no alarms, and no surprises

I tried submitting one of my poems to "The Mind's Eye", this Nanaimo youth newspaper that i used to send poems to, back when i was in 11th grade.

I'm wondering if I should feel cheap for doing so, being that a) I'm 21, hardly a melodramatic teen anymore and b) i don't live in Nanaimo anymore.

well, we'll see. I'll pay a visit to the Island in June and see if my good friend, Mr. Poem, makes it into publication.

in other news, i was steam cleaning floors today, and my day felt a lot more short than ususal. the only explanation i can think of is that the chemicals i was breathing in killed some brain cells, and temporarily disabled my short term memory, and disrupted my cognitive ability.

in other other news, i'm trying to see 4 different concerts in the next two months, even though i definitely cannot afford them/ feel convicted for spending my money in such irresponsible ways when there is a world of people who don't have money. conviction is a strange thing.

so the question of, is art practical, comes into question again. I'm buying music, when I should be buying food- the thing i need to survive. But, there is a sustaining quality about music, an inspiring quality. In ten years i won't remember what i ate, but i'll probably remember exactly how i felt at concerts. i don't know why art works like that.

in any case, the concerts are Jason King, Arcade Fire, John Mayer, Jamison (opening up for Bradley Hathaway) and Historymaker- the youth conference that I turned 18 and 19 at (another mainstay of my high school years).

things don't feel as exciting as they did when I was a teenager. Back then there were no set routines. everything was a surprise. like seeing something i wrote published in a newspaper, or walking into an arena filled with youth group kids, like myself. i don't think those things will ever feel the same.

whatever.

this is my life.