I get kind of neurotic about book reviews. I’d like to write them, but I find it hard to articulate why I like a particular book, and even harder to explain why you should like it, too. So I can’t really tell you why, but you should read this connection of everyone with lungs by Juliana Spahr. You should go read it right now. Seriously. I finished reading it in bed the other night and I fell asleep holding it. I love this book.

Happiness is browsing your own records on the Library and Archives Canada website. I don't what my book will look like, or when it will be out, but I do know its Dewey Decimal number! So, so exciting. I'm such a dork.

Already I feel so divorced from my other identity, not necessarily my secret identity, because I think each one of my identities is a secret I'm trying to keep from the other. Is it leaving Calgary? Or is it coming to law school? I'm sure I could manage to feel like a poet in Vancouver, if I wasn't spending all my time trying to remember the details of contract law or understand the rules of evidence. As it is though, my writer self feels miles and miles away. Your aesthetics won't help you now, indeed.

My sense of disconnection is compounded by the problems I've had trying to hook up internet in my new (and exponentially better than last year's) apartment. I've decided I need to just get a new laptop: if throwing money at a problem doesn't solve it, then throwing the highest amount of money the problem could possibly require is the logical next step. I'm probably going to go for a Mac, although I'm slightly put off by Apple's whole identity campaign, which seems to imply that a Mac will turn me into the open-minded, laid back, creative person I've always wanted to be. We shall see. At the very least, my Mac might allow me to submit some poems to magazines or read some poems on the internets or write a blog post every now and then.