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This blog has gotten old. It’s really too bad.
Life got in its way.
It’s the job (14), you know. It’s life (3). It’s the need for sleep (7).
I haven’t done much to warrant a post about music or art for quite some time. I can tell you all about Board Area 3 and institutional, commercial and industrial sectors, though.
The good news is that I plan to being working on my creative side. I have a art project underway for the staircase. I may also be acquiring a piano.
It’s a start. Balance must be achieved.
... makes me sick. Really. Not figuratively.
I am in the West Palm Beach airport enjoying the free internet instead of working (like I told myself that I would). Can anyone really blame me? All other airports charge big bucks for this service.
I took advantage of the long weekend to get some sun (okay, it was a burn) and take a bit of a vacation from the evils of winter in Ontario. I haven't had a lot of say lately* - mainly because everything has been so good. Funny how my muse only comes when I am upset about something.
This weekend I experienced palm trees, jellyfish, sand, surf, bikes, lush lush gardens, freshly squeezed orange juice (by yours truly) and general sweetness. I also witnessed extreme wealth. I have been told that 53% of people who live in Palm Beach are over the age of 65. The average household income is $110,000. As most of these people don't work and live in houses worth many times more than their household income, it can only be deduced that the income is from investments somewhere. The number of banks and investment establishments did not surprise me.
Indulgence, every so often, is just fine in my books. That is what this weekend was all about.
And now? Back to reality.
(*In the next few weeks I will do my best to remember to post about my dear Hawksley, starbucks and something else I can't recall at this moment)
Today I am not at work. Today I am remembering. And running and baking and doing work.
While running in a splendid temperature of 6 degrees and in a light mist I pondered why geese poop so much. I cannot stand when it gets stuck in my shoes. To compensate, I ran around every bit of it as best as I could.
While running I thought about how nice it is to have miles and miles of paths along the waterfront, relatively far from traffic and very close to my home. The running paths are one of the few things I miss about Ottawa.
While running I thought about how I wish I had more time to run, blog, make unnecessary telephone calls, socialize and wander around the city. Such is my life.
eat my dust...
too much white wine, bonding over kidneys, cold rice krispies, clogged vacuums, not enough orange juice, the joy of catherine wheel, bar (exams), burning, brilliant yellow roses, praising the kelly, the perfect lighting, free beer, lists and tables and lists.
...you insensitive fuck.
The good side of the tape is playing and the wine is going down just a bit too easy. Yes. The tape. The mechanics of the Lakeshore waste containers continue to impress and evening outdoor Shakespeare shows remind me of younger days … Watermelon on the grass for a quarter and literary summaries so as to not lose the finer points. Don’t forget the chair. Blankets are inadequate. It’s like corn on the cob. Innocent and sweet. Plentiful and satisfying. Daddy’s little girl. Could it bring you to your knees? That was always my least favourite part of church. I preferred the music. But do I really want to return? Perhaps it is about time. This vacation is for the birds. Running through their crap is frustrating. It ruins my flow. I imagine what it is going to be like to remove. You Can’t Do That On Television.
I didn’t like that green goop, either. Here we are with our running and confusion, and I don't see no confusion anywhere.
A long, long time ago, it seems, even though it really wasn't. The older you get the more quickly time passes. Two months? A lifetime? Today I like number 3 the best.
If I could catch it, wrap it up and sell it, I would make a fortune. Too bad for them. It's all for me.
Turn a new page. Tear the old one out.
I used to read novels like there was a shortage of words. I would get upset when they ended. It was like I had lost a friend. Trilogies and series silenced those complaints. I haven't indulged in years. I've come to like my reality better. White wine and sleeping pills? Not required.
I prefer my eggs ... [and] bottomless coffee, thanks. Wait. That's number 1.
I cannot believe that I did not know this existed. "Could it be true?" you ask. It's probably overstated. It doesn't take away from the hilarity, though. And when you're done with that, go here. I'm sure the law students/lawyers will be equally humoured.
As a child/teenager my father would lecture me about taking care of my tools. "If you don't take care of them they will not take care of you" he would say. Of course, he was referring to dull blades on iceskates.
I do math equations in my head when I run. It helps distract me. As I am easily distracted, I usually spend the entire run thinking about the solution to one equation. I suppose I am also not great at calculus in my head. (But really, who is?) I used to tell people that I was "anti-derivative" until I realized that I didn't create that concept. Oh, I like this song.
I haven't been running well since my return. It was an effort and my knees and hip were a constant bother. My shoes were long past ineffective and I knew this. Complaining is for lazy people.
Today I ran. In my shiny new shoes. I ran and ran and ran. I did not think of math. I did not think of other life stresses. It was not until I finished that I realized that my knees did not hurt and that my hip did not ache.
And so my father was right yet again. It's amazing how much your parents learn when you leave home.
Note to self: it is a bad idea to stick your finger in a cup of concentrated bleach.
I wouldn't be me if I didn't do such asinine things on a semi-regular basis, though.
My mind has been in a bit of a state, lately. Too many things are going on and I feel like I am more than a bit disorganized. Part of me hates it. The other part loves it. My new philosophy is to just let it happen, to enjoy it and to stop insisting on always having control. After all, life isn't always just about exams and living arrangements. It's also about laundry. And really ... who really wants to be in charge of that.
She said she didn't think she could believe in God anymore. How could she? It makes perfect sense. He was 19. Young and beautiful. Ripped from the world almost within a blink of an eye.
But does it really have anything to do with the powers that be? Oh, I have my doubts, my issues, my beliefs. This was not the time.
She needed something else. Something I tried desperately to provide. I am a poor substitute for my mother.
I walked through the Vatican. I didn't have a holy experience. I gaped at the grandeur, the beauty and thought about the irony in Michaelangelo's bitterness. I actually felt closer to my grandmother than I did to God.
If the events of the last week and a bit have taught me anything it is that we only live once. Death is inevitable and in the end the moment is what matters. Sort of....
Carry me away. I need your strength to get me through this. Slowly walk away, To breathe again....
Tomorrow is the end.
Tonight I saw the most amazing sunset. I had the most amazing company. I really need to pack.
The last three weeks have been more than I have imagined. They have brought me insight, calm and excitement.
The world is full of places that are just waiting to be discovered.
At the risk of sounding like some kind of infomercial, I will leave. Await pictures and corresponding posts. My material has quadrupled.
As I sit in, Horta, a suburb of Barcelona, I think.
There is so much to see. There is so much to do. There is no alternative. It has to be done.
I will swim in the Mediterranean even if the water is not warm. I like refreshing.
I will walk until my feet will take me no further. Things could be worse.
I will wake up early and I will sleep late. I will not miss a thing.
I know that I'm supposed to inspect the cork. I know that I'm supposed to stick my nose into the wine glass (deep and bulbous for the red) and inhale deeply. I know that I'm supposed to take two sips before I decide if I like it. I know I'm supposed to look at its legs. I tend to forget, though.
Or maybe I just don't really care.
There is little I like more than unpacking the bag, taking off the clothes and pouring the glass of wine. I put on my music and I listen. I sip and I feel.
They are my grandmother's wine glasses, you know. Donzens of dinner parties later they are well used and well loved. Some have met their demise. I never mind.
There is no greater way to show appreciation than use. A memory isn't protected by an item. The use of the item creates more.
I could sit for hours listening to the songs and letting them take me to those places. It's my sanity, you know.
I am not opposed to hard work. I like it, in fact. It makes me feel useful. Use is important. YOU were too much work. YOU were not supposed to be that much work. I am worth more.
I feel as though my life is about to start. Opportunities have lined themselves up and I can be as picky as I want.
I can only remember one other point in my life when I have felt this complete. I was about to start law school. I was nervous. No. Terrified. I wrote about it on my long since dead livejournal and said that I felt that day was the first day of the rest of my life. My god. How my life has changed since then.
It’s funny how time brings joy and misery, failure and insight. In the last three years, I have feared for my life, cried myself to sleep, ran for everything I was/am, have laughed harder than I thought was possible and have realized that in the end, all I have is me.
Today is the first day of the rest of my life. I can’t wait.
I cry more during emotional movies than I do during my own life.
It feels good.
Good like running in the rain, water pouring down your face, good. Good like the smell of spring, good. Good like a smile from a stranger, good. Good like an unexpected but thoughtful gesture, good.
Reign On Me was the perfect dose of feel good.
Then I listened to NIN.
Perfect.
Reflective, pensive, emotional is what the last 3 weeks have been.
I found a new friend. It was rather long over-due.
Well it's a realization, when you find out you don't even wanna look at yourself
I am a strong advocate of "self-reflection." It's not pleasant but it is necessary. It's nice to have allies for the combat, but it's also nice to know who aren't going to be there.
And i'm gonna miss you like a child misses their blanket But I gotta go and move on with my life
So there.
A post about something more coherent will follow when the opportunity presents itself.
Today I left for the CAPPRT with a head of hair that was behaving, skin that finally no longer looked like I had planted my face in ice and with a mind full of advice that I was determined for follow.
I like to “people watch” so I rarely think much of it when people do it to me. On days like today I could care less. “Look all you want! In this second, I am perfect.”
He told me I was beautiful. The look in his eyes convinced me that he was going out of his way to tell me this and that he meant it.
There is hope for me yet.
Life, bring it on.
Is it anywhere in the city you live? Is it the house where you grew up? Is it where you fall asleep at night? Is it where you feel most comfortable or comforted?
I recall speaking to a parent when I first moved away from "home" just short of a decade ago. We confused what I meant by "home" because she thought I meant her house and I thought I meant mine.
City and Colour made me think of this today. So did the comments of a friend.
I'm indifferent, I think. I am not comfortable in my childhood home. I have never looked at my other homes as permanent. I certainly am a guest at most of the other places I spend time. Being a guest doesn't equate to being home. It's a funny change of perspective. It's also one that isn't entirely unwelcome. It's proof that at the end of the day change is good. It provides character, strength and insulting independence.
A home is not defined by four walls. It is much more. I'll know it when I find it. I certainly haven't yet.
I wouldn't consider myself a sappy person but last night I found myself staring, starry-eyed, at a short-ish man with a strange shirt/tie combination (which, by the way, is a pet-peeve of mine - the tie ... not the stature).
He spoke proudly of the fact that he finished his first year of law school third from the bottom. He went on to graduate sixth from the bottom. He then opened a very successful boutique law firm that specializes in Corporate Finance and Mergers & Acquisitions transactions in Toronto.
Last night, this man, on behalf of his firm, donated a substantial sum of money to various student causes. My place of student employment was among them.
He said he wanted to be an example of what can be done with drive. I couldn't agree more.
I sit here now looking for my drive. I really have no excuse.
Today was all about Radiohead. Well, to be fair, it was not just about Radiohead ... you know...
I think it's the lyrics that get me *here.* They pull at strings and I find myself saying "ya ... I hear you, Tom."
Red wine and sleeping pills Help me get back to your arms Cheap sex and sad films Help me get where I belong Stop sending letters Letters always get burned It's not like the movies They fed us on little white lies I will see you in the next life Beautiful angel Pulled apart at birth Limbless and helpless I can't even recognize you
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