My Brain Is Going To Inflate!

It's a Friday afternoon, and although there's a paper about borate transport in plants I should be reading, I can't muster the motivation or the focus to get such feats done. Yes, the gentle feeling of a Friday afternoon, where its soft velvet cushions and gentle elevator music whispers, "it can wait until Monday". Responsible? Probably not. Enticing? Definitely.

It's three weeks until Christmas. Wait, no...that's not right at all. It has to be at least 4 weeks. But it feels like three weeks, and for that I'm grateful. This weekend will most likely see our apartment decorated with the most festive of things: soft white lights around windows, green organic material around banisters, and most soothing of all, hot apple cider. I'm wondering if it's worth it to bring up the argument of "fake vs. real" for the Christmas tree, as I recall a similar argument about 7 years back when my parents made the switch to synthetic. I can see the draw of it. But, the good husband that I am, I feel the real scent of pine (is that what Christmas tree's are?) will be lingering in our nostrils this holiday season.

This will be my first Christmas away from BC, but thankfully it won't be the first Christmas away from family.

Look Into The Old Apartment

This is where we used to presently live.

I find place to be an interesting concept. For the majority of my life, I was brought up in the place of Surrey. After leaving the nest, place transformed into a dirty dorm and has finally (or should I say currently) taken the form of my apartment with my wife.

For a fraction of a second today I heard a sound that reminded me of the garage door opening at my parents home. That sound was the key which allowed a parade of soothing thought monsters (Figure 1) to bombard my head and heart with flombloozers (Figure 2), causing me to think of the comfort of BC.

Figure 1: Thought Monsters.

Figure 2: A yellow flombloozer.

However, an exciting part of place is the opportunity to harvest the sounds, smells, objects and process them into memories which will inevitably be dug up years later by those marauding thought monsters. I'm sure this small bachelor pad will play a large role in how we remember our first year of marriage. After all, memories need to be contained in the glass jars of place, else the memories quickly seep away into the dry ground of time, erasing the original context.

Side Note: The other day I saw a poster at McMaster for a presentation whose purpose was to present research looking at the evolutionary relationship between the human responses of crying and laughing. Why would you want to take two genuine and fine woven human responses and try to reduce them into a neatly packed explanation. I wonder if the presenter just didn't like laughing and wanted to do away with the joy of it by explaining it with naturalistic causes.

Back On Track: I feel like I'm in a good place right now. I've got the container, now I just need to fill it.