sadness in the new, sadness is the old

you know i come here to listen to sad songs and think about how to say whatever it is that i can't say

it's not words it's physical

enough talk let's fuck

our hearts out our stomach top of the roller coaster i'm going down

to the bottom


to lie here and think about

why bon iver's first album is still so good

and winter in a minnesota cabin

between the trees some frozen tears


i could feel them fuck between the walls

remembered what it's like to reach through and grab nothing

press yourself against the wall

like a magnet from a distance


how many ways to say whatever it is i can't say

i can't say but i know now

i mean i think i know     you guys    i think i know

i didn't choose this but i want it


nostalgia 101 - a hundred different things about love

it was a beautiful shitty place

names changed for privacy.

i used to live in a shitty apartment in the plateau, surrounded by nicer looking triplexes. the landlord was a busy jewish man with a black suv who banged vigorously on our door for rent every month. i found my roommates on craigslist. i think originally it was supposed to be a one-bedroom apartment but was then turned into a three-bedroom to fit more people. greg's room used to be a closet i think. my room was bigger than his but also small. it could fit a single bed in one direction only. i painted my room green and it was kind of ugly and i left it there when i moved out. nobody ever used the living room. we didn't even have a table until greg bought a tiny tv tray which tilted slightly on the uneven floor. kevin's friend who used to live there before i did still had a pile of stuff in the living room. he never picked it up in all the 8 months that i lived there. it included a tv, a basketball, a book about mao zedong, and a bright blue bra which appeared out of nowhere one day.

one time, i listened to post-war by m. ward a lot and it was beautiful and things hurt but a good kind of hurt, you know? i remember lying in my blue sheets in my green room trying to figure out what 'home' meant.

why is everything so weird

i wrote this thing in october 2010 about the landmarks that were approaching in my life. it was called 'why is everything so weird'. instead i posted this. reading this right now makes me feel weird.

Late November, early December

Around this time I started working at American Eagle, which was supposed to be a Christmas job, and yet I'm still here even though I live far away from where I work. I also don't know how I feel about this. In the past 2 months American Eagle has been the only thing keeping me sane because it's the only thing in my life that's remained familiar. I genuinely like everyone I work with and I'm writing it here even though I don't think any of them read this, which is totally fine. I don't know if I'm good at my job.

If I didn't work at American Eagle I probably would never have talked to any of the people I work with, and I don't think they would have talked to me. And that's okay, because we're different, kind of, and I would never have applied if I hadn't already been friends with someone who worked there. I'm glad I get to work with people I wouldn't have otherwise met.

I've been thinking about my job lately, and people keep asking me why I don't get transferred since I live in the city now, and I can't really explain why except that it's become kind of comforting. I've even (sort of) come to enjoy being the janitor on Sunday mornings. I don't know. They should pay me more to clean the light fixtures, I probably have 5 pounds of dust in my lungs or something.

++

Everything is so weird. I guess this is called "growing". Why do things have to mean something? None of these dates are really important, except maybe my birthday which is important to society and possibly my grandmother. I don't know what life will be like this time next year, I don't want to know, don't tell me. I wouldn't believe you anyway.

i think i remember having a dream around this time about someone in a white cotton shirt. i think my life is the same but different.

st laurent to mont-royal

When we climbed up to the top of the mountain it was like 4am and I was pretty drunk. It was cold it was sometime in November I think. No, it must've been October because Ryan didn't hate me yet. It was just me and him and Karen and I think Ryan liked her at that time. I liked Casey but she kept getting me down. That night I had seen her outside the bar sitting on some other guy's lap and ignoring me, well screw that.Why do girls do that. Let's go to the mountain Ryan said. You'll feel better. So we went up the mountain and I was feeling pretty down and Ryan and Karen were racing each other. Karen was so fast it was like they were so free and I felt heavy 'cause I couldn't run as fast as them. But when we got to the top the air was so fresh and I didn't care about anything anymore. Except maybe I was feeling down that Ryan and Karen were making eyes at each other. We stuck ourselves in a telephone booth to keep warm and wait for the sunrise. We must've listened to Bon Iver because whenever I hear "re:stacks" I think of running up the mountain and the view and the cold air. But later that song would come to mean something else to me and that was alright. The sunrise wasn't even that good I think it was on the other side of the mountain. But after that night I didn't care about Casey anymore. We went down the mountain and I was feeling pretty good about it and I fell asleep on the bus.

That was all before Karen moved to Thailand and I met Lainey who's a good girl. I don't get drunk anymore but sometimes I miss those days when it hurt to breathe. I guess no one's hurt me like that since then so I never needed to go back. Everyone changes I learned so we just grew up like everyone else. And growing up doesn't mean not fitting in telephone boxes anymore it means not wanting to or not even being there to do it. Shouting "fuck you Casey!" into the night doesn't mean anything anymore. When we were young we used to hear our voices ring around the city, now we just hear it in our heads. We don't let people get us down like Casey got me down anymore. But sometimes I miss climbing the mountain thinking that's what love is.

that secret that we know, that we don't know how to tell

can i tell you a secret.

'teenage dream' by katy perry plays at work and more than once it has almost made me cry. now i am listening to it on repeat but i don't know why.

last year -- december 2009 -- i was wandering up and down a street i knew too well. i was always looking for this one person without trying to make it look like i was looking for her; i was smoking cigarettes outside leaning on trees; i was stumbling down mountains and listening to bon iver and crying and desperate all the time. my money was gone and i was drunk as hell.

sometimes my secret is this: the ground is wet with snow but it is not snowing. the air is damp like it was just raining and the glow of lights reflect on the pavement. car lights. street lamps. i want to chain smoke. i am surrounded by people and all at once i am happy and sad and alone and hopeful. the night is just beginning and there are still places we haven't been.

sometimes my secret is this: i do not know the difference between being in love and wanting a mother. i am sorry. i do not know the difference.

one year ago -- december 2009 -- i was standing in the fitting room at my job. a song was making me cry. in my mind the street i seemed to always be standing on was upside down; my feet were on the sky. that's the way i walked around.

sometimes i have no secrets and it makes me feel bare but no one asks. a secret is hidden; if there is nothing to hide but no one is looking then what is there. am i secret if i don't exist. whose secret am i. what is the point of a secret if not to reveal it one day.

lately my secret has been that grey's anatomy makes me cry. i just let myself sink into this hand crafted world where people live and die with the stroke of a pen. and when parents hear that their children are dead and they break down in each other's arms, i break down too. i let myself cry over this tv show because it's easier than crying over real life.

tell me a secret if you so desire.

++

I am in love
with the way I see the world.
But I am all alone there.
- Matthew Rohrer "Hone Quarry"

i don't feel this way, but it's a beautiful line.

there is no such thing as eye contact on skype

skype is this really great invention that let's you see and talk to someone else anywhere in the world provided you both have a computer and skype. skype is free. you can even get skype on your iphone. skype is kind of like a phone, but free. free calls! anywhere in the world!

i spend a lot of time on skype. so much, that i've developed a bitterness towards it. 'cause you can't touch anyone on skype. and when you close your computer at night, you're alone. and when you look at someone, they can't even tell. and when they look at you, you don't even know. you can't really see anything, just pixelated faces, mouths frozen or lagging.

yesterday i biked to the house i used to live in. i just biked by, quickly, because i saw mr. vaillancourt sweeping his drive and i didn't want him to notice me if i stopped. i wonder how old he is now. the entire street looked unchanged, but everything was. there was a mini statue of jesus in our old garden.

i rode past my elementary school, through the park and the trees i used to climb, past shannon's house, past shane's house, through the grass into the forest where the kids make mountains in the dirt to do bike tricks. the only difference between now and then is that the mountains are bigger now. i guess we are too.

if you had told me 7 years ago that i'd be here now, moved across the main street to a new house, making no eye contact on skype, i would have said what the hell is skype.

i'm moving again, too. or trying to. growing up is stranger than i thought it would be.

remember when everything was new, before this was a habit? i had butterflies in my stomach and shivers right to my fingertips. sometimes i can't believe this is real.

There is Nothing As Lucky, As Easy, Or Free (blindsided)

vii.

I never really dreamed of heaven much, till we put him her in the ground.

viii.

At first it's easy to pretend it isn't there; that loneliness, that empty space somewhere in your life. First you pretend you're crying because you were the only kid in grade 3 who forgot to bring scissors and glue to school on arts and crafts day. You sit in an empty classroom with a teacher who had big, black curly hair. She loved The Beatles, just like your aunt, and she asks you if you need to see the counsellor, and in a moment of weakness you say yes. Then you get over it, and when it's time for your meeting you feel upset at being interrupted while you were cutting paper with your friends, colouring things, making fake houses. But you go anyway, and pretend you don't know what it's about. And you lie, because you want to go back to safety. You want to go back to denial.

It was easy to ignore life, actual physical life, breath, the act of breathing and moving and smelling, touching, thinking, feeling. It was only when I realized she was dead that I realized I was alive. Suddenly life -- the concept of being alive -- was different.

ix.

I never thought about it for years. It, I never thought about It. You know, that event. I didn't make the connection between the scissors and the glue, and the event I had truly forgotten at home.

My dad said it was okay to cry but I didn't because my cousins were nearby, and I didn't want to cry in front of them. I wanted to pretend like I didn't care, because maybe I didn't. Maybe it was easier that way. I wanted to go home and be alone in my room. I became used to that feeling.

Maybe we all did.

x.

There's nothing left but fuzzy memories and an excuse I keep and use when it's convenient. Instead of pretending that it didn't happen, I make it all that has ever happened to me. So when something hurts, when you hurt me, I pretend it's not you, it's not you, it was this thing that happened to me a hundred years ago. When I feel like you're leaving I pretend that it hurts because I was left so long ago and not because I simply just want you to stay.

xi.

At first I missed the body; then I missed the mind; then I missed the concept. I'm stuck on the idea that my childhood could have been different, that the rest of my life might have been different. Now there's one less thing to return home to. I can feel my memories of being a kid disintegrating; I mean really, sometimes I wonder if the first 13 years of my life were real, if I ever lived in a different house than I do now, was there always someone other than Tina around? Did I belong to a family of two at one point? I don't think so, no, it just wasn't real at all.

No, no, and life is just so fragile, and maybe we spend all our years trying to reach the point we reached when we came out of the womb, so delicate and malleable, but we can't go back, no, no we can't go back, we just go forward and hope we'll reach "second childhood and mere oblivion, sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything". Maybe we should take the broken pieces and turn it into something new, and we build our own events, because whether we have a purpose or not is irrelevant; we are just going, I mean, we are moving, and life will move you whether you are ready to move or not, so I mean, just don't sit there among the brokenness, take the pieces of your life and make a house or something, make a bicycle, make a friend, I don't know what, just fucking do it, go on, do it, go go go.

xii.

Move, like today never happened, today never happened before.

the trapeze act was wonderful but never meant to last (blindsided)

iv.

overstepping my boundaries for the first time. this is what happens when you write yourself into a corner and cover yourself with words that mash together into one incoherent mass of letters.

the morning was a love letter. the night is a taking back of sorts, a retraction and a removal of the early fog. perfection is so hard to retain. it's a standing at the top of a mountain; one step in every direction is down, and sometimes the fall is just free. is the point of it all to stand still? we will never get anywhere.

now every letter counts. every word counts more than the next, till the taste of your name is heavy on my tongue. so my speech is slurred, so i'm t-t-tired, so i can't spit it out. i lift books during the day like weights. i hope there's something in this universe waiting for me in the sky, 'cause i'm headed there, i'm headed there and i'd like to float around. i'd like to write your name between the clouds. this [blank] is such a mess.

v.

why'd you leave?

i miss you and i never had you. i get you mixed up with everyone i know. i see you everywhere, like you never left, but you just don't recognize me. would i want you if i had you?

i made a wish, threw my heavy heart to the bottom of the pool.

it always comes back to you. i saw a baby once, sitting on her mother's lap. she looked at me with blue eyes and smiled. her mother kissed her, the cheek. the baby was completely unaware. i wanted to cry for everything i had lost.

there's no way to get it back. the words i've said, those individual little letters that hardly mean anything at all, they've gotten away from me.

"those who've gotten away from me:

read this, and call.

those whom i've hurt:

i wanted everything, or not enough.

it was all my fault."

words don't call back and accept apologies. they lie there, on real pages or on virtual ones, existing. i caused them all.

the baby didn't know who she was. did she feel the kiss on her cheek? did she put her tiny finger to the spot, afterwards, to feel some remnants of love or the moisture of soft lips? in the worst way possible i wanted to steal her memory, but there is none of that.

vi.

mother, i'm terribly, terribly afraid of everything [she] loves. why is life so fragile?

Simple Things Can Make You Happy if You Let Them

"In a spirit of mutinous resistance, she climbed the seep grassy slope to the bridge, and when she stood on the driveway, she decided she would stay there and wait until something significant happened to her. This was the challenge she was putting to existence -- she would not stir, not for dinner, not even for her mother calling her in. She would simply wait on the bridge, calm and obstinate, until events, real events, not her own fantasies, rose to her challenge, and dispelled her insignificance."

- Atonement by Ian McEwan

"I'm going to sit here until I feel my soul."

- Matthew Rohrer "MK Ultra"

++

I'm going to sit here until I feel my soul, and then when I feel it I have no idea what I'm going to do. I'm going to sit here and feel apart from my body, feel like I'm two different entities. I can't organize myself.

There wasn't a time when it was easy. If you knew me four years ago you would have known me as angry.

Dear [redacted],

I said I would never write to you again, but here I am. You went away, but you never really went away, if you know what I mean. I used to know you, you used to think you knew me. In my sick, sick way I pulled you in, made you "mine". I thought I wanted you but what I really wanted was for you to have me.

I said that you were me, but in the future. I said if I wasn't so sad I would be just like you. Am I like you now? It's been four years. Who am I now? Am I you?

++

This post began with me trying to say that I used to be really angry when I was 16, but now I'm never angry and it's weird because I'm happy? with a question mark. Then I erased everything and wrote a letter that doesn't make sense. Now I'm listening to a playlist called "Window Blues".

Anyways, the point is that I used to hate everyone and everything because the world was mean. But then things happen, and it's a long story, you might as well read every blog entry I've ever written because that is when things "happened", I mean, this is when I changed. Not because of this blog, but this blog happened to exist when I lived. I don't hate anyone or anything. I still get mad at the STM but I don't get mad at people, rarely, I mean sometimes I still snap at people because I'm human and I get irritated, but I'm not angry, I'm not holding grudges. I feel like I can properly adjust to crisises which is a word I can't spell but I'm not mad about it.

I think I just get sad when other people might get mad. Instead I take it personally, like, if the government is mean I want to cry and sometimes I do, and it hurts me as if they said it to my face. That was just an example because I can't think of anything real right now.

Being positive is really hard, but it's all in your head. I had a therapist who got pregnant and left me but she taught me that it's all in my head and I can be happy if I want to, and I do.

I can't be around srs negativity because it's like a relapse. It makes me feel like I'm 16. It makes me want to write letters to [redacted] and that's dumb because I'm smarter now. I think.

++

"The people we love could never crawl inside of us, even if they wanted to... happy's up to you."

Kind of Like Spitting - "Happy?"

When I Was Young Part 1: How The Spice Girls and Tegan & Sara Shaped My Life

Everybody has had one. Everybody has had an idol, a hero of some sort, someone they obsessed over and knew everything about. There's always some celebrity or artist or writer that inspired you when you were a kid, shaped your childhood. Before high school, it was The Spice Girls. Now, it's Tegan and Sara.

++

My aunt first introduced me to The Spice Girls in 1997 or so. My aunt tries to be hip and on top of those things kids like -- she was the one who bought be Harry Potter in 1999. She also claimed last year to discover this really great new band which she then revealed to be The Arcade Fire who've existed for a long time already. So there's that.

But The Spice Girls were probably the first thing I ever truly loved. I had all their CDs, the movie, the books, the t-shirts. I knew all the words even though I didn't know what "ziga-zig-ah" or "two become one" meant. 'N Sync and the Backstreet Boys were super popular at that time too, but I could never get on board. I think I cried when Geri left the group. I even have The Spice Girls last album as a group of four (quatro? what?) called "Forever" except I think it's a shortened version or something.

When I listen to The Spice Girls now I get all nostalgic and want to cry. First of all, their songs are still awesome. Secondly, they have a really good message for girls: GIRL POWER. This is essential in helping Carly realize her lesbian tendencies. Thirdly, the movie was awesome when I was 8 or 9 and it's still awesome 10 years later.

++

I can't remember the year I first heard Tegan and Sara. It must've been 2005. I had read somewhere "I hope I never figure out who broke your heart, and if I do...." and liked it. So I googled it and discovered "Living Room" and then "You Wouldn't Like Me" and "I Know I Know I Know" and "My Number". Then I recall specifically the winter of 2006 when myspace was popular being on somebody's myspace page and hearing "Walking With a Ghost". That's when it really started. I listened to "Underwater" and "Where Does the Good Go" and a bunch of songs from If It Was You. Then The Con came out and I joined saraandtegan.ca and went to their concert in October 2007 and had (have) a folder full of pictures of them. I learned to tell them apart, watched all the videos and had all their CDs, wished I could meet them, wished I could marry Sara against the stones of buildings built before we were born.

Tegan and Sara did a lot for me that I can't explain. I mean, they showed me a side of myself I didn't know existed. They wrote songs about feelings I couldn't explain myself.

How do you explain a song? "Back In Your Head" was one of those songs that said everything I felt about myself so honestly that I never wanted to say anything except recite the lyrics. My belief is that the album version is not the way "Back In Your Head" is meant to be heard, but the demo version captures the true essence.

"City Girl" makes me cry.

One of the most surreal experiences I've ever had was driving with Katrina in Nyack listening to Tegan and Sara. We could talk about little things, like the way Sara's backup vocals sound on the Spinner version of "Nineteen" and big things, like The Con as a whole album.

If all I ever had left to say were Tegan and Sara lyrics, I would be okay. It would be everything I've ever wanted to say to people.

(wojo4hitz)

++

I'm happy I subconsciously picked women heroes.

Don't Forget a Million Miles For Me, Safe and Another Day Has Passed by Me

"I went to B&H and got some film. Worked on autostraddle stuff with Riese and X. We smoked a joint and then went to meet Brooke, Carly, and Robin for dinner where I got drunk. Laura met us halfway through. We slept in Riese's living room and cuddled and talked and it was nice just to listen to people breathing."

- journal, August 14 2009

The room was dark, but not completely. The moonlight came through the cracks in the curtains and lit up little pathways on the floor. I remembered the first night I had stayed there, the night before. I slept on the couch. There were dark red candles on the table, at about eye-level. I thought about blowing them out because I could still see the flame when I closed my eyes but I decided not to. It added a cozy warmth to the room. For that first night I was alone with my thoughts and feeling little fits of happiness in my stomach. I was content and warm and felt like I belonged. There was satisfaction in knowing that the me from 7 months ago would never have predicted this. The fan in the window hummed quietly.

The second night was different. We slept on a mattress on the floor. The fan tried its best but the air was just sticky and hot. We pulled close to each other anyway and whispered breathy secrets. It was liberating. I felt like I was in another world, and maybe I was. I associate the feeling with New York but it could have been anywhere as long as the people were there. As long as I could lie on the floor and feel peace.

I spent the week in a daze. I seemed to be drunk all the time. I tried to get the seat next to the air conditioner. I tried to count how much money I had left. I tried to take pictures. I tried to remember every detail, every corner of every room, every street sign, every cloud in the sky. I couldn't. I only remember feeling as happy as I had ever been in my life. Now when I'm alone I think of the dark red candles. I think of Laura's navy blue shirt. I think of the mattress on the floor and the moon just outside the window and the steady breathing of the two people beside me who promised me without words that they would always be my friends.

++

June 26th, 2009. The road was foggy and empty. The yellow lines stretched on. Katrina was driving, looking for a place we never found. We listened to Tegan and Sara and it was surreal. We listened to the Yellowknife version of City Girl and we listened to the Spinner version of Nineteen and the Melbourne version of Want to be Bad. We listened to every Tegan and Sara song we could and we drove and drove and drove.

It was perfect, really. We met through a mutual love of Tegan and Sara, see. What seemed like a hundred years before, Katrina had been the girl who stole the screenname I wanted. Then she was the girl I stayed up late talking to. Then she was the girl I tried to write songs with over the internet. Then I was in DC in February and she was the girl who went from 2-D to 3-D and there was really no stopping it now. Suddenly she was in Montreal, in my room, watching the series finale of The L Word with me. It was before I knew Riese but after I had sent her that first email and I guess the forces were already at work because in four months we would be in Rockland talking about autostraddle. Riese said people usually like her better before they meet her, but I don't think that's true. I like her so much more.

The point is that four months after Katrina slept in my bed I was sleeping in her bed and driving in her car and on the eve of meeting Riese for the first time. I remember sitting in the bleachers at Katrina's high school -- the sky filled with stars, the air crisp but warm, and feeling tiny and large at the same time. The feeling would last until I took a cab to Penn Station and repeated those words to myself as the morning train took me home -- New York is big and small. My heart is big and I am small. There is enough room in my heart for everyone and everyone and other people and I will keep you [you] there because I need you [you] with me all the time.

++

I came back in August not really knowing why but feeling like I had to. I didn't know what I wanted. Maybe it was just a piece of that feeling back -- I don't even know what the feeling was or where it went -- but I wanted to recreate it.

It was so much better than the first time. I felt braver when I went home. I felt fuller, more complete. Now it's like I carry [their] hearts around but instead of feeling weighed down I feel light. I put one step in front of the other and hold this secret in my chest, this wonderful, wonderful secret, the secret everybody knows but not as well as us, no, not as well as me -- I could try and tell you but I'm not sure you'd understand: these people are more human than humans. They're more fantastical than unicorns. They're prettier than snow, they're smarter than smart things, they're worth more than their weight in gold.

They're changing the world, one heart at a time.

++

"X and Lola came over. I was passing out at 2:30 but I didn't want to fall asleep. Went to bed at 4 AM anyway. Also we came up with conspiracy facts about Gaga."

- journal, August 17 2009

At 4 AM I finally obeyed my tired eyes. I never wanted to sleep, never wanted to go home. There were three fans humming in the corners and not enough plugs for our computers. Where was the moon? I left my heart in Riese's living room.

In Which I Scan Random Things And Talk About How THE FUTURE IS BRIGHT!

On Friday I'll be on a long train ride to New York. On Saturday I'll be driving to DC to participate in the March on Washington which should be a fun new experience as I have never really held signs or shouted things with a real purpose before (such is the quiet, Canadian life). We here at the shoreline receding believe in equal rights for all human beings and illegal aliens (and in case you're wondering, we are also pro-choice and think that polygamy should be legal). Really, I just wanna marry kcdanger and move to NYC.

I'll be going with autostraddle.com and if you are a reader then I hope to see you there, and if you're part of the team then I hope to tackle you in a giant panda hug.

It's unlikely that I'll be posting again until next Wednesday or Thursday because I'll be very busy trying to make the world a better place. You can make the world a better place too, go tell someone you love them and mean it.

Since I have nothing much else to say right now, here are some scans of shit I found on my desk and a picture of me which I'm sure you will love. Also I think scanned things look cool.

++

the price of a one way ticket from penn station to nanuet is $8.50. i never used this because i got lost. clearly nj transit is NOT the way to go.

does that say papaya? how we communicate at autostraddle


to-do list. only one thing crossed off. decided that cleaning my whole room was too ambitious and just went for the desk. did not even complete that. #fail.


notes for moxie fucking crimefighter post


another to-do list in which i fail epically at actually doing things.


brooke explains how business works.


CHILD PRODIGY
now you know how much cuter i used to be.

the future is bright, my friends.
Have a good thanksgiving weekend!

I've Waited a Lifetime Now Maybe I've Learned

(Before you read this I want you to know that today is the first day of October and therefore you should go eat many candy corns and also there is no real point/profound meaning to this post. Enjoy.)

++

"How do you know if it's worth the risk? I haven't learned my lesson. I can't tell the future. I will make my own choices and take the blame."
-journal; april 5, 08

"This is neverending. I'm the same person I used to be. I haven't learned, I haven't grown. I'm walking in circles."
-journal; sept 8, 08

"should i
should i
should i
call
you
if i do --
crying, stupid, fumbling, no words
i.e idiot
but i'm 16 again
and this is the same
i will not learn."
-journal; may 21, '09

++

So this is what I know: I know very little. I'm unsure of the things I'm sure of. I doubt my memories, wonder what is real. I wonder who the hell are these other people and what it means to exist. And I know I'm not alone. That's the terrible irony about being alone, though, is there are 6 billion people who all feel the same way, standing next to each other, not talking.

It's easy to feel alone. All you have to do is just .. be alone.

I've learned how to deal with loneliness in a way. I used to truly think I was the only sad person on the planet. It seems ridiculous now, but then, everyone was smiling and I was broken. Now I know better. Now I know we're on the verge of breaking, alone, together. I used to think the only people who understood me were far away.

They don't understand me.

But then again, neither do I.

I've learned not to think about it too much. The simplest way to move forward is to let things go. The heavier your heart, the harder it is to just do things. It's hard to breathe sometimes. If you just shrug your shoulders, if you sigh and take a nap, maybe you'll feel better. How do you grow up? Grow up. You just do.

"There's no way to grow that don't hurt."
- Iron & Wine "Sacred Vision"

++

I never felt like I learned much at the time. School seemed kind of pointless. There other things I would've liked to learn, things I was confused about but didn't know how to ask. I had feelings I couldn't put a name on. I wish someone would've told me it was okay. I wish I would've had the courage to stand up for myself -- if you think the only kinds of people who get picked on in high school are the shy, overweight kids, you're wrong.

"It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies,
but just as much to stand up to our friends."
- Dumbledore "Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone"

I read Harry Potter in elementary school but so did that "overweight, nerdy" type guy so I never told anyone. In high school I found out that half my friends were reading Harry Potter secretly. We just didn't want to be "uncool". We didn't want to be associated with that guy we made fun of every day.

I would hate 2001 me now. But that's just how life is, right? There's no way to not grow.

There is no such thing as uncool. The people I love are all different. I'm proud of the way I've grown. I never want to judge another human (as hard as it is) for the rest of my life, because I know what it's like. I always felt like I was on the outside looking in on something so much better than whatever I had. This is what I've learned: there is nothing better on the inside of someone else's life than what you have inside yourself. Being myself is the only way I've ever found happiness, if that's what I have at all.

"Though we say goodbye and wonder
what's to know and who's to blame
but to be myself completely I will love you just the same."
- Belle and Sebastian "Be Myself Completely"

++

I hope you learn humility by being humiliated and honesty by being cheated.

I can love you better now.

love goes a long way..

++

And In Short, I Was Afraid

But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
though I have seen my head [grow slightly bald] brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet -- and here's no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
and I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
and in short, I was afraid.

T.S Eliot - "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock"

++

I have a fear of bikes. Really. I'm afraid of going too fast, afraid of losing control, afraid of getting hurt. I'm afraid of getting my pants stuck in the gears. I'm afraid of the gears ripping a hole in my leg.

It might be because of that time I hurtled full speed down the steepest hill my 6 year old eyes had ever seen and flipped over the handlebars. My aunt decided to walk her bike down but my cousin rode down so I did too. I just followed people in those days. I rode right into a pile of rocks and forgot what brakes were for.

I don't want to get hurt. Hurt, (how could you have forgotten?) hurts. I don't want to die.

++

I'm also afraid of horses, which is really stupid considering I went to horseback riding camp for two years. I followed my cousin there too.

It's not just that, though. I'm afraid of drowning. I like the air, I like the ground, and I like both to be readily available. Maybe it started in Mexico when I followed my cousins into the ocean and was gasping for breath, for control of something -- the water, the ground, my limbs maybe, -- something that would get me out of there. I discovered the ocean is beautiful from the shoreline.

I'm afraid of driving too fast. I don't even drive. It's not even the accident potential, it's the I'm-afraid-the-car-is-going-to-blow-up feeling, which is less likely to happen than an accident. I have no control. When I was little I never liked when my dad twisted and swerved. As the highway whizzed by I quietly imagined car crashes in the backseat.

I guess it goes without saying that I'm afraid of airplanes too. I don't want to crash in the ocean. I don't even think I'd make it to the ocean, let alone the emergency exit. I'm afraid of the oxygen masks the lady in the video so calmly puts on, like the last seconds of her life aren't just ticking away. I like my own air. I like my feet on the ground. Real ground.

Maybe it started some eight years ago, when I suddenly realized I was about to fly over the ocean in a giant piece of metal. I was going to England with my grandmother and I was about to say goodbye to my dad. Maybe it was because I was afraid to leave, or maybe I was seized with a panic and certainty that we were going to crash. I refused to even go to the boarding gate. My grandmother cried, she thought I didn't want to go with her. And right then, I was afraid to tell the truth.

I can't control anything on a plane. Turbulence practically makes my heart stop. I don't want my last meal to be plastic chicken. I don't want to die in a place where no one outside the plane can reach me. I don't want to die in no man's land. I don't want to die. And I don't want to survive on a plank of wood because I don't want to be eaten by sharks and I don't want to die of starvation, 'cause then I'll really wish I'd eaten the plastic chicken. I don't want my last meal to be plastic chicken.

I don't want to nosedive into the ground. If it wasn't clear, I'm also afraid of roller coasters.

Other things I am afraid of: Jumping too high on the trampoline, skiing down double black diamonds, skiing, cancer, hospitals, not recording everything because I am afraid of forgetting.

What it comes down to is this: I'm afraid of pain, and I'm afraid of dying because I'm not ready to go. Hurt hurts. Every single one of my fears is based on dying.

But more than that, I've been afraid to live. This is something I've known for a long time. I've felt it, as people moved faster than me in other directions, and I stood there because I'm too scared to move. This is something I've struggled with; how do people do it? How come my cousin went down the hill without a scratch? How come everybody I know likes to drive fast?

I'm afraid of the physical things and the mental things. I'm afraid of knowing things and not knowing things. I'm afraid I'm doing it all wrong.

And would it have been worth it, after all,
would it have been worth while,
after the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
after the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor --
and this, and so much more? --

T.S Eliot - "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock"

++

It was Christmas 2008. The first time I had ever spent Christmas somewhere without snow.

I don't know why, but I'd just had the urge to go to California. I missed the weather, the clouds and the rolling fog, the ocean from from a safe distance, the big houses, the other world. I missed San Francisco, which felt safe, and Berkeley, which felt cool and homely.

It was fun to watch people walk down the street wrapped up in their jackets and hats and earmuffs in 11 degree weather. Somewhere north of the border there was a snowstorm happening.

I loved the decorations on the houses. Outside it looked like spring, and yet, there was santa on a roof. There were reindeer in the yard. It's weird to imagine Christmas with no snow but I loved that crisp feeling in the air. I loved the smell of Berkeley, the shops, the streets, the laughter. I loved my aunt's house, the sheets, the cat, breakfast in the morning. The colours of the flower petals were more vibrant, the food more organic. Yes, everything there is good, good, good. I felt good.

But it turns out there are scary things in Berkeley too. More things I'm scared of, like people. Also, there's me. Sometimes I'm scared to know who I really am. Sometimes I'm scared that someone might see me. You know, really see me.

There are also bikes in Berkeley.

And hills. Big hills.

Do I dare
disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
for decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

T.S Eliot - "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock"

We decided to go for a bike ride on Christmas morning. I'm afraid of bikes. I used the smallest one, which even then was too big. I tried not to be afraid, but it's hard when you're afraid of everything.

Going for a bike ride up a hill with my family? The irony wasn't lost on me. I'm afraid of getting hit by a car.

The top of the hill was beautiful. I could see the whole city. I could see the clouds and the rolling fog, the houses with lights and decorations. I could see forests of trees which seemed to be greener than any I'd ever seen at home.

The only way back was down, down, down. My cousin began his descent easily, breezily. Even my aunt went ahead of me, experienced and steady. I started after them, slowly. I guess I still follow people. My cousin was way ahead. Occasionally I could see the back of my aunt's windbreaker, puffed up with the wind, at the corner of a turn. My hands were gripping the handlebars tightly, my stomach was tense. My fingers were holding the brakes halfway, ready to do the full squeeze at any time.

The thing about going downhill is that you don't need to pedal. Gravity will take care of everything. I don't really want gravity to be in control, I want to decide how fast or slow I go. The thing with gravity is you don't have a choice. No one does.

My cousin made it look easy, riding down a mountain. Everyone makes it seem that way. I remembered that last time I followed a cousin down a mountain on my bike.

But I was already going down. My aunt and my cousin were getting further and further ahead of me. And then it just clicked. I was in San Francisco. It was 11 degrees. It was Christmas. I was outside, I was alive, I was in love with the big scary world. Maybe there was something waiting for me at the bottom, maybe there wasn't. It didn't really matter. I loosened my fingers on the brakes. I let go.

There is something very freeing about flying down a mountain when you don't want to. The colours blur together, the air fills your lungs, the ground disappears --

There was nothing at the bottom. The road continued as it does, as they all do. I crossed it and went home.

The truth is that I'm still afraid. This could be one of those stories where my life changes for the better when I finally let go of my fears. But it's not. I went back to Montreal and stayed the same, for the most part. But that's not the point. The point is that I did it. I left Prufrock at the top of the hill. For a glorious half hour I sailed through life. I opened my heart and touched the sky.

Let us go then, you and I,
when the evening is spread out against the sky...

oh, do not ask "what is it?"
let us go and make our visit.

T.S Eliot - "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock"

I've Been Reading. I've Been Reading Some Crappy Books.

So Harry Potter happened! Sometimes I get the urge to read all the Harry Potter books in a row, so I did that, and then the movie came out. I saw it. Did you? Probably maybe. My only comment is this, and has been this since the first movie came out: Alan Rickman is perfect as Snape (I wrote Spane first cause my fingers don't have nerves that connect to my brain). I have other comments but even I don't care about them.

Remember last time I read some books? That was over a month ago. Also, who is the anonymous commentater? I've been trying to figure it out for .. over a month. Anyways, this is what I've been reading lately, nothing too interesting or exciting. Mostly I've been taking books of my shelf that I haven't read in a long time and that usually means I first read them when I was 10.

Build a wall of books between us in our bed

After reading Harry Potter, I decided to read Pirates! by Celia Rees because it was on my shelf and I wanted to be 13 again. Basically I don't have anything to say about this book because it's for 13 year olds and I'm (thankfully!) not that age anymore.

Then Katie lent me Invisible Monsters by Chuck Palahniuk which was really just a crazy book. Everybody is just somebody else with a fake name and it's all super dramatic and high paced. It was really well written, but then again I expect nothing less from Chuck Palahniuk. Ps Fight Club is obvs still an awesome movie. Brb going to watch it.

Alright, I'm not going to lie, I like fantasy novels. I just do. So I read The Sight by David Clement-Davies which was a really good book when I was younger. It was still kinda good, except I think I skipped a lot of words and just "read" it, if you know what I mean. No? I know, I'm terrible at explaining things. It was still fairly interesting anyway, a couple of times I thought he was trying to make a religious comment about the world except it was so random that I wasn't sure.

Here's where it gets "serious" (is anything ever serious?). After these books I decided that I wanted to be more "scholarly" and "educated" and "intellectual" so now I'm only reading "classic literature". I read The Outsider (or The Stranger or L'étranger in the real french version) by Albert Camus. The way it was written reminded me of The Catcher in the Rye, another "classic novel". I read it in one day though, it was fast and good (that's what she said) and probably one that I'd read again.

Currently I'm reading The Scarlett Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne in an effort to give the appearance that I'm smart. It's one of those books I really have to focus to get through it. Also I always read Hesta Prynn instead of Hester Prynne, which is actually fine with me. Remember this? Sara's hair is so long!

Speaking of Tegan and Sara, their new album is coming out October 27. So get ready.

In other news, Tokyo is still having "thundershowers" and I almost went for a run today.

Now it all seems too familiar, like pages turned on calendars

I had a post where I talked a lot of crazy about the past but that was it, all I did was talk crazy. I also went through my old journals and emails, it was just a ridiculously bad idea. Basically I don't know what's going on! Let's talk more crazy about 2006.

2006 was a stupid year. I turned 16 but I was probably really 5. I'm also turning 5 again this year. When I say 2006 I mean grade 10 which was really 2007. In 2007 I developed insomnia mainly because I exchanged sleep for staring at my ceiling. Also I made some late night phone calls where I breathed into the speaker and said things like "I can't sleep". I listened to a lot of Bright Eyes.

"i'm sorry about the phone call and needing you. some decisions you don't make. i guess it's just like breathing and not wanting to. there are some things you can't fake."
-bright eyes "feb 15th"

++

I disappeared for two months in 2006. I mean, I didn't write in my journal. Last entry of 2005: december 2. Then, a poem. Then, someone's name written a million times on one page. Both undated. Then, march 29, 2006. A letter. I didn't write anything in July. On August 14 I wrote an entire entry about fried eggs. On August 17 I made a list of things that annoy me. It took up two pages. Excerpts:

1. people sitting on my pillow
10. little kids
15. peeing
16. bad hair days
21. turtlenecks
23. mushy carrots

++

I guess what I'm really trying to say is that I'm forgetting who I used to be. Or maybe, could it be, am I saying this?:

"i am trying to say what I want to say without having to say I love you"
-stars "what i'm trying to say"

November was when I realized I loved [redacted] already, and my heart soared.

Then it unraveled so fast and I was lost on buses in my own town and there was snow and it was cold and [redacted] was cold and I was dead inside. I followed [redacted] everywhere, really, I waited outside libraries and at home on the computer, I never slept 'cause of [redacted].

I spent a lot of time on the bus in grade 10.

"i take the city bus home
it's the same route every day
i check the schedule in case it changed
but it never does."
-my journal, november 20 2006

I spent a lot of time walking in 2007. I think 2007 was when I walked everywhere without actually going anywhere.

I spent a lot of time wasting time, doing nothing. People thought I was weird, I was just trying to hide from them.

++

August 27 2006; a story about yellow galoshes. September 2; a list of different ways to say hello. September 7; a to-do list. Things that I have accomplished on that list since then:

4) write a song
9) be able to do the rainbow (soccer move)

and this is up for debate

6) make one significant change in the world

++

"i'm sorry about the phone call, and waking you. i know that it is late. but thank you for talking, because i needed to. some things just can't wait."
-bright eyes "feb 15"

Top 6 Favorite Posts From the Last 6 Months

Did I forget to mention that last Monday was my 6 month blogiversary? Ok, well it was, and I forgot all about it. Six months ago I started out with 0.5 regular readers and now I have 5-7 regular readers which makes me feel really happy. Especially when they comment. Or when they get their sister to tell me over the phone, that's cool too. JK, sorry I said I wouldn't say anything about that. Anyways, I thought I'd be cliché 'cause I feel like it, so here's a top 6 of my favorite posts over the last six months!

6. Thursday, March 5 2009 Life is so Quick and Sometimes it Goes Away too Quickly

I think I'm the only person who liked this post, but I don't care, I really really like it. It was a bunch of thoughts added to each other written over 5 days or something.

sometimes i dont like punctuation
i like to learn
i never used to care if my friends loved me
but now i do.

I admit it's weird and I finish with a conversation with myself but that's okay because this whole blog pretty much started as a conversation with myself. Now that more people are participating maybe you will see the quirky, beautiful things I see in this post.

5. Thursday, February 19 2009 A Lesson in Geography

This is apparently a very popular post despite the surprisingly few comments (only one a month later??). I guess people think my condescending, pretentious manner is funny. Anyways I hope you all learned something. I've actually found it quite useful as I continue to refer to it when I hear people tell me they read my blog but "didn't know they could comment".

4. Monday, April 6 2009 Rummaging for Answers

This is a post consisting of 2-3 entries from my "diary". It ends with the bus story which remains, for some reason, a special point in that semester at Dawson. I actually saw the girl a couple of times at school which means I was clearly wrong about her being an art student at Concordia (??) but I'm gonna go out on a limb and say that's where she's applying at some point in her life. For now I like to pretend I was right about everyone else.

It's a source of comfort that if the bus had tipped over and I had died that day, I would have at least died with nice people. I think, somehow, that bus ride restored my faith in humanity a little. The thing about having connections with strangers is that your opinion of them hardly ever changes.

3. Thursday, May 7 2009 I Get by With a Little Help From my Friends

Well, what can I say? This is one of my favorite posts not because of the way its written, but because who it's written about -- my favorite people.

Also I love that cartoon.

2. Monday, February 9 2009 Ballad of Big Nothing

While writing this (which was not written with a blog post in mind) I was able to put something I discovered about myself into words which is sometimes hard for me. I guess this is the best example of how this blog is just a conversation with myself. If you agree, if you read something here that you agree with or you say "me too" then maybe we're having a conversation together seperately or maybe we're partly the same person. And maybe that is terrifying or maybe it's comforting. Maybe both.

I’m hoping that there’s a bed for me at home, someone warm to curl up next to, stairs to walk down in the morning and a lot of sunlight outside, a bus that comes on time, and then places, I hope there are places I can go. I hope I have some place to go, some place to return to, a space in time in the crowded world that is just for me.

1. Thursday, March 26 2009 Life is Full of Wonder




Here's to an awesome summer and another 6 months of conversation with myself!

Whatever I Was Then I Can't Ever Be Again

i carved a heart out of wood in my woodshop class in grade 8. the machines scared me. i was scared of getting my fingers cut off. i thought it would be a good idea to carve your initials in the wood, thought it would be romantic even if i was the only one who would ever see it. and there i was, pretending i could hold forever in my hands, pretending there was something i knew to be true beyond all doubt.

one day i found my wooden heart with your initials on it, sitting on my desk. i took a pencil and scratched out your name. it was a long time ago.

in retrospect, and only in retrospect does the world seem less obvious.

polaroid

All I Do Is Push You Far Away From Me

I hated myself. I really did. My heart carried around a self-loathing that was constantly on the verge of overflowing and I was shoving it in people's faces. I hated myself, everyone around me should hate themselves too.

I pushed everyone away and sat in my room of loneliness.

I hated myself for being lonely, hated that I was the reason I was alone. We accept the love with think we deserve and I didn't think I deserved any. But I wanted it. I wanted it so badly.

I was plagued by the fear of never being able to do anything right. I hated myself for that; for being afraid and for not doing anything right.

I remember it started really young. I remember learning to retreat from reality; when things were going badly I would quietly slip into the folds of my mind and hide and outside I would be a ghost. I wrote stories in my head, stories all the time, and I acted them out, I created characters with feelings that were tied to whatever was happening in my real life as a way of relief. But the stories were never an autobiography. Why write an autobiography when I could invent something so much better, some place more fulfilling, some place where I was happy?

Therein lies the problem, and the solution. The problem was my self-destructive childhood, my need to escape from my own life all the time. My stories became real to me. I made myself a character and I dictated what other characters did, and said, and felt, and it felt good to have some kind of world where I could control things. I made up background stories for them like they were real people who had real lives before I invented them. And I played it out like a movie and when it was over I wrote another one.

In the end, the fiction held more truth than my real life. It showed me the person I wanted to be, the life I wanted to have. My made up stories told me the truth about myself, allowed me to see my deepest thoughts, feelings, desires. Telling stories to myself became a solution. It gave me something to hope for; a way out.

The anger still hasn't dissipated. But it seems easier to shrug it off when I'm walking towards something like I've got a purpose. I like to kid myself that I'm going somewhere, that there really is a destination, a finishing line far off in the distance.

It seems lame to quote myself but what can I say. Sometimes I'm many different people.

"I’m hoping that there’s a bed for me at home, someone warm to curl up next to, stairs to walk down in the morning and a lot of sunlight outside, a bus that comes on time, and then places, I hope there are places I can go. I hope I have some place to go, some place to return to, a space in time in the crowded world that is just for me."

Polaroid.

"Life just is this way, broken, and I am crazy to hope for something else." - Miranda July "No One Belongs Here More Than You"

Like That Time I Thought I Knew What I Wanted

IIIIIIIIIIIIT'S the last day of February. I'm going to post another stream of consciousness thing.

Sometimes my mind just takes off, it just takes off and goes and goes like it’s on speed. Like the time I said it was nice seeing you on the escalator the other day, only I didn’t say that I thought it quietly to myself but I don’t know why I didn’t tell you. I don’t know why I asked you what kind of music you like instead. I’m terribly exhausted right now but I’m still awake right now, waiting for you to answer me or for me to get fed up and just leave. Actually, I’m hoping that I’ll produce something brilliant tonight, my mind works best when I’m tired. Like that time I wrote a stream of consciousness essay for English class in grade 11 about death. It made absolutely no sense but my teacher loved it. I don’t know why. It was clearly bullshit. Sometimes I get away with things like that. Sometimes I don’t listen to music and I don’t realize the silence. I guess I don’t really have anything else to say about you. Actually, I know I don’t. That poem is true in many ways but it is also a big lie. Kind of like my life. I can’t write beautiful things like Riese does. In some odd way, I wish she would read my stuff and approve. I think that would mean a lot to me. Maybe it’s because I think we’re kindred spirits of some sort, though I don’t really know if I’m using that in the right context. We’re very similar is what I mean, I get her. When I read her stuff I know what she’s talking about. I’m good at analysing situations, and people. Afterwards, though. When I’m alone. I can see people very clearly. Maybe it’s for that reason I hate small talk. Maybe I just want to get to the point and prove myself right – that you’re this kind of person or that kind of person. I don’t know what kind of person you are because you keep surprising me. Like that time you came up behind me on the escalator, like that time you listened to what I was saying. Maybe you’re going to read this and maybe you’re going to know I’m talking about you. Maybe then you’re going to know the poem was about you. Don’t worry, I am not in love with you at all, simply the idea of you. That makes it worse. Does that make me shallow? Does it make me empty that I can’t see you for who you are.

Sorry I’m just revisiting this now. I mean I totes read it when you wrote it like 4 days ago but I’m revisiting it now because I don't think I realized you wrote something nice. I’m also in a stream of consciousness writing mood right now which I guess is why I’m coming back to this. Do you ever get in those moods? I hope I help to increase your will to live and restore your faith in humanity. Wait I’m going to copy and paste this into my original document, you're going to see it on Saturday. Goodnight. Really, I do, I hope I increase your will to live and restore your faith in humanity, ‘cause it’s there. I mean, everything that we need is here. I’m running away now, I guess. I don’t know where that came from, I was listening to music and I was on facebook and I was not writing this and all of a sudden that sentence popped into my head. And it’s my informal rule that when writing a stream of conscious I must just write, write, write, no matter how nonsensical it is. I like that word, nonsensical. There are, of course, pauses that you don’t see. But I try and fill those somehow, I try to make up for it and sometimes I can’t even see the end of the sentence but it’s important to keep typing, like my life depends on it or something. It’s so annoying that word still doesn’t capitalize my ‘I’s. I have to stop and backspace. It’s like I’m interrupting myself. I like streams of consciousness because I think it shows me for who I really am, despite how corny that sounds. I mean, I think it shows me in all my bare, I don’t want to say nakedness, but that’s what I mean. It shows me like primitive living. Like this is all I have, this is what’s in my head and sometimes it’s crazy but it sure as hell feels good to just dump everything onto a page. I’m literally recording my thoughts as they happen. It’s jumpy because sometimes I stop and talk to other people. Like right now when someone reminded me of that time in grade 7 or 8 when Tania shouted “I’m not a baby!” and smashed her yogurt on the table and it exploded everywhere. I said something about the escalator. I’m back in real time now, real moments. Sometimes I gotta reminisce. There’s silence on the other end. I can’t even bother to worry about what you’re thinking. I don’t really care. To me you’re an idea, a form, an outline. I don’t think this is the blogging way of writing. This is just how I write. And now, for real, goodnight.

On second thought, the letter to Alessia taken out of context sounds really nice. “Sorry I’m just revisiting this now.” I like that, I like the way it sounds. Sorry I’m just revisiting this now.

I'm not going to ask you to comment because no one does. But you can if you want to.

"But really nothing has changed, today.
You can't go on this way, you can't move on.
Erase it,
Start it again."
- Sparta "Erase It Again"