| Watchinig the Broken |
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| 10:17pm 22/12/2008 |
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The worst thing about having a grandparent pass away
is watching their children broken, crying in each others' arms
unable to stand anymore with the weight of it...
and their childrens' children tend to the adults
tears held still in their eyes as they watch
the broken bodies of their parents...
I read the eulogy at my grandmother's funeral today
and watched my uncle collapse wracked with sobs
watched as my mother tried to make the decisions and greet everyone
the exhaustion etched in her eyes
how horrible death is, even with the good memories. |
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Read 5 - Post |
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| more poetry, I do appologize |
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| 09:54pm 21/11/2008 |
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mood: every other mood music: itunes on random
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i feel around in the dark
my unsuspecting thumb drawn across the dull edge of cardboard
a bead of red fills the small line of now dead skin
i put it to my mouth to catch the droplet
it tastes sweet as my eyes continue to roam
my mind fills with every other tragedy
but i still can't feel this one
except perhaps in the tip of my thumb
the numbness grows sharp with pain, i can only hope i do the same
i feel around again, happy, anger, worry, sadness...
grief? i cannot find you. i cannot grieve for you.
or is this grief? this... lack of emotion?
i grieve for your grief and my own, but not for her.
my world has shifted off its axis
to young for me to remember quite when
i think i used to feel sad for these things,
precautionary tears wasted, but i'm left now
less than numb, unregistered, a blank page,
an unfinished sentence i feel no urge to finish
the nothing is so absolute its not even disturbing
to be disturbing i would have to feel something
so it stays unmentioned to avoid garnering sympathy
for the sadness i should feel so acutely
but save up for... a different person's dying, death? |
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Read 1 - Post |
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| the holidays |
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| 12:14am 26/10/2008 |
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I feel like just around the corner Christmas lies.
As if just beyond the pumpkins and Halloween candy,
I can almost hear the jingle of those little bells
that I have stored away in boxes of decorations.
Reflections of street lights in the windows are glimpses
of Christmas trees in darkened living rooms,
awaiting their turn to be crowded around and awed at.
I wait for the whisper of snow flakes to graze my cheeks
and the solitude of white you see when you can't sleep.
I imagine the letters we'll right to each other signed Santa
and the pile of presents we couldn't afford but gave anyway,
the warm hugs and mugs of hot tea or chocolate
while the Christmas cds quietly sing of mary and straw.
I like Christmas at night with its colours and trinkets
and the morning of with its laughter and love,
yet it stays my own, I am alone in it, twirling in the white
blanketing my eyelashes in snowfall, tinting my cheeks pink.
Sometimes I'll sneak downstairs, my fingers brushing the garland,
just to sit by the Christmas tree in the wee hours,
touching bits of tinsel, the twinkle lights glowing amid the needles.
And I'll put my hands on the cold glass of the back door,
staring out at the empty night and leftover footprints in the snow
before heading back upstairs to curl up warmly in the comforter
with a small smile playing upon my lips having felt a bit of Christmas. |
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Post |
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| because I haven't written creatively in a long time |
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| 01:42am 28/09/2008 |
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Make Me Cry
I want to feel my heart ripped out from my body
I want to choke as my throat closes up
and the air cuts off as I break, I love it
I want to gasp under the pressure on my chest
that burrows so deep I need to claw it out
unreachable and crushing me with its pain, I love it
I want to lose my voice to the salt that leaks from my body
I want to feel my lungs cave in and seize, I love it
- taste the very breaking of my heart
suffocate as it rips out of me, leaving me. |
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Post |
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| On Absences |
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| 08:43am 04/06/2008 |
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mood: waiting music: iTunes on random shuffle
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Some people may be wondering where I am... perhaps because in the rush of moving and army forms, etc. I sort of forgot to mention leaving for bootcamp!
Anyway, I survived my Basic Military Qualifications (very surprisingly, and probably mostly because I was a musician) and am here in Ottawa training for the job (aka Ceremonial Guard Band). Which translates into me being part of those wool and bearskin hat bedecked soldiers marching on parliament hill all summer.
I have a gig in Halifax soonish and will be taking my leave for another three weeks with part of the band. For now though it's mainly drill and playing long waiting games which we refer to as the "on the bus, off the bus" syndrome of the army.
It's been an interesting adventure, and while you'd think I'm more fit now, it is, alas, as yet untrue. Instead I suffer through our physical training with a death glare and a wheeze. I am still hoping that they will stop making us run, as I'd rather do push ups and squats any day.
Unsurprisingly I think people are learning just how odd I am :).
At the moment I'm dressed in my ceremonial pants with flashy army green suspenders which I find so hilarious and have just come back from a round of model walking down the hallways.
I'm learning a new fondness/hate for polishing boots, and have decided that me and my bearskin hat might not become very good friends what with it being not as nice as the others of its kind.
Anyway, that's a brief summary of my excursions, bye for now! |
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Read 4 - Post |
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| On Sentimentality |
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| 04:40pm 13/04/2008 |
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I must say goodbye to my apartment this week. I have five days to study and pack everything that I own. I'm a little sad to leave, but perhaps I'll like my eventual new place enough that I'll forget about this one. I don't really get attached to things and can quite easily say goodbye to them.
If I don't cry at whatever send off happens this exam period, don't be offended. I'll miss you all, but I just don't cry about this kind of thing.
It's so weird to move so much. I think I have moved (in my memory) about 8 or 9 times in my life. Not including helping my sister's move another 6 or so times combined.
I hate the packing, unpacking, and most of all the actual moving of furniture and boxes. You move all your crap out, just to drive somewhere else to move it in. It's so annoying.
Hence, I am writing this and not packing as we speak... I should go do that.
Cheerio then! |
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Read 1 - Post |
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| Sisterly Love |
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| 12:38am 04/04/2008 |
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mood: tired music: episodes from season 4 of The O.C
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I'm not super close with my sisters. We're tight but I'm just not the kind of person to call them up when I'm feeling lonely or in need of a hug. Perhaps this was why one of my sisters sounded so surprised to hear my voice on the other line this week saying "hey..." This week I feel like I need them. This week I want to go home and find my sisters there and hug them and laugh with them. I don't have much time these days to hang out with friends, and I'm looking for more than just friendship. I want my sisters.
Bad dreams always start a day off on the wrong foot. As I was saying just earlier today, when you wake up from a really disturbing dream you are already emotionally spent at the START of your day, and have nothing left to give for the rest of it.
Having had a large helping of food for the soul (both figuratively and literally), I expected that happy feeling to linger for a little while. But the happy moment lasted only as long as the moment itself, and I was back to my original mood of the day.
I think, with all that is going on, the stresses of everything I have to do in the next two weeks (not including anything to do with just school work in general/exams), I have to let go for a day. Today is a day for being sad and feeling a little hopeless. I give myself one day for this feeling and then tomorrow I must move on. There is only so long you can push a positive spin onto everything when you aren't a naturally positive person. After a while you just feel so tired, the positivity, the patience, the being nice... It all gets to you and you just need a day of rest to say, "hey! today sucks, and i'm going to wallow in that for a little while because this suckiness is not going away and i need to gather my strength so that i don't have to feel like this for the next chunk of time."
It's like pausing to catch your breath, except instead of breathing you get back to not being able to breath, so that tomorrow you can force yourself to.
I'm going home tomorrow night. I've never appreciated going home like I have this year :)
Good bye bad day, I won't see you tomorrow :D! |
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Post |
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| on choral conducting projects |
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| 07:49pm 31/03/2008 |
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mood: J-Store is evil music: random made up songs
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This project is shit. I shouldn't have to waste my time when I could afford to take the 5% hit off my grade. Because the concept of a "grade" in this class is also shit. |
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Post |
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| Posting |
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| 12:11pm 28/03/2008 |
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mood: too much time on my hands music: Somedays- Regina Spektor
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Posting on
Posters hung on
Post-able walls. the pictures
Potable, colours
Pock marked with primaries
Pollock would have appreciated.
Posting
Poets of everyday things
Poking into the mundane and
Postulating the taboo.
Pouring their souls out onto the
Pores of web-based paper.
Posting is unquestionably
Political at times,
Pointedly private or public, a
Posthumous record for the faceless at others.
I Post.
To Post.
Posting. |
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Post |
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| Ketchup |
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| 12:12am 26/03/2008 |
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mood: looong day music: All Or Nothing- Jill Scott
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The bottle sits, red and white upon my desk
Amid the papers, measuring cups, and other artifacts of my life
The ketchup pooled at the base of the upside down design
It occurs to me that I will need to put that back before bed
I wonder vaguely if anyone was looking for it, wondering where it could wander off to
I avoid the fridge, the plastic guard rail of the side door broken
like a ribbon at the finish line, the players burst from their confinement
Images of the incidental soya sauce incident come to mind
Stupid fridge. |
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Post |
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| Poetry (because it's been a while) |
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| 01:06pm 17/03/2008 |
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mood: I suck at mario music: this sort of has a vague tune to it
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my cheeks are numb
yet stinging,
dumb
they're swollen
with the imprint
of your hand.
what did they ever do
to your palm?
I wear half moon dents
of your finger nails
like decorative
things...
my cheeks are tingling
with stinging,
trembling
they're a deep set red
of a young girl's blush.
what did they ever do
to you, hon?
I wear the outlines
of each of your fingers
like painted
trinkets...
what did they ever do
to deserve?
numb
they couldn't have said
even an awful word...
dumb
they didn't know better,
I'm sure...
stinging
I wear the blush of a
innocent young girl
I wear the moon prints of your nails
like a goddess, I prevail...
I'm
numb
and trembling
dumb.
I'm
sorry
I
blush
in the pattern of your
hand. |
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| On People |
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| 11:20am 15/03/2008 |
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mood: simmering music: typing and msn sounds
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For all of those people out there who, unawares, make other people's life hell:
Wtf is wrong with you? Do you have even a little shred of decency or are you that blinded to what kind of person you really are? Are you aware of the comments that come out of your mouth? Do you notice how much you self justify? When everyone starts hating you, do you really believe it's because everywhere you go, THAT many people are just crazy and you are the only one who is sane and good?
Well, I have a message for you. Get out of my life. I don't need your negativity. And most of all, because I lack the balls to yell it straight into your face, fuck you.
Fuck you and fuck off. (<- That bit of swearing was highly necessary)
That's all! :) |
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Post |
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| On Doing Absolutely Nothing (when you should be doing something) |
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| 01:42pm 14/03/2008 |
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mood: go away music: library sounds
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It has been a long time since I've sat in the library for no other reason than to waste time on the computer. Today I have less rehearsals than usual with my recital being done and thus time to waste.
Or more like time to procrastinate, which is a luxury I haven't been able to afford in the past two weeks. Has it only been two weeks since Reading Week? It feels like much much much much longer.
I hate people, just to let you know. It may be crazy, but part of the incentive to go to B.C. for my masters is purely based on the motivation to just get away from here. Plane rides could be interesting... living many provinces away from anyone I know doesn't sound so great though.
I think I might go hide in the back of the library where the people I dread to talk to (because they tend to make you feel like shit with every other sentence) won't find me. And I can continue avoiding the CBO where I must sort out a mistake that they made but as avoidance dictate, I have not gone to fix as of yet.
I plan on coming home after this composers concert and curling up and watching Friends I think. That sounds very relaxing. There should also be yoga in the lobby or something to better promote relaxation/getting through this last haul of the year.
Random note: The library is slightly multicultural today. |
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| On the Having of Recitals |
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| 07:57pm 10/03/2008 |
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mood: satisfied music: humming of two computer fans
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I have just come back from a lovely dinner at Garlics after my recital this afternoon. I have to say that I'm glad it is done, but at the same time I wish I had been less busy so I could have appreciated the excitement that usually accompanies such a performance. I think it went alright, there were some reed and bocal issues that I really couldn't have prevented, so I can forgive them, hehe.
Plus, my dress was beautiful, and by dress I mean my nightie, but by dress I also mean my dress. It's complicated.
It goes by fast though, the run through of all that repertoire you work the whole year on. It's amazing, this culmination of all that you have worked towards into a single performance. But then again, that work really continues on, and that one performance becomes many as you keep working and gaining more skill.
I think I have improved greatly over the past few years and hope to continue to do so. Aka, all in all I am satisfied with my recital as a notch in my learning pole of sorts... Learning pole? Perhaps it's like that section of wall with the notches of your height over the years... except it looks like a totem pole and the images on the pole are all of things that relate to who you are as a person. It could be like art!
I think too much. |
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| On Commitment and Love |
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| 12:24am 07/03/2008 |
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mood: hullabaloo? music: ... who says that?
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At first glance I would assume that I am the type to commit. I don't date around, I'm looking to settle down eventually, I like the idea of security, family, companionship.
But I don't understand the feeling of rapture people describe when they are in love, that almost desperate need and the seeming knowledge that their names are written in the stars together. I try with every fiber of my being not to get blinded by love, and I think in the end I just create an inability to become securely attached. I should clarify that I include anyone in that statement (men, friends, family). I am not unfeeling but I just don't put in the outward effort to maintain these relationships and feel, I think, less remorse than I should when I late them fade away. One day it will be up to me to make sure that I see my extended family and keep in contact with them, but I'm not sure I will. I'll miss them, but I won't make the effort.
So yes, I want marriage, kids, the whole deal... but at the same time I'm not sure I would ever trust any feeling in me of absolute devotional, happy-go-lucky, grow-old-together kind of fate-like love. I want it, but wanting isn't enough. I'm not sure if I even know how to feel that way. I can't make a decision about what kind of hand soap I want in my bathroom, how will I ever be sure enough to say "I do" and not believe the whole while that the relationship will probably fail. How can I ever promise that my love will never fade when I know that it's in my nature to constantly harbor doubts.
I am decidedly unsure on everything, from my clothes and personality to my career choices, etc. If I "commit" and get married one day, I wonder if I'll always be the person who doubts but somehow that won't mean I'll be making a mistake... Or is it really possible that I might be sure of that choice when the day comes, if it does?
***
On a completely different note, I used the word "Hullabaloo" in a sentence unthinkingly today without even cracking a smile. It took me a bit to be like... wtmfh? (<- inside joke, hehe) |
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Read 3 - Post |
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| A Phone Call |
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| 02:50pm 03/03/2008 |
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mood: planning my week music: random sounds in my building
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I can name a list of physical and emotional reactions that I get when I have to call someone, especially in relation to getting something done:
-anxiety (obviously)
-fear/terror
-nausea
-butterflies
-feeling weak but not actually being weak (feeling like you could collapse but have no real reason that you can't stay standing)
-rapid heart rate or breathing depending on level of nervousness
-avoidance at all costs until the very last possible minute (and I mean "minute" literally)
-fretting
-fidgeting
-typing random posts on the subject when I should be on the phone
-dry throat/choked feeling (frog in throat, possible tears, etc)
-that physical embodiment of worry (heavy feeling in your heart)
-crying (depending on level of terror)
-inability to call with others in the house (witnesses?)
-and the manipulation of thoughts (convincing self that there are reasonable explanations to why you could put it off for another day, or why you just don't do it all, and how that is better for everyone)
*EDIT*
I forgot a few for when the call is taking place: holes in memory for simple questions or memory of what info you need to bring up, need to plan out conversation in written form beforehand to follow, talking too fast or too quiet (therefore needing to repeat yourself and draw out excruciating conversation), ( with the heart racing and such mentioned above), sweaty palms, nervous laughter... I think that's all...
*END EDIT*
These symptoms have no particular order, do not decrease in strength or occurrence with repeated exposure, and may appear AFTER the actual phone call has taken place. Actually, while the anticipation is bad, if it builds up enough the symptoms are more severe after the fact. They come in a rush of nerves so that you actually give in to the need to collapse, your heart pounding wildly and tears constricting your throat. Oddly, this happens with the same level of severity no matter if the call was negative or very positive.
Of course there are levels of variance. Not all of these symptoms show up or are very strong when calling certain people. It often depends on the task being completed; if there is no task then the pressure is merely one of social awkwardness and is much less severe.
I thought I would dictate all of this and that maybe writing about it would be therapeutic, or at least afford me some more wasted time.
That's all! :) (perhaps I will go pick up the phone now... perhaps not)
P.S. Pray you don't get an answering machine that you didn't prepare for in your written notes or you'll just have to hang up in panic and start the process of getting up the courage to try again all over from the beginning. Not cool. (Believe me, I'm laughing at myself right now, I've come to a point in my life where amusement is the best form of coping, keeps me happy and light hearted despite my shortcomings)
P.P.S. A piece of advice: Always forgive yourself for being you. Laughter and forgiveness are good grapple hooks if you feel yourself being pulled down into a spiral of dark moods. The fact that I can implement this, even though I've been up since 10am trying to make a phone call that I didn't succeed at until 3:30pm and is yet to be resolved, is a big step. Hating yourself only perpetuates more reasons to hate yourself. Okay, that's all I swear this time! |
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Read 2 - Post |
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| God among other things... |
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| 11:38pm 25/02/2008 |
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mood: contemplative music: Finally- Fergie
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Maybe God knows the things I don't in my life.
Or perhaps, as skepticism would have it, God is just a symbol for a need, a feeling, a hope/dream, a "great maker", an energy, Fate? I cannot answer these questions (and, I suspect, many others) but I keep them in mind.
It seems, based on novels and epic life stories, that a spiritual journey is exactly that: A Journey. A story that can be told about far off countries and the amazing people we have met in our lives. But not once is it ever about a kid just thinking on the whole concept of God and finding their own spirituality (or un-spirituality) in a simple leap of faith.
I am not a part of any organized religion or belief. Mainly because my beliefs aren't organized enough to fit into any one peg-and-hole combination. But I do know that my journey is very un-epic.
I think the spiritual road of finding one's self is very similar to the road of love.
In fact they are all one road, all the things we search for: faith, love, meaning, fulfillment, etc. And armed with the knowledge that I am still young, and answers don't just fall into one's lap, I still dream of having it all figured out.
Or, what's more, being able to say with confidence that I believe. Not necessarily in God, but in the world working out as it should, if there is an "as it should". I want to one day be able to say "I do" and really mean it for the rest of my life, or commit to a career and truly believe that it is my niche and I will succeed in it. I want to know that I've got life all figured out.
And have the doubts just be doubts and not nagging things that dig their fingers into my sense of direction.
I should have been born a bird. The sky would be my God, flight my lover, the air my meaning, my wings my rock, the earth my shelter and my shoulder... |
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Post |
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| Pointless Posting |
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| 09:15pm 18/02/2008 |
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mood: procratinated music: Smallville theme music
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Sometimes I let my fingers play over the keys of my computer’s keyboard without actually typing anything just to hear the clicks. Perhaps it is the illusion of productivity… especially when productivity is seriously lacking and projects are due/haven’t even been started yet. Thus I waste time clicking keys but never press any down, and copy-write one hundred word posts because I don’t have the creativity, or just don’t bother, to think up something more original. That, and I was curious just how much a hundred words really were when encapsulated in my very own post of the sort. Hmm… (100) |
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| 11:05pm 16/02/2008 |
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deadened.
is the sound of the world around me,
is the sound of my heart beating against its cage,
is the sound...
of me.
I cannot hear the words upon your lips,
I cannot hear the pounding of your fists,
I am
deadened. |
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| spacebarissues |
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| 10:19pm 02/02/2008 |
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mood: flummoxed music: Lost˙Season˙1
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ItsofftoWhiteOaksforanewspacebar.˙Or˙I˙have˙to˙type˙with˙unobtrusive˙symbols˙to˙make˙sense.˙Stupid˙space˙bar˙and˙a˙few˙other˙keys˙have˙stopped˙working˙and˙damned˙if˙I˙know˙how˙to˙fix˙them!
That˙was˙extremely˙annoying˙to˙type.˙Though˙I˙am˙getting˙quicker˙at˙it.
I•hate•half•an•hour•bus•rides!˙:( |
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Read 2 - Post |
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