Graduation day.

Before I felt compelled to vent here, I was lying in bed, listening to my Ipod in the hope that it would sing me to sleep. Instead each song just seemed to echo my misery, reminding me how much I miss Montreal. Spoon's "Sister Jack" came on, and something in its pleasantly jagged rhythm filled me with a terrifying urge to run out the door, catch a cab to the airport, and board the first flight to Montreal. Screw tickets, screw visas, screw money, screw even the fact that I am currently clad in my ratty Wilco t-shirt and sheep PJs - All I want is to be in Montreal. I found myself beginning to choke on my emotions, and I decided to abort that process by putting pen to paper. I ended up writing a letter to Louise that was unexpectedly long and unneccessarily detailed, but somehow, it made me feel less isolated, less disconnected from my friends.

I've been writing a lot of letters lately. In fact, I bought a notebook to serve this precise purpose, and of its 80 pages, about 40 have been filled with black-ink emotions, and then torn out and mailed to various parts of the world. Well, India, U.S and Canada anyway. Yes, I write a lot of letters, and yes, they're all long. If you want to get in on this letter-exchanging party, let me know. All I need is your address and sleepless nights, the latter of which I have plenty.

The strange thing is I've always been good about moving on. I'd gotten so used to being displaced, so used to the whole charade - the hugs, the tears, the well-meaning, but ultimately empty promises to keep in touch - that it hardly affected me any more. Yes, it was often sad, and yes, sometimes I'd even shed a few tears, but in a few days, I was okay, I was great, I was excited about the imminent changes. Despite my record, however, this time is markedly different. I just can't seem to come to terms with the finality of the situation; I can't seem to glean the excitement for the upcoming year. I've always been astonishingly adept at expressing my emotions - oh, drop the proverbial hat and you'll see - but I haven't been able to cry! All I need is one good crying session - replete with racking body, obviously - to make me feel better. A few measly tears every now and then while thinking of Arrested Development or Leacock 132 is not enough.

Today marks three weeks since I left,and yet, my two worlds are disparate enough that Montreal seems like a lifetime ago. I've been looking at all my pictures obsessively - San Francisco, The Cocktail Party, St Patty's Day, Tam-Tams, Pistol, SACOMSS - and I find it almost disorienting. I can't reconcile all of that with MY life, even though I figure in a lot of these pictures in my characteristically unphotogenic way. Everything seems so familiar yet so alien, like a hazy dream, like a film I've watched too many times.
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Wilco is playing Montreal on June 28th. Rachael e-mailed to tell me that she and Kate were going. I fully expected that they would, but still, I'm insanely jealous. I gave them strict instructions to blow kisses at Jeff Tweedy on my behalf. To add salt to the wounds, Andy wrote me and said she couldn't find anyone to see Wilco with her, and that she was sure I'd go with her if I were around. Uh, DAMN RIGHT I WOULD!
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Today is the convocation ceremony for The Faculty of Arts at McGill. To any 2005 graduates (you old HAGS) who might be reading this, CONGRATULATIONS! I wish I could be there with you, getting bored beyond belief, and cheering on Ken who I'm sure will be an excellent valedictorian. In case he wasn't, I'm sorry you all had to suffer.