"Mon pays ce n'est pas un pays, c'est l'hiver
Mon refrain ce n'est pas un refrain, c'est rafale"
G. Vigneault

My country is not a country, it's winter
My chorus is not a chorus, it's a storm

This is one of my favourite poems. On days like this ~ messy, snowy, and grey ~ I think of home. I think of slushy St. Catherine's street - people slushing back and forth and about the streets near Mcgill campus. People spilling out of taxis onto the snow filled streets of St. Laurent & St. Urbain. I dream of the slopes and I miss the chalet in the countryside.

Le Québec - tu me manques infiniement.

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I read this blog earlier last week and the subject was about blogs being unfair because it lacked reciprocity.

To me, writing is about one person revealing their thoughts - a monologue of sorts. I never really considered the consequences too much fearing the moment I believed myself too vulnerable - I would self-censor.

Some people in my life use this as a substitute for communication. Rather than speaking to me directly, they choose to refer to my blog and make all types of suppositions based on the written manifestation of my mood at any particular moment. The dangers are judgement from those who are capturing a slice in time from my thoughts-continuum.

Oh well...God gave me words. Above all, He gave me an opinion and a curious mind. And apparently, He also gave me a very impulsive, exhibitionist personality.