If you had a choice of what to do on your Good Friday, did you go to the mall? If you did, for the record, you are part of the problem.

At about four o'clock, just when I was heartily wishing all the Easter shoppers to a similar fate as our dear departed Jesus, a man came to buy a lottery ticket, and he said to me, "I don't know why the malls are open today." In a tone of righteousness, he added "It's a sign of the times, you know."

What I wanted to say to him, was: The malls are open because you lot are here. If you didn't come, next year they'd be closed.

Yesterday the cold returned yet again. Apparently it needs to create some more phlegm before it goes into hiding for the summer.

Just for the record, the previous entry was not an attempt at sympathy-gaining. (Well, maybe a tiny bit) I was merely commenting on the strangeness of want. And the undeniable fact that the people I want to be friends with generally don't want anything to do with me... I am, as Cas has said of herself, very bad at small talk. I have been riding back and forth on the ferry for the last few months, an hour and a half each way into Vancouver, and not having a car to hide in, I have found myself stuck on the passenger decks, inside because it's raining, mostly, and sitting with random passengers. Luckily only a few of them have wanted to talk to me, but they do talk at great length among themselves. And I've noticed, by and large, that they talk about two things. 1. The things that they and their friends have bought, or are going to buy, or want to buy. A lot of this discussion revolves around cars and home decorating, and there's an awful lot of taking things back to stores because it wasn't just perfect, and relating the conversations of salesfolk who are unlucky enough to serve them. 2. Other people. In excruciating detail, judging every aspect of their friends and acquaintances' personal lives. "I just can't believe she would, can you?"

The seats on the ferries are either in long lines, or in little groups of two-facing-two, like on a train, and I prefer the groups of four because they're next to the windows. So, since foot passengers get on first, I usually manage to snag a window seat. Invariably, a group of four other passengers will arrive up from the car deck and attempt to dislodge me. They do this by sitting in all the other three seats and talking loudly about how sad it is that Norma or Marvin can't sit with them. Norma or Marvin will sit in the seat directly behind me, with some other poor solo, and they will all talk over my head. The first time this happened, I got up and left, but then I ended up sitting right next to the women's washroom, and getting my feet stepped on by all and sundry.

But the price of staying put is that I am forced to either try to read over their chatter, or stare pointedly out the window for the whole trip. Many of these little groups have seemed to want to impress me, for some reason, and I can feel them glancing at me while they talk of their recent purchases and the fact that they know the owner of the Canucks. (oh boy, oh boy) On Friday, on the way back, I had a group of four do this to me, three women and a man, and the one who sat next to me seemed fascinated by the fact that I was reading the Criminal Code, and I could tell she wanted to ask me why. Every now and then they will give in to their curiosity and say "Are you in school or something?" And I'll say, yes, and go back to trying to read.

They always seem genuinely bemused that I am willing to just sit there, and not either join in on their conversation or move. I wish, in a way, that I had kept a better record, because I'm sure there's some sort of psychological principle at work here. And I think it has something to do with why I don't have any friends......