the first rule (of fight club)...

kids
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

kids in canada have to wear snowpants during winter. they protect you from the cold, permitting you to play outside without succumbing to the elements.

i remember, as a kid, one of the first spring days. it had warmed up considerably and one of my friends called on me to play. despite the warm weather, my mom made me put on my snowpants. we ran around the small woods we had in our backyard, sweltering. we stopped by the stream, which was flowing freely with all the melting snow. i wanted nothing more than to jump in. for no good reason other than it looked like it would be so much fun. but i knew the repercussions would be drastic.

but i jumped in, snowpants and all. i emerged, heavy and laughing.

my friend and i jumped in several times. sodden, we knew we had to go home and face the facts. we went our separate ways, waving with our smiles disappearing. our boots were full of mud and our snowpants probably absorbed 39 liters of water.

"what happened to you?" asked my mom.

"i jumped in the stream," i winced, preparing for the onslaught.

but there wasn't any.


i recently moved in with my boyfriend. i only lived 6 blocks over and we decided to move in together because "change is good" and "for financial matters".

within the first week i was provided with the roster of rules.

"there aren't many, but they must be adhered to."

"yes, go on."

"none of your stuff can come into my home."

i glared at him.

"okay, well minimal stuff. we have no storage."

i continued to glare. "what is your next rule?"

"all dishes must be done when i come home at night. i can't stand to see dishes in the sink."

"i'll see what i can do."

"krista, this must be done every night. i'll seriously freak out."

"no promises."


dishes, to me, should not be a chore. they should be left until the spirit moves you. one of my greatest vacuuming experiences involved a few glasses of sake and dylan’s "blood on the tracks".

soon enough, the tiny rules and regulations took their toll. "where is the fun?" i snapped. "there's NO fun!"

i wiped away my tears and put on my jogging shoes. i tied the house keys into my shoelaces and went for a run.

about three blocks away i noticed that my right shoe felt loose. i looked down and saw that my shoelace had come undone. and sure enough, the key was gone. "fuck!" i came to a screeching halt.

"shit, shit, shit..." i backtracked, looking for my key. it had a green marker and should have been easy enough to find. i couldn't go home without a key - i was bound to get yet another sermon.

after ten minutes of searching i realized the key was gone, i started to laugh. i'd fucked up yet again: i didn't do the dishes in a timely fashion, my showers are too long in addition to too hot, one sock is here while the other is there, my vacuuming techniques are lackluster, i don't wake up in such a manner so as to allow myself the correct amount of leisure time in the morning, and i don't possess the proper windshield wipers.

i realized that fucking up is engrained in me. you know, i'll miss the odd plane and splash water on the floor when i wash my face. yet all it took was for those wet snowpants to be thrown into the washing machine.

it was time for them to be put away for the season anyway.