way you can be displeased with life. You might be failing school. You might be single and lonely. You might have a million reasons to be sad. But just stand on a hill on a cool winter night and look over the city, the gentle hum, watch the electricity flow across the skyline, see the stars and the trees and breathe the air, so cold that it (almost) hurts. This world is so fucking beautiful.

(listening to: Alma - What's This?)

:: Katy 4:13 p.m. [+] :: ::