fragments

Over the past couple of years I have begun to examine what it means to be a woman. 10 years ago I could scarcely acknowledge that males and females weren't equal, that feminism had a place. Now, it's a different story. Coming from the perspective of being a tomboy for most of my childhood and adolescence, I found it really hard to admit that guys didn't want to be my friend but just wanted to (as an ex put so astutely) "get into my pants". I was shocked that this could in any way be true and still have a hard time believing that every time a male is friendly he’s secretly imagining me in my back. I have always prefered being friends with men over women. Lately, this is changing. I find that I yearn to be accepted into a group of women. Maybe this is just the whole Sex in the City phenom, or maybe something deeper? Could it be something ingrained in us to align with the same sex? In truth, I think it might have something to do with my age. I feel myself getting softer with time, less hateful and more tolerant. Don't worry though; I'll still be a cranky old lady, waving my cane and telling people off.

I'm reading another book by David Sedaris. The stories have produced many laugh-out-loud moments. So, of course, I'm in love with him now. Yes, I'm in love with a 40-something gay man just because he might be intelligent and funny. I have tried my whole life to discard the "female" in me and yet, I still persist in romanticizing men. What the fuck is wrong with me? Will I forever daydream about meeting that perfect guy who knows me intrinsically, is smart and extremely hot? This is my most hated of human traits. That is, our inability to live in the here and now and see things for what they really are at the time. If I have to hear, "if only I had known what I had then...” one more time I'm going to have to start getting violent.

In other news, J graduated yesterday. Reading through his yearbook I noticed that all the women in his class had written things like, "your wife's a lucky lady", and "thanks for the bear hugs". It occured to me that J is attractive and funny to other people as well as to me. Whoa. As for me being lucky, step off bitch cause luck has nothing to do with it. You're looking at the product of 7 years hard labour; two people running through the gamut of emotions and holding on to (sometimes by a very thin thread) a commitment we believe in. Lucky my ass.

retraction

ok, so yesterday I was raving mad, upset, hurt? I have some perspective today. Only once we realize that life is suffering can we smile. And, believe me, I realize that my problems are not serious in the grand scheme of life and the universe and pale in comparison to the real trials and tribulations of humanity and the planet. But, I'm egocentric. I warned you. And here's the thing. I'm a floater. I float around from situation to situation never really vocalizing what it is that I WANT. I know exactly what I want but you'll never hear me say it out loud. Those who know me best know my desires, my passions; but I can't expect the world to read my mind. Maybe it's time to speak up.

stupid

I'm so pissed off right now. I refuse to kiss ass. Fuck this system.

phttttttt

Was going to try and win tix to the U2 concert on April 29 this morning. In order to win contestants have to listent to the Zone from 6am to midnight and write down the title of every U2 song that's played. I can't get the Zone at work, so I'm out already.

grass leaves a hundred things and smells water lapping snow capped mountains sky clouds dirt big holy crazy marked degraded capsized tailored bigamist orthodontist potato gum stay go play snow grow mow pomegranate devil head shadow larceny commitment deplore manifest devour sing tool spank surefire trip tooth snap talk crap spike cavalier plate crate snake bush baste indigo fandango spigot graze daily fan splay grail cash standard crinoline saran wrap earthen ware share clary foot cruise deuce older nice pooch

summer time warm and sunny happy free and long days yay

about good Jenny and bad Jenny

I'm not sure where they came from. All I know is, one day I began speaking to hundreds of thousands of little people who followed me everywhere. Each of them had an identical twin with the same name except that; each one was either "good" or "bad". The main four, with whom I spoke the most, were Good Jenny and Bad Jenny and Good Robert and Bad Robert.

My favorite was Bad Jenny.

I was like a god among these little people. I would settle their squabbles, punish them for their wrong doings and praise them for their goodness. I fancied myself a real Solomon, fair yet unyielding. Every night, in bed, I would counsel them through their problems and reassure them about what was good and what was not.

I was attending a very conservative Roman Catholic school at the time of my disciples appearance. Our school motto was, "Nous sommes porteurs de paix"or, for you Anglophones, "We are Peacemakers". I was fully enamored of the whole religion. I can recall begging my parents to let me get baptized (I never was). I would recite the ''Our Father" every night before bed. I never sinned that I didn't immediately repent. But, I knew that I was bound for hell nonetheless. I was reminded every day in catechism what awaited an illegitimate heathen in the after life.

I can't remember when Jenny and the crowd left. I think it was around the same time that we moved to a new city. I was broken hearted at having to leave my friends, my school, my home. I remember pleading with god to help me, to take me back to my old classroom just for one last look, one last smell of the books. Nothing. I endured that misery and heartache alone and when I emerged on the other side I knew that there was no god. I understood that whatever I was going to do or have in this life I would have to get on my own. And so the Jennys disappeared.

I miss the Jennys and the gang sometimes though. Their funny little bowl cuts, their corduroy pants and their antics. Salu, little ones.

this one goes out to

Went for coffee yesterday with an old friend. It was uncomfortable at first, seeing this person who is part of my past. But, as the minutes ticked by and we got over the, "So how are you?" bullshit we fell into this really comfortable, familiar conversation rhythm. We talked about everything and nothing. Just like old times.

Near the end of our visit our talk turned to the idea of soul mates or finding true love with "the one". I've never believed in the concept of there being one person in this world who is uniquely fitted to each of us. I believe that relationships are built, not that they just magically happen with the "right" person; I think a soul mate is an impossible ideal to live up to. My friend on the other hand, does believe in the concept of soul mates, and furthermore believes that they have already met and lost their one true love.

So, we ended our visit on this bizarre note. Me thinking about how much life and opportunity my friend is shutting out and my friend thinking that I'm insensitive and callous for not seeing the tragedy of their situation. I think its' going to be a long time before we see each other again.

excuse me while i categorize you...

Ah Sunday, the day that always seems to drone on endlessly like a history teacher a year away from retirement. A day made for wondering constantly, "what do you want to do?". The streets are too quite. Had a good game last night. J came out and coached and we played a lot better. Although, we still lost 4-1, but that's what you get when you're the bottom team in the Division.

At the bar, after the game, the talk turned to babies and children - who has them, who wants them and who doesn't. I felt like we were being divided into camps. I've always considered my thoughts on having children to be personal, but these women will ask you straight out, "Are you going to have kids?". And so, it got me thinking...do I want to be a mother? Truthfully, if I had a choice, I would rather be a father. But, since I can't fight biology then, ya, I guess I do want to be a mother. So, that got me thinking some more. Everything I love to do: mountain biking, hockey, snowboarding, smoking and drinking copious amounts of coffee or wine - it's all going to have to be put on hold the minute I decide to have a child. I don't think that's going to be the best way to start off a relationship with the kid; me resenting him/her for taking away all my fun for a year.

Art school 101
Sublime - in relation to 18th Century landscape paintings. Overpowering experience based on awe, terror, etc. Grandiose.

The power of nature. That's where I'm going right now. To breathe in the cool mist of the forest and cast my eyes on a thousand living things that know their exact purpose in living. I need an epiphany.

too much

I couldn't sleep last night. For hours I lay in bed hovering between dream and reality; hearing all that was going on around me. I was immobile and drifting in and out of dreamscapes and daydreams seamlessly. Needless to say, I'm tired this morning. Wait a minute...I'm always tired. This schedule that I'm living: the 6:30am starts followed by working until 11pm the next day. The late night classes and hockey games. The business that J is starting that I was supposed to have nothing to do with (ya, right). It's all wearing me down. A vacation would truly be wonderful. A vacation by myself.

Lying in the middle of the floor with the music cranked. The sound driving through me. I can hear the neighbours knocking...now they're yelling. I need a place in the middle of nowhere. A place where no one watches me, hears me, where I can be free to scream out and dance and run free, unrestrained. Everywhere I go I find more people.

The CD player is malfunctioning. It's not skipping, but alternately speeding up and slowing down causing Moby to sound even more random. Impossible beats, dirty beats.

Today I'm blank.

thirty blogging

So, I guess this is a symptom of being thirty-something. I just got an e-mail from a long-time, best friend informing me that he has started blogging; he wants to post one of my attempts at a short story on his site. This is a friend who has always had more belief in my creative abilities than I do and is truly my only fan. Of course, no one else has ever read any of my writing.

The past week has been different. Or difficult, I’m not sure which. My head is clear, I can get so much done is a day and I am not nearly as moody or pessimistic as I have been known to be. I wonder sometimes though, is getting older all about the homogenization of living? Every experience becomes predictable and easy, nothing amazes anymore. I keep thinking of the song, "Fascination Street", and realising that I'm going to have to fight to stay young. And I don't mean young in the wrinkle-free-must-look-12-forever way that all women are supposed to achieve. I mean young in the sense that I can laugh and play and love freely without prejudice or fear. That I can still find wonder in something or someone that I see everyday. Young in that I try new things and put myself out in the world to learn and be taught and to listen without thinking that I have all the knowledge I need. I’m definitely up for the fight, it just seems like a lot of people give up and I don’t want that to happen to me.

I'm going to go to school part-time for the Spring term. I really wanted to take a creative writing class but I'm not sure that it fits into my schedule - also I’m scared shitless. I don't want to:
a) be forced to write on a deadline (what if I get writers block!&*#)
b) let other people read my writing (which is always way too honest and self-revealing)
c) find out for certain that I suck.

So far I'm registered in a class that runs Tuesday nights for 4 hours. A long lecture time, but it's worth it to only have one day tied up. After all, it is almost summer.

in response to a question

What is Wattlebla? It's a track, or a trail depending on where you're from. A track that you can ride down. On a bicycle. Preferably one of those old bicycles. Steel, no suspension. It's steep and will take any opportunity to throw you. There's a craggy old tree half way down, it's now working as a ramp that will launch you into the trees so WATCH OUT! Wattlebla is always hot and steamy. Hot with jungle heat radiating off the earth and steamy with unmoving moisture in the air. It's a good place to sheer the skin off an elbow or a knee causing you to go to the emergency room so that a fat nurse can scrub the wound with a nail brush to get all the dirt out while you shudder. There is also a really great swimming spot very near by that is quite secluded, so feel free to go in the nude. There's a rope swing (a steep climb to get up to it, and once you're up you're committed to travelling the huge arc down towards the water, so HOLD ON!). Please don't pee in the water, your friends will hate you for it. Wattlebla is a word. It's a word that I never quite understood or heard correctly, kind of like eisteddfod. And so, wattlebla is actually my own word. One that doesn't really exist.

house on the hill

Woke up feeling odd this morning. At odds. With everything. I know that I was having a really important and poingant dream immediately before I woke up, but I can't (thanks to the shock wake-up of the alarm) remember what it was. Have been having a lot of interesting dreams lately. Including a dream last night that took place in one of my recurring locales, the giant house with many secret passages and hidden rooms. I've dreamt of this house before but the story and the characters are always different. Last night there were a bunch of my old high school crowd living in the house. Guitars and ashtrays lay everywhere and mexican blankets hung from the windows. J and I were looking at the house to buy but I was getting a bad might-be-haunted vibe. Come to think of it, not much really happened in that dream. It was mostly about the atmosphere and the feeling of being in the house. Dark.

forever young

Had my second hockey game on Saturday evening; man, do I suck. I know where I want to be, I know what I want to do with the puck, but it's just not happening. As with everything though, I have decided to go full force into the sport. Hockey lessons on Wed., power skating on Sun. and games on Sat. and Thurs. - by the end of the summer I had better be good.

Had a good weekend overall. Saturday night, after the game, J and I went to Whytecliff with a six pack of beer and sat on the cliffs until it got dark. It was nice to do something so simple and timeless. I think we both needed a hit of, "being 15".

Have been thinking a lot lately about life and time. I didn't expect now to feel like this. I thought I woud be more settled, but instead I still feel a bit lost. Actually, I don't feel much different than I did at 15. There is a lot going on right now; both for me and the world. Maybe we all just need a little sensory deprivation.

blast on

Well, I made it to work on time; completely disheveled and looking like I just rolled out of bed. I actually used that stupid wrinkle release chemical that was in the house when we moved in; now I have to spend the rest of the day with my pants smelling like fabric softener. Can’t complain too much though, it's a beautiful day and summer is just around the corner. I even contemplated wearing flip-flops today but reconsidered when I saw the frost on my car.

The pope's funeral was yesterday; images of Vatican City coming through on every channel. I started thinking back to when I was in grade 7. My school had 6 tickets to go see the Pope when he came to our city. Being the illegitimate bastard that I am, I put my name in and ended up winning. (Thinking back I'm sure that the kids who won the tickets were the only one who put their names in, honestly I live in a godless neighbourhood.)

I don't remember much about the day we went to see the Pope. I remember one of the other kids had braces on her legs and, since she found it difficult to walk, I piggybacked her for part of the way on our walk to the stadium. After that all I remember is actually standing in front of the Pope on the stage and receiving his blessing. He was really little, then again, so was I at that time.

I am not a catholic. I don't need someone to define my spirituality for me (a whole other rant), and yet this man was somehow special to me nonetheless. Maybe because he was just so darn cute. Or maybe because we have such a serious lack of people in this world who shine kindness and goodwill through their eyes.