"I would do anything for love, fuck off."

So, expressing myself is getting me into trouble. "You can't say that, blah, blah, blah." Well, I am sorry. But really, it's Halifax. Isn't everyone a good friend of someone who's a friend of someone who knows me? Does that mean I can never say I don't like so and so because they're my friend's friend? Obviously, I was speaking musically. Most people are good people, and I especially think he's probably a decent person if he's friends with my friend. But, I don't know him as a person and didn't enjoy the show. Isn't that allowed?

I didn't start this thing to say nice or mean things about people. I started it to express myself (and, even though I expected and wanted some people to read it, I never planned for hundreds of readers a day). Some, would have me turn back to the paper journal, which will only get written in for a week. Then, I'll get bored, and start building things up inside. Would you prefer that? And I do feel bad after saying something hurtful.

It's hard to explain myself. I mean what I say, but only the second I say it. I'm judgmental, closed-minded, afraid of what I don't understand, and hateful. But, I'm also forgiving, regretful, open-minded, and loving.

I understand that I can't talk about --- ------------ because ---- --------. I can respect that and wouldn't want to say much anyway. Sometimes it's hard to differentiate between --- ------------ and my life, as it's such a big part of my life. So, things get mentioned. But not much, and not in great detail. I know I can't talk about -----, in case ---- ------ ----- --. I hate that, but have been respecting it. But now I can't express my thoughts on ----- - ------? What would you have me say? "Today was good, yesterday sucked, see you at the College tonight?" That would make for a pretty boring blog, no?

I'm feeling repressed.

I also want to apologise.

Anyway, a few things I forgot the other day:

Killissa had the idea that the puke smell was always a part of the Seahorse, permeating up from the wooden floors. It was masked by smoke odour before, but with the smoking room, the air is clear, so we can smell it. It makes me nostalgic thinking that part of that smell was likely caused by me.

Also, I did go to a clinic. Before the Whyte house party. Not for my sore throat, but for the mysterious wounds on my hands that seemingly appeared from nowhere. KC asked me why I didn't kill two birds with one stone and get the doctor to check my throat. See, when the doctor explained what was wrong with my hand, I realized what was wrong with my throat. He told me I had eczema.

"Under strengths, you've just put accounts."
"Uh-huh."
"But that's your job. We were looking for something more specific... Okay... And under weaknesses, you've put eczema!"

He told me not to be afraid of the word; that it's just medical talk for extremely dry skin. I already knew that. He said he sees it often this time of year, when the humidity in the air can drop down to 5%. He told me some people wake up in the winter with nosebleeds because of the dryness. I remembered that I always have a sore throat in the winter for that exact reason. He prescribed me cream with steroids in it. As it turns out, the wounds seem to be caused by punching my bass while I play.

My coffee maker is clogged with rice. It somehow got inside when KC and Ben cooked for everyone.

Man, it's been a weird week. Fucking Ides of March. I'm going to a NSCAD dance tonight. I hope it's even half as fun as one's I've been to in the past, but not like "that" night.

This day last year, I related to a Cat Power song and got frustrated with my last group project.