no furniture so charming as books

especially when they're color-coordinated Lauryl-style. I'm tired of trying to organize books by subject. Plus, they look gross all mixed together. This is totally happening to my enormous built-in shelves back in Canada the next time I'm at home.


Thanskgiving, belated

Tonight, I was thankful for half an hour home alone to spend playing piano.
I'm thankful that when I didn't want to take piano lessons, my mom still taught me to read music.
I'm thankful for all my friends who did take piano lessons and made me jealous.
I'm thankful for parents who, when I decided that I wanted to take piano after all, spent their money and time to make it happen, and for my two fabulous teachers.
I'm thankful for Johann Pachelbel writing his Canon in D and George Winston for putting it in C and spelling it with a k.
I'm thankful for my roommate who gave me the George Winston album to begin with, and my parents who gave me the sheet music, and my other roommate's parents who gave her a keyboard.
I'm thankful for school vacations that magically align with Canadian thanksgiving every year, and wonderful families and friends to spend the week at home with, and more wonderful friends at school to come back to.
I'm thankful that my one roommate has a boyfriend to visit, and my other roommate has a sister to visit, and I have half an hour to spend alone, playing piano.


"The Lodger"

After I had beaten my sword into a ploughshare,
I beat my ploughshare into a hoe,
then beat the hoe into a fork,
which I used to eat my dinner alone.

And when I had finished dinner,
I beat my fork into a toothpick,
which I twirled on my lips
then flicked over a low stone wall

as I walked along the city river
under the clouds and stars,
quite happy but for the thought
that I should have beaten that toothpick into a shilling

so I could buy a newspaper to read
after climbing the stairs to my room.

- from The Trouble with Poetry, Billy Collins