waiting on the front porch

she just stood there on the front porch waiting for her will to come and get her she was packed she had a suitcase full of noble intentions she had a map and a straight face hell bent on reinvention she was learning about please and huge humilities then one day she looked around her and everything up til then was showing and she wondered how did i get here without even knowing where i was going? ~ani difranco

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Location: montreal, quebec, Canada


Wednesday, August 30, 2006

don't ask me why i bother...

my internet won't be up for at least another day.
i'm so incredibly frustrated with the company i'm using, after having been on the phone with them twice already today, for multiple hours, i feel like buying a cheap set of dishes just so i can break them all.
what bothers me is that i got different answers to the same questions all the time, and they're the people who are trying to make ME feel stupid.
so, hopefully, tomorrow things will be back to normal.

this is the first stage of the tattoo. in a few weeks the colour will be filled in, and i will take another picture and post it. after a day of putting vitamin e cream on it, it's pretty much completely healed and i can't wait for it to be completely done. it's been about 5 years since i got my last one and i missed the process.
there's a story, as well, to go with the "why tree?" question, but i'll post that at the same time as i post the final picture.

Tuesday, August 29, 2006

when one lives without fear, one cannot be broken. when one lives with fear, one is broken before one begins to live.
~james frey

i found a copy of a million little pieces on the road last week and started reading it again a few days ago. as i was telling met yesterday, i read it before it became an oprah's book club selection or before it came to light that it wasn't exactly his memoir. i loved it the first time i read it. it's written in very interesting diction, and i like how dead-pan (no pun intended) his descriptions of addiction are.
if i am tempted to read books a second time, i usually am not as charmed with them as i was the first time, and this has been no different. it is still compelling, but i find myself getting a little frustrated with his stylistic "inventions" and skimming a bit more than i'd like to.

i found that quote this morning before i left for my therapy appointment, and i sat there sort of thunderstruck. the books i have been reading this week have been showing me signs, making me understand that there was some sort of subconscious reason why i picked them up, and that, today, well, that was it.
i spend so much of my waking life thinking that the fear i feel is weakening me, when it really doesn't to - it could be a harbinger of growth. it is a harbinger of growth.

can you tell i like that word? harbingerharbingerharbingerharbinger.

def: One that indicates or foreshadows what is to come; a forerunner.tr.v., -gered, -ger·ing, -gers.
To signal the approach of; presage.
[Middle English herbengar, person sent ahead to arrange lodgings, from Old French herbergeor, from herbergier, to provide lodging for, from herberge, lodging, of Germanic origin.]

other than that, met and i got tattoos yesterday. not anything matching of course, no names or anything that tacky, but we got tattoos. mine is rather...ahem...large, so i need to get it filled in in a few weeks, but the outline is there. i'll post the pictures tomorrow, when, thank god, my internet connection will hopefully be back up.

Sunday, August 27, 2006

back so soon...

i have to do a lot of errands today, but it is raining like pussies and pups here so it looks like i'm taking the metro instead of biking, as i'd planned, which frees up a lot of cafe time.

this week i frightened myself a little bit; the reason i can talk about it now is that i believe the worst of it is over. monday, as i think i mentioned, i felt myself sliding into a depression, the likes of which i haven't felt in a while. i had forgotten i could feel that sad. it dragged on for two days - days where i dealt with it, unwillingly, on my own.

in retrospect, i'm happy i did, but oh lord, at the time it sucked. all of my support systems were unavailable - and on wednesday, when my internet AND phone were cut off, i thought: what is the universe trying to do to me? kill me?

trying to do to me, indeed. or, trying to do for me.

here's where i'm going to admit things that might be uncomfortable to read. they're definitely uncomfortable for me to write, but i need to own these parts of myself and my recovery.

i used to cut. i came very very close, closer than i have in years, on wednesday night. i took myself out of the house, far away from knives and razors and anything with edges, and i walked. i walked for miles. i walked until i didn't know where i was anymore, and i was exhausted and had to find my way back home. when i got back i walked straight past the kitchen, without looking, and fell into bed.

i woke up the next morning and realized i should go back on my antidepressants.

i was on a variety of seratonin cocktails for a number of years, but never felt comfortable with it. i would take myself off them without warning, or change my dosages, or switch pills without preparing my body. a few years ago, i stopped taking them (for what i thought was) for good, but i want to be safe.
any mood that i get into where i consider cutting myself is not safe for me, and as i move into what might be a stressful time (getting a new job, starting school, continuing with therapy) i feel like giving myself a fighting chance.

once i made that decision the metaphorical skies cleared, a bit. i haven't seen a doctor yet, that will happen on tuesday, but just knowing that i am becoming even more proactive is making me feel better.
because, let's face it, all the yoga and running and reiki and eating well didn't really help me this round.

so, what have i been doing to occupy my time since the "blackout of '06"? reading a fuckload. i finished ethan frome, the great gatsby, and letters to a young poet in the past three days. and letters, well, i knew why i had to read that book the second i picked it up. the parts where rilke counsels kappus on solitude - about it being the most exacting, difficult thing for a human being to experience but also the most rewarding, the most conducive to growth - obviously struck home for me.

i've also been spending a lot of time with the hobbit, as he gets ready to move back to hometown. i'm sad about that, but we have been getting along famously so i'm glad that we've shared this time.

i'm also painting one of my bedroom walls tonight, and getting a tattoo tomorrow. i'm hoping to take digital photos so there will be a bit of a photo essay, me thinks.

but i can't wait until wednesday....

Saturday, August 26, 2006

still down....

internet connection, that is. life will be back to "normal" (HA!) on wednesday.

i've made some hardcore decisions. i want to share them, but have no time, as i can only afford an hour at this cafe and i have to write a couple hardcore emails. i will be back...

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

EDITED TO ADD: my phone and internet connection are down. who knows why - i have paid my bill, but the universe is telling me in no uncertain terms that i am supposed to fly solo for a while. they tell me, hopefully, things will be in full-swing again by tomorrow at 6 pm, but PLEASE forgive me if i don't make an appearance until late in the day. thank you. have a delicious day.

dost thou love life? then do not squander time, for that the stuff life is made of.
-benjamin franklin

i have been burying myself in poetry over the last day or so. my own words are slow in coming, but they feed on the humus of other writers - this is something i take comfort in, and offer up to you again this week.

steven heighton came to talk to my high school writing class the year that his book the ecstasy of skeptics came out, and RIGHT AWAY i fell in love, in that adoring young girl kind of way. i thought he was beautiful, i thought his words were beautiful, i loved the way he took off his cardigan and closed his eyes to recite his poems by memory.

the ecstasy is still one of my favourites. its poignancy remains almost unmatched in my collection.


by night on my bed i sought my
beloved.... but i found her not.
-song of songs

---you grew with earth into the years
that crumble, form in cirrus clouds and merge
in tides at the river mouth, and rush
above you like starlings in the wind's gorge
so now i barely brush against you
without a tang of damp foliage rising, your body
yielding up its musk of turned earth and berries---

you came down through timber into stone ranges
that farms forgave, found the world
is in love with imperfection
so now as lips, open to kiss, shape the zero
that circles two round - twins bellied - i find no
symmetry no system i could record
for later repetition.

you see life as a scholar even poet
never has---you're the storm they measure, earth
they travel in shoes---you see
i confuse you with things i thought other---

the halogen planets born of roadkilled eyes
the salmon's leap in a flame of a welder
green sinews of the river, flexing under ice
the metro quaking into underworlds along the iron
strings of a lyre---

an afternoon i was barely listening
i first heard the cataract upstream, and keepers
frothing at the heart's walls, breezes
in the drumbeat gorges of ears
and though i was not looking
i saw the garden by its smell
from over the barbed wire and floodlit wall:

consists in the breaking of skin
and some hour feeling next to dying, stir
to the snowfall drifting through you, turning to rain

in the interior, pooling
into hollows and the grave
sockets of eyes---

"as i came down to her
a wind rose off the lake
though i descended it was like climbing a steep trail
my legs trembled as i looked for her
and i was afraid of seeing.
i searched everywhere along the shore but found no sign.
i went to the end of the pier and saw nothing
but islands, white sails, and the far shoreline
then i heard her speak."

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

the trick is not how much pain you feel, but how much joy you feel.
~erica jong

my heart feels adrift on the ocean of my body, a tiny rowboat fast taking on water.

i've cried so much in the past 4 hours i was worried, at one point, that i wouldn't stop. this sadness is more than just the loneliness i thought it was; it feels like if you broke my bones, tears would seep out instead of marrow.

where is this coming from?

the sky i walked under tonight was royal blue, but back-lit so i could count every cloud. i passed one woman walking her dog; other than that, the streets were empty. each step i took was the same question.

what do i do?

at first i figured i was sad because i haven't seen any of my real-life friends in a while. i haven't heard from my family in a while, either - and while most of the time i'm okay with nobody beating down my door, lately the silence has been deafening.

i have a good idea of the direction my feelings are taking me; it's an inevitable course, leading in a variety of maudlin directions up to the anniversary of my mom's death. wandering tonight, i kept smelling the hospital, and seeing my younger self sitting there holding her hand, as though just my weight would keep her anchored to earth.

i know i wrote a while back that i have to trust that the universe can hold me when i need to be held, but now, i need to be held by someone.

i need to remember the joy in my life; there is so much to be grateful for. i'm poisoning it by holding on to hurt.

when you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy. when you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.
~kahlil gibran

Monday, August 21, 2006

happiness sneaks in through a door you didn't know you left open. ~john barrymore

i have a world of things to contemplate tonight.

first, today is a couple of monthiversaries: in february, in the middle of a snow-covered corn field, i handed my pack of cigarettes to my sister and told her not to give them back to me.
i had been smoking since i was 14. i haven't had one since.

in may, i told met i loved him for the first time. i had been too scared to admit it for a while: too soon, too much, too fast; at the time, i was away - more than 4,000 kms away, to be exact - and was going to be for quite some time.

it's nerve-wracking telling someone that you love them for the first time over the phone.
-tell me.
-i'm afraid you're not ready for what i'm thinking.
-tell me anyway, and let me decide. i think i might be.
-i think i love you.
-i think i love you, too.
-well, then, i know i love you.

in the past 24 hours, the universe has, again, been trying to teach me how to let go.

the lesson started with a conversation with my godmother; we talked mainly about my father, who is an asshole, and someone i refer to when i'm feeling generous as 'the sperm donor'. he has done literally nothing to help raise banane or me since we were little.
i couldn't avoid telling her of my fears about him any longer. while i want to be clear in saying that i don't remember anything happening when i was younger, since i've been an adult dear old dad has acted VASTLY inappropriately towards me on a number of occasions. for years now, i've been prodding this instinct like a cavity, trying to figure out what will leak from the hole.

she backed me up.
it wasn't as if i was expecting her to run in the other direction, rather i was expecting her to say something like "oh, your father could never do that."
what she did say was, "your father's never thought of you as his daughters, and he's always had boundary issues. i see why you might be concerned."

i think it was that which made me feel a little ill. she knows my father, and knows me, and didn't dispute it.

i've also been doing some detective work in my family tree for quite a number of years, and i got a break in the case last night.
both sides of my family have problems with the concept of truth. there are a few alcoholics that we let drink without intervention; a few crazies who were put away and never spoken of again; people die and it's like they never existed.
i've long thought that there was some aboriginal blood in our family, but with my 95-year-old grandfather being the "traditionalist" (hmmph) that he is, i could never ask about it.
i forgot the power of a veiled question directed at the right person.
i'm on my way to figuring a bit more out.

this morning, too, i had a bit of an existential crisis, mostly having to do with me having no constraints on my time.
normally, i like being busy. i like thinking and doing lots at once; when i'm the happiest is when i'm being active and engaged with my life.

since i got back from b.c., TWO MONTHS AGO (oh, my god), i haven't been able to find a job. this, i think, more than anything has been weighing on me.
every so often when i stop to think about it, i feel like i'm walking a tight-rope 500 feet from the ground, with no safety net below to catch me. as long as i don't mis-step, i'll be fine, but one breath of wind from the wrong direction and everything could collapse.

my reiki master also called. i've been accepted to become a second-degree, which i'm excited about; we set the date for mid-september. she gave me a lot of training exercises for the meantime. i can't quite believe that so much is happening, so fast. and i thought my life was boring!

i went for a walk, to visit an organic food store i've never been to, and they're hiring. i'm going to drop off a resume tomorrow.
i'm a wanderer, it's true. whenever i have something to think about, i put on a pair of comfortable shoes and go out the front door.
today, these are the answers the universe gave me:

  • i needed to immerse myself in my family this summer, truly meditate on the beautiful mess that we all are, and come to terms with that.
  • school starts in two weeks, and with that, fall; these buttery summer days, these moments, will never happen in the same way again. i am learning to let go in the present little by little, and actually receive the gifts that the world offers to those who are looking.
  • that things will happen when they are meant to, which isn't necessarily when i want them to.

so i am listening to cricketsong from my window, drinking gin and eating concord grapes, saxophone on in the background.

learning to breathe, beginning to absorb, trying to drift.

Saturday, August 19, 2006

"may you live every day of your life." - jonathan swift

the past few days have been a pleasant blur for me. i started work the other day, finally, on the script idea i've had in my mind for months now; yesterday i dealt with the massive hangover from all the cosmopolitans i drank for inspiration.
i like the idea i have. i like how it's coming out. it rarely happens this way, but when it does, holy hell does it remind me of why i'm a writer. there's something so magical about the way words spill out when the timing's right - like watching this cosmic jigsaw coming together in one big sigh of satisfaction.

i'm also reading like a fiend right now - that probably has everything to do with it. i'm still enthralled with three day road, and am actually pacing myself through it so it will last longer (i'm trying to get used to delaying gratification that way.) i've also picked up othello, and no language is neutral, by dionne brand. it feels like i might just be able to tiptoe up to all the projects i've been wanting to work on - the little wisps of poetry, those stories - and seduce them into coming home with me.

on thursday, i went to physiotherapy for my weekly re-alignment. this is notable for a few reasons: the first being that i brought met with me.

i find it hard to trust people with my weaknesses; i always want to appear to be the strong woman, in control of her life and surroundings - always ready with an easy laugh and supportive shoulder. i don't like asking for support for myself at all, but like every other being on this planet, i need it sometimes.
met came with me to learn some of the stretches and massages that flood (my physiotherapist) does for me, in case i won't be able to afford to continue to go. he watched as flood asked me about my pain and i answered honestly - not something i do in front of people often. he watched as flood took my leg and dug his thumbs into my muscles as hard as he could to release the stiffness. i lay there, sometimes flinching in reaction, but pliable beneath flood's touch, completely vulnerable - and i felt nothing but peace. i was expecting (and wanting to confront) feelings of insecurity and self-consciousness, but instead it just felt natural.

the second reason physio was special for me this week was because flood told me that i've made great progress in the month since i started going. apparently, my hips are stabilizing and not 'moving around my body' as much - (that is incredibly hard for me to visualize, but whatever). when he said that, something dawned on me, and i asked him if the pain i've been feeling for the past month - basically localized in my hip joint and in my shin - was because things were changing inside, shifting and settling down. he said yes. he said that, (and i'm paraphrasing and probably being a bit hopeful), my body is accomodating new space, and that the pain is natural and will settle down once i'm used to it.

right away the fear that had been shadowing the pain melted away. it was a whole new way of considering pain - as a harbinger of growth, a signpost that i'm heading in the right direction. as a thing of beauty and hope in my life.

my sister, banane, is an organic farmer living in the country outside of toronto. she grows all kinds of vegetables and herbs, boils beeswax to make healing salves and lip balms, and knows more about food than almost anyone i know. she and i have spoken often about fire-clearing to prepare the land - when farmers light a controlled part of their fields on fire in order to start over. once the fire has burned out, and the soil has a chance to fully rest, that new and indescribable growth can take place.

i like the idea of pain as cleansing fire. that if i am in a place of difficulty or discomfort, that it is just because my body or soul is getting rid of something unnecessary, and that i am growing towards a place of fallow creativity, sprouting new buds of understanding. all i have to do is remember to be patient, and breathe.

Wednesday, August 16, 2006

poetry thursday
but at first, a disclaimer:

i'm back as bee. *pixie* didn't fit - it is a side of me, but it didn't feel as comfortable as bee does. i find that once i've trod certain ground, it's difficult to return - in this instance, difficult to return to the shores of anonymity. i like being bee; it's not my real name, but it is definitely the nickname that i gave myself, years ago. *pixie*, like the move to the porch, was a bit of a forced hat.

as well, i have changed the template, (obviously), which is why the links are down, and everything is sort of under construction, for the time being. i promise, i'll update as soon as i can figure out the code.

for poetry thursday i wanted to return to a similar, instinctive love of mine.
i woke up with sexton on the brain.
i found her late in the game, in terms of poets, only truly last year - and since then have wanted to voraciously devour every single word she's ever written, soak them in milk like bread, wear them as pendants in my ears, spangle them across my room. i want to fill the bathtub with her poems and lie among them until my skin gives off the scent of her.

i found this poem a while ago, and it is one of my favourite poems by one of my favourite authors. i love this poem so viscerally - it is so sad, so yearning, so beautiful, so uplifting - that i would want the entire world to experience it, if it were possible.

That Day
This is the desk I sit at
and this is the desk where I love you too much
and this is the typewriter that sits before me
where yesterday only your body sat before me
with its shoulders gathered in like a Greek chorus,
with its tongue like a king making up rules as he goes,
with its tongue quite openly like a cat lapping milk,
with its tongue-both of us coiled in its slippery life.
That was yesterday, that day.

That was the day of your tongue,
your tongue that came from your lips,
two openers, half animals, half birds
caught in the doorway of your heart.
That was the day I followed the king's rules,
passing by your red veins and your blue veins,
my hands down the backbone, down quick like a firepole,
hands between legs where you display your inner knowledge,
where diamond mines are buried and come forth to bury,
come forth more sudden than some reconstructed city.
It is complete within seconds, that monument.
The blood runs underground yet brings forth a tower.
A multitude should gather for such an edifice.
For a miracle one stands in line and throws confetti.
Surely the Press is here looking for headlines.
Surely someone should carry a banner on the sidewalk.
If a bridge is constructed doesn't the mayor cut a ribbon?
If a phenomenon arrives shouldn't the Magi come bearing gifts?
Yesterday was the day I bore gifts for your gift
and came from the valley to meet you on the pavement.
That was yesterday, that day.

That was the day of your face,
your face after love, close to the pillow, a lullaby.
Half asleep beside me letting the old fashioned rocker stop,
our breath became one, became a child-breath together,
while my fingers drew little o's on your shut eyes,
while my fingers drew little smiles on your mouth,
while I drew I LOVE YOU on your chest and its drummer
and whispered, "Wake up!" and you mumbled in your sleep,
"Sh. We're driving to Cape Cod. We're heading for the Bourne
Bridge. We're circling around the Borne Circle." Bourne!
Then I knew you in your dream and prayed of our time
that I would be pierced and you would take root in me
and that I might bring forth your born, might bear
the you or the ghost of you in my little household.
Yesterday I did not want to be borrowed
but this is the typewriter that sits before me
and love is where yesterday is at.
for more poetry thursday, go here

Tuesday, August 15, 2006

'"You are acting like rabbits*," he says. "It is time to act like wolves," and these are the perfect words. I can almost hear the backs of the men around me stiffen and the hairs on their neck bristle and it is exactly this, to be the hunter and not the hunted, that will keep me alive. This law is the same law of the bush. Turn fear and panic into the sharp blade of survival.'
-Joseph Boyden, Three Day Road

i have been thinking a lot about perspectives lately, and how words have the power to not only describe, but create reality. i am the first to admit that some times (more often than not) the words i use to shape my truth are harsher than they need to be: i have bad eyesight, my left side is weak, i am selfish, i suffer from depression, i am constantly blocked...these are some of the phrases i use with regularity. i think in the beginning i used them to define how much i'd survived, but now i see how they are damaging my growth, holding me back.

i hate being called "a victim". it's the proverbial red flag waved in front of me-as-bull, and the term ignites my infamous temper like nothing else. tonight, waiting for a friend to meet me at the metro, i remembered the last person to call me a victim to my face - that cop in downtown east-side vancouver.
i wish i could link back to that post, but i can't, so a quick synopsis: i was travelling in b.c., and it was something like my third night from home. i'd forgotten my keys to my aunt's place, and knowing how much it would piss her off to be woken up, i grabbed a cab downtown, to try and find a hostel where i could crash for the night. the cab dropped me off on cordova, a block away from east hastings, which is one of the worst neighbourhoods for heroin addicts and prostitutes in the world. in the confusion, i walked there to try and find a cab home, where two things happened: 1) sketchy guy in unmarked car pulls up to curb to offer me a "lift"; 2) the cops pull up, sirens blaring, to arrest the two of us for shady dealings.
once it became apparent that i wasn't a hooking junkie, bad cop informed me that i had "victim written all over my face." at which point, i gave him a piece of my mind, telling (read: yelling - i was tired, it was 3:30 am, i was defending my honour) him it was no wonder that people didn't trust cops, etc., etc.
it's a wonder that i didn't get arrested. or beaten. in the back of my mind, as i was mouthing off, i was fully expecting both.

tonight, on the way to the bus stop, a creepy thing happened. i was walking along, all glittered up, when i heard this honk behind me. not even thinking twice, i looked over my shoulder, and the car whose horn it was slowed down to a complete stop in the road beside me. i stopped too. the car, and the driver in it, didn't make a move. with the way the sun was slanted, i couldn't see his face, so i put my hands on my hips, and deliberately said, in a loud voice,
"what? what the fuck do you want?" and the guy, who turned into some old man with white hair and an unbuttoned shirt, put up his hand to me, waved, and drove off.
i felt threatened. i felt like i had been sized up, tapped like a melon, and randomly discarded. it was the strangest feeling.

yesterday, met took me on an excursion to rid me of the depression that had been lurking for a few days. we had a number of destinations in mind; one of the places where we ended up was a bookstore. i wandered the aisles in that book-stupor i always get- oh, the pages smell so good; that's a really cool font; they have pablo neruda? and had a few finalists - met, at one point, basically took me aside and told me i should buy something. at the time, i was so not in the mood - it was one of those funks that shopping therapy was definitely not going to cure, but also - he was tempting me to buy books. it was fair to assume that i'd capitulate.
one of the finalists was three day road. honestly, i wavered before i brought it to the counter - do i really want a story about two men, fighting in world war one? how up my alley is that, really? and i know it's a silly bias, but normally i like to support women authors - but something in me stilled that impulse. i'd been hearing great things about the novel, and boyden himself, and i'd been picking it up with the intention of buying it for months.
so i bought it, with met's discount card, and brought it home. and have been falling deeper into the story ever since.

and there was that one section of the novel, the quote that started this post, that really stopped me in my tracks. the metaphor of the rabbit versus the wolf stayed with me until i got home to write about it. i know i am strong, even if sometimes i undermine my own strength. and if i recognize that i am a warrior, a wolf - then why do i insist on labelling myself a rabbit? why do i make myself more timid, more insecure, more bad, through the choices of words that i make?

no more. i will not be a victim; i will be a survivor. i will not have a weak left side; i will have an unique body. i will not have writer's block; i will blast through it. it will be a challenge, to invert my thinking and accept and honour the person i am, but i am committed to doing it.

and if you are so inclined, have you been (unintentionally) labelling yourself a rabbit? how does this affect your reality?

*some people who read this post may love rabbits. it was not my intention to offend.

Sunday, August 13, 2006

9:40 am. i'm drinking coffee from a wine glass, and waiting for the laundry room to open in twenty minutes so i can wash the mysterious chocolate stains from my sheets. the day is coming in cool and blue through my window, and it will be easy to lose a few hours before i head to the mountain on my bike.

i had a very good weekend, the kind that involved shutting the ringer off the phone and barely turning on the computer; when i went to the store to buy eggs, i wore my wig.
on friday, i cleaned my apartment from top to bottom, made dinner for two, and did my part to rid the world of rosee. yesterday, we got serious about the doctor who marathon we've been meaning to have - i'm very behind, considering i last watched it in 1986.

12:12 pm. this is going to be one of those disjointed posts. my last load is going through, the dishes are done, i'm debating the merits of one more shot of espresso before actually starting on my day. this is what i love about sundays - the dreaminess of it all, the self-reflection. i always tend on using them as emotional check-ins.

is my body finally starting to calm down? i hope so. last night i slept well again. the mysterious hives on my arms might be going away - or that might just be wishful thinking on my part. (rather than taking some strange steroid, i'm following my sister's prescription of oatstraw tea, lots and lots of tea tree oil, and her salve). my body is a constant reminder of how i internalize stress without letting it go.
letting go - i know what i need to do, but there's something i'm missing, still.

1:10 pm. about half an hour ago, checked my email and there it is, sitting there like a bomb waiting to go off.
[real name] subject: Dad.
i'm too scared to open it.
i'm too scared to open it.

i'm scared that my aunt and uncle broke my confidence and talked to him about my fears. this man screwed me up in so many ways i sometimes feel like i'm running around sticking sand bags up against a tsunami.
i'm WAY too scared to read the email, though. i feel like i'm going to be sick.
1:23 pm. okay, coffee to fortify. then i'm going to pretend that the email doesn't exist and go OUTSIDE. far, far away from it all. i'm going to walk to a park and find my friends and pretend that a soccer ball is someone's head. i'll update this later...

1:36 pm. i'm such a baby! it was just an update email.
7:10 pm. i just poured a gin and tonic that was a little heavy on the gin, even for me. not sure how i feel about trying to shave after this - but it'll be a fun story for the grandkids, if it doesn't work out.
i learned a few things today.
first, don't trust google maps' directions because they don't account for people being pedestrians. there were a few times where the "sidewalk" literally melted away and left me clinging to a chainlink fence while cars went by at a lot faster than the posted speed limit.
second, no matter how much of a champion walker i am, it's still going to take me an hour and a bit to get downtown from where i live.
third, i need to learn the directions on a compass. before someone else schedules something for "the south-east corner of the park at five past seven on the third tuesday of a month". i mean, fucksnatch, people.
7:23 pm. if i get hungry, i'll cook, but i'm not really. i'm going to try and read ethan frome - don't ask me why i'm wrestling with edith wharton when i don't have to be. (well, i actually like her. it's weird that i do, i recognize that, but i do. and for some reason i've never been able to FINISH ethan frome, though i've started it like a million times. i hate not finishing books.)
i'm also going to try and write, shave, do my physio exercises for once, maybe some sit-ups. my yoga mat is sitting forlornly in the corner, too, even though i just used it yesterday.
11:07 pm. i tried to sleep - curled up in clean sheets with some chai and my book - but i couldn't. i was too worried, and when i get worried it eats concentric circles through my stomach. so i got up and pulled a clean journal from my book shelf and started to write.
this is the first time in a while i've even started a journal entry other than a blog, and the results were enlightening.
i pulled the same book off the shelf yesterday, when met was over, and felt a pang as i did. my ex's mother gave it to me for my birthday, and it's waited patiently in a queue to be written in since. his mother also gave me my only surviving teapot. his sister gave me the collected works of lewis carroll.
to me, it never felt like i was super-close with my ex's family, but i know that they felt close to me. it's not like we ever talked regularly on the phone, but i was given the secret book of recipes to copy from.
i think that's part of the reason, a large part, why i feel twitchy now.
i feel really, really, really alone.
most of the time i can cope with this feeling. i like being alone, a lot of the time, but all of my friends who live in montreal aren't actually in montreal right now. my friends in my hometown all have lives of their own. my family doesn't bother much with me; my sister lives far away.
i guess that, paired with the stuff i'm dealing with (no job, no matter how hard i look; starting physio again; therapy) makes me feel like i don't have a life of my own right now.
i feel like i'm in stasis.
i feel shut out of the bigger picture.
i'm going to figure out how to fix this.

Thursday, August 10, 2006

oh, meme madness. i think i'm only doing this one, and i swear it will be the last, because it was the first time i've been properly tagged, by claire. (and claire, i'll tell you how to link if you tell me where the hell my title bars have gone. fucksnatch.)

I’m thinking about: what music i should listen to; what the hell do i have against taking advil when my cramps get so feckin bad already?; grolsch; the two stories i have sitting at the top of my brain; do i have time to do a full hour of yoga, write, and clean my apartment before i crash?; mustn't forget about doctor's tomorrow; i should set my alarm before i forget - i always forget; i miss john, and met.
I said: (internal thought - does this mean my own personal sayings? what does this mean?) the last thing i said, sadly, was to my cat bean: i said, and i quote, "you've seen me take hundreds upon thousands of baths before. why do you get so upset?"
I want to: actually spend a full day with my boyfriend, from waking up together to going to sleep together, without one of us being distracted or stressed out or called away. it'll happen, but i just want it to be soon.
I wish: it was two weeks from now, when met and i will be in *****, far away from everybody.
I hear: my granny of a computer whirring in the background. bjork's debut album, specifically human behaviour. the front door of my building closing. cars on the street outside. my own breath.
I wonder: about how all the beautiful things in life encompass both joy and pain, simultaneously.
I regret: not being able to let go of my insecurity and trust already.
I am: incredibly stubborn; frustrated by injustice; inclined to conspiracy theories; passionate; fierce; achingly vulnerable only in front of a few people.
I dance: when i have a few in me. i love to, but i'm extremely self-conscious about the way my body moves.
I sing: when i'm alone.
I cry: pretty much every time i think of my mother; when i get frustrated, or too angry; every time i do physio.
I’m not always:...i put on a big show, a lot of the time. i'm not always the show.
I make with my hands: paintings, cards, clothes, ugly dolls, zines.
I write: because i have to. my blood is ink.
I confuse: myself. in quite the most literal sense, i think my body's dyslexic.
I need: peace. the love and support of a few people (who know who they are). a good night's rest.
And finally: i can't quite believe that this is what being grown-up looks like.

i don't have the heart to tag anyone (sorry, claire) but if you'd like to do this, i'm sure we'd love to read them.

i woke up some time this morning and deleted the post that i'd written some time last night. then i wrote a few emails, read a chapter about throat chakras and lay in bed, listening to music until it carried me away to sleep.

depression, vine-like, is starting to curl around my toes and make its clever way to my heart. i don't have any words right now. i've tried - i have several ideas for posts but nothing is coming - which makes me a little sad because blogging was the only form of writing i've really been able to do this summer. i know it'll come back, but i miss it.

i need to get outside today. right when i was moving to this neighbourhood, i walked through a park and found this cedar tree. i've visited it several times since, in a sort of quiet communion, and as i sit beneath it there is always this sense of peace that suffuses me.

i need that right now. so, in lieu of poetry on this thursday, please accept my recommendation of silverstein's the giving tree. oh my god, do you need to read this book if you haven't. it'll break your heart, in all the million good ways a book can.

i'm sorry i've been so quiet lately. i'm the weeble that's rocking back up.

Tuesday, August 08, 2006

another day...another blog.

sorry for the abrupt move, everyone. can you believe i didn't import any of my archives? so much of my life is gone, but rather than feeling nostalgic about it (well, maybe a little), i feel rather freed.

the story behind the abrupt move is this: a few months ago, when i was travelling, i accidentally left the address to my old blog on my aunt's computer. she found it, and started reading consistently what i was posting.
you can imagine family members didn't want to be reading the stuff that they were reading about me. i did, unthinkingly, air a lot of dirty laundry - some of which i don't regret airing at all, some of which i do, simply because it hurt people i love.

it all came to a head sunday night, when i had a conversation with my cousin, and i made a spontaneous decision to close the blog. with new digs, again, my family wouldn't be able to find me, and i would be able to once again freely speak my mind.

there is something to be said for continuity, but there is also something to be said for starting over.