I'm in the mood to paint. I just wish I had paint. However, did you know you can make paint out of condensed milk and food colouring?

The things you learn in college.

Last night I couldn't sleep. I made playdough out of flour, salt, and stuff, and made myself a snowman. I am absolutely retarded. Not only did I just use up the last of my salt, but all I have to show for it is a grinning snow goon.

I wish I were artistic. I'd sketch everything I saw. My sketches consist of doodles in the margins of my biology lecture notes, mostly swirly lines and stick men.

I wish I could take pictures. The kind that you can frame and hang on the wall. Everytime I send in a roll of film, I get at least half back with that little sticker on them from Blacks that says, "Free", or "We Tried To Make This One Better!" because I don't know the concept of using a flash.

I tried to take piano lessons. I was pretty good, when nobody was watching. My teacher was a nun. The coolest nun you'd ever met, though. She knew I could play, just not in front of people. She thought that if I played in recitals, I'd get used to it. I remember my first one, I got half way through the song, and suddenly forgot what I was doing. I stared at the music sheets for a couple minutes, turned to the audience, and said, "I'm sorry. I can't remember the rest." I grabbed my music, and walked off the stage.

Then I tried gymnastics. I could to the splits, I could touch my toes, I could spin around the bars, and run the beam. But goddamn if I could do a cartwheel. The day that all the parents came to watch, the teacher; a fiendish woman; decided I would do cartwheels all down the runway and then bounce off this big blue cushion into a handstand. I ended up being so nervous of fouling up, I ran all the way down the runway, forgetting to do cartwheels until I got to the blue cushion. I went to try, and ended up slamming head first into it at full speed, and landing flat on my ass.

My mum, now she can make a four course meal out of kraft dinner. She made pancakes shaped like horses. She paints, she draws, she decorates the house so that visitors ask for tips.

I think I'm just going through some sort of Valentine's Day crisis. How do you say I love you from 1600km away? Especially when one is about as creative as linoleum.

At least I'm going home soon. I'll be able to show him then, with actions. Words sometimes seem so meaningless. I think it's because most of them come so quick to the lips, you can't tell the difference between the ones that were thought about first.

Not that I need a made-up holiday to encourage me to express myself. If you can't do that to your loved one any old day, then you're vitually screwed anyhow. But I do like the idea of free chocolate.