I found this nice little nook on a window ledged on the forteenth floor of Robart's. It faces southwest along Harbord, and I can see spotlights circling South. I can see down into the windows of the Athletic Centre, the Jewish Students Centre, and the Centre for Graduate Studies. The movement of the people is so stylized from up here. I think the people in the athletic centre are doing gymnastics, and on another floor basketball. I can see that it's raining down on the street. I didn't bring an umbrella. I don't own an umbrella. Today is one of those days where circumstances have been trying to pull me down, but it's almost as though they just don't fit in a way that engages me enough for me to be affected by them. I like the way the light moves in the reflection of a puddle forteen floors down. It's just like a star sparkling. Whenever I'm at any height by a window, I feel this sensation of being pulled forward. Like I'm being pulled by my core, or something's hooked onto me and pulling down. I kind of envision the air all moving around me, and my stomach goes all wonky. It's not as bad as the vertigo I had when I was younger though; then I saw everything falling down, especially the building or object I was standing on. I've always liked the japanese word Rakka, meaning a fall. The word itself rolls off the tongue so nicely. Wouldn't the sensation of falling into your body from space be fascinating? Like landing.

I want to be in Okinawa right now.