Last year, I went to a Halloween party dressed as a Super Trooper with Aaron and Wheaties (I have only recently acquired the image), and wound up being drunk out of my skull. I tried not to make the same mistake this year, and seeing as how I don’t really drink anymore, it wasn’t much of a problem.
Instead, Aaron and Karen hosted a small gathering, which I attended, where homemade chicken pot pie was served, and no one dressed in costume.
Tim Hortons is doing its seasonal doughnut, which is a funky looking doughnut with bat and pumpkin sprinkles.
Unfortunately, I had to miss out on a pumpkin carving party, due to a fairly stressful week causing a lack of desire to socialize. Trolley did the Cheat from Homestar Runner, and it turned out pretty well.
I’ve never been against any form of (non-permanent) self-mutilation, as long as it’s not considered a solution to a problem. After all, some people watch TV to get their minds off things, others pull out carving knives and make designs on their arms. Neither activity actually helps a situation, but are just ways to deal with things that can’t be helped.
I always make sure that I don’t have any razor blades handy. I figure that if it ever gets to the very rare point that I want to cut, I’ll be calm again by the time I go out and buy some, sort of like a cool-down period for firearms.
I’m proud of the fact that I’m strong enough now to resist, that if I did have a pack handy, I wouldn’t reach for it as a release.
I’ve gained a certain notoriety amongst some as being a crier, but today was the first time that I actually had a breakdown. The first time there wasn’t just a single thing that brought me to tears, but several, which, by themselves, would have been tolerable. And even though I’ve long known and been an advocate of the practical aspects of lachrymology, today was the first time that I still felt like shit when I couldn’t cry any more.
This song in my head is telling me about how the stars keep shining down, the world keeps turning ’round, not to let these hardships bring me down because times like these will come around. I believe him, because I’ve been there. I’ve been to the point where I wished my interest in suicide was just a cry for attention, and I’ve been to the point where it felt like nothing could bring me down.
All I know right now is that I’m going to get through this week, but it’s not going to be easy.
Sometimes, if I happen to be walking somewhere, I’ll walk next to someone just to see how they handle the awkwardness. I find that most people are so uncomfortable with it that they will actually slow down. Sometimes I’ll also match their pace, and they end up slowing down so much that it becomes very obvious, and I can tell that they start to wonder if I’m doing it on purpose.
This morning, I was walking next to a woman seemed so distressed by it, that after a while, she feigned running for a bus that she had absolutely no chance of catching.
Les feuilles mortes se ramassent à la pelle,
Les souvenirs et les regrets aussi
Mais mon amour silencieux et fidèle
Sourit toujours et remercie la vie
—Jacques Prévert, Les feuilles mortes
The leaves shuffle past on the sidewalk, and all I can think about is how, every single day, the weather can be so different, so uniquely beautiful.
An accoutrement, she calls herself. An intelligent, energetic, passionate accessory, what better bijou? So I wear her on my arm, along with my ribbed sweater and dependable jeans, while walking along the streets on a comfortably cool afternoon.
The autumn days are ours.