November 29, 2004

Life On Contract

I remem­ber once when I was younger, say about nine or ten, my par­ents took me for a car ride. I had no idea where we were going, because I never ques­tioned them when­ever they told me to get in the car. I’ve always been a vic­tim of hum­ming engines, and even today I find it hard to stay awake while rid­ing in a car. I fell asleep and even­tu­ally woke up in a parked car with my seat­belt still on, uncer­tain of how much time had passed or where my par­ents had gone. The sur­round­ings were unfa­mil­iar, the park­ing lot, half-full, even more so. I sat there, expect­ing my par­ents to come back any second.

Not know­ing how much more time went by, I started to ques­tion whether or not they had pur­posely left me there, some decade-late, do-it-yourself, abor­tion. “No”, I thought, “They wouldn’t just leave the car, it’s too much money”. When I couldn’t fight against my sus­pi­cion any longer, couldn’t con­vince myself that they wouldn’t just leave me in this lot like a baby on a doorstep, I started to cry. I didn’t know what to do. I gath­ered up the courage to leave the saftey of the car, and locked the door, know­ing that in doing so I wouldn’t be able to get back in, but too scared of get­ting in trou­ble if my par­ents were ever to find out.

Wandering around the adja­cent plaza, my face a com­plete sob­bing mess, I looked for them through the store win­dows. Excuses, apolo­gies, promises to be a good kid kept rac­ing through my mind as I won­dered from store to store, being care­ful not to let my eyes off the car. Eventually, I found them in a light fix­ture store, chat­ting with a sales clerk about some wood grain ceil­ing fan. I went in, approached them, and all I could say was, “Where did you go?”. They told me, matter-of-factly, that they went shop­ping and that I should have stayed asleep in the car. After fin­ish­ing their con­ver­sa­tion with the clerk, they left with me, and we all went home. I was shaken, but happy that I wasn’t dis­carded because of poor marks of bad piano form.

And even though I wish that the entire inci­dent didn’t hap­pen in the first place, a part of me won­ders what it would be like if I had never found them. Perhaps a resolution.

An end to the stip­u­la­tions of a con­di­tional life.

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November 28, 2004

Autumn Argument

Thumbnail: Autumn pathway

Quite a few weeks ago, on another Sunday, I woke up with Loo sleep­ing next to me. I could never sleep past seven because of my work hours, and Loo rarely gets to bed before 11 the night before. Our sched­ules were, and still are, almost an eight hour shift away from each other. This doesn’t put us in the great­est of moods, and makes us say things that we don’t mean (on my end, at least, I can’t speak for her).

Like on that Sunday, after wak­ing up and sit­ting in the IKEA PELLO for an hour lis­ten­ing to my music, I was grumpy to say the least. I wasn’t tired enough to sleep, but I wasn’t rested enough to do anything.

I decided to just get out and walk, not sus­pect­ing how beau­ti­ful the autumn day was. Everything I loved most about the fall was in that morn­ing; the light chill in the air, the lay­ers of colours, the man­i­fest atmos­phere. The walk was brief, just along the canal and back, but it was a shiver of the senses that only comes out a few days of the year.

When I returned, I still wasn’t in the best of sorts. My frus­tra­tion about our mis­matched sched­ules was start­ing to come through. Loo got up and we argued, try­ing to fig­ure out who was to blame. In the end, I real­ized that it wasn’t either of our faults, but we were both pay­ing for it.

Even though we argued, we ended up resolv­ing things, a lit­tle wiser, and still just as tired. Another hur­dle jumped, another obsta­cle that won’t get in our way again. I like to think that only good came out of that morn­ing, and that if it didn’t hap­pen, I wouldn’t have expe­ri­enced what I was meant to.

Like watch­ing jog­gers kick up the autumn leaves strewn across the pavement.

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November 27, 2004

I Should Get Unlisted

The more you call, the less I care.

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November 27, 2004

I need this weekend

I need it to recharge and recoup. I need it to clean up the piles of clothes that have been build­ing up on my cof­fee table, and to catch up on old e-mails. I need it to sleep in, and feel rested for a once. I need it to take care of myself so I can take care of Loo. I need it to relax, to write.

To think, to stop thinking.

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November 24, 2004

Fifteen-Minute Conditioner (or It’s A D/s Life: The Perils Of Faith)

I under­stand. A lack of feed­back is the ulti­mate test of con­fi­dence, one of the many cru­cibles of a rela­tion­ship. The strong make it through, the weak fall apart.

I have to be strong. I have to cast aside my inse­cu­ri­ties, and not look back. I have to trust in Louise as much as she trusts in me. I have to be more open, more com­mu­nica­tive. How can I be sure of what she thinks if I don’t speak to her first?

I have to be strong. I have to treat Louise bet­ter. She shouldn’t be pay­ing for my bad days. I have to push through the weight, or we both pay, the vicious bad-mood cycle. I have to be firm first, or there is noth­ing for her to support.

I have to be strong. I once asked Louise for three things, and I can’t be scared to ask for oth­ers. I have to take that leap of faith, because love is noth­ing with­out risk.

Do peo­ple really become stronger from pres­sure? I’ve always cracked, and it feels like I’m crack­ing now. Is this what the strong have gone through?

No one can promise that I won’t get hurt. No one can help me.

And I have to be strong enough to deal with both.

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November 21, 2004

Assorted Daily Life

So yeah.

Got my hair bleached blonde. I’ve always wanted very pale blonde hair, but mid­tone is about as far as it goes.

Trolley, Aaron, and wheaties got me Half-Life 2 for my birth­day. I didn’t have a chance to really play it until this week­end, but I decided to play through Half-Life: Source first, because it was four years five years since I last fin­ished it, and going through the game again would help me appre­ci­ate all the lit­tle details being put into the sequel. The odd thing is that I remem­ber tak­ing weeks to play it through, whereas I started play­ing HL:S Friday, played a bit last night, and am almost done now. It’s nice to be able to sit and play through a game, tak­ing my time, not hav­ing to worry about classes, or assign­ments, or tests, etc. This makes me real­ize that I haven’t really got­ten into a game like this since I fin­ished university.

Finally get to go for some pho with Loo today. We haven’t been almost two weeks.

Aaron bought me a quadruple/quadruple from Timmies yes­ter­day, and it was good. I’ve been try­ing to cut down on sugar and creme for years now, so four of each being so sati­at­ing (almost candy-like) is very scary.

I took my first puff from a cig­a­rette yes­ter­day. It was a Matinee Extra Mild, and it wasn’t pleas­ant. I was stoned, and the weed tasted way better.

The Ghost In The Shell: Stand Alone Complex tracks that Number18 sent me are amaz­ing. She rules.

Been busy as fuck.

That’s all. I’m going back to sleep.

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November 19, 2004

Window Seat Winner

Yesterday I was tak­ing the bus home, sit­ting in an aisle seat next to some­one (the part of the bus where there are four pairs of seats, two pairs fac­ing for­ward on each side of the aisle). There was a girl in the seats in front of me, with her bag next to her, pre­vent­ing some­one from sit­ting there, and two peo­ple sit­ting in the seats across the aisle from her. Eventually, she made like she was going to get off at the next stop, and put her bag on her lap. The guy in the aisle seat across from her (at an angle to me) saw, and looked rapa­ciously at the soon-to-be-vacant win­dow seat. Then he looked back at me, and saw me eying the seat as well, and going through the motions of a Tarantino joke from Desperado (“Dick, glass. Dick, glass. Dick, glass.”), except with me and the empty seat. As soon as he real­izes that he might lose the cov­eted win­dow seat to me, he gets up and sits in the recently vacated space next to the girl to reserve the spot, before she even gets up to leave. Eventually, the next stop comes along, and she doesn’t get off. Instead, the per­son who was sit­ting in the win­dow seat next to him before he moved gets up and leaves. The guy looks over to the newly vacated win­dow spot, and, too embar­rassed to move back, just stays next to the girl, stew­ing in the con­se­quences of his error.

I could feel his scalp start­ing to itch, the way a sud­den break of sweat starts to tin­gle the pores along the back.

And then I walked over to the win­dow seat, and slumped down com­fort­ably. Learning to never make assump­tions and never be too anx­ious was easy. It was learn­ing to live that by those rules that was the hard part.

I also touched some guys leg with my fin­gers later on, because he rudely shoved his knees into my legs while mak­ing his way to a stand­ing spot. Nothing makes a man jump like chal­leng­ing his heterosexuality.

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November 16, 2004

Music Saves The Day

I was rid­ing the bus the other day, and a woman got on and sat in a per­pen­dic­u­lar seat in front of me. She wore plain mary-janes, thick wool stock­ings, a con­ser­v­a­tive plaid skirt, and had her hair in a slightly orna­mented pony-tail. I assume that she was in her late twen­ties, but her demeanour was almost child-like. She sat for a while, star­ing at noth­ing, car­ry­ing a per­pet­u­ally inno­cent, apolo­getic expres­sion on her face, as if she had a tir­ing day and was pen­i­tent to those around her for being in such an exhausted state.

Sticking out of her bag was a sim­ple, white, letter-sized book­let with the head­ing “DEMOCRACY IN ACTION PROGRAM”, and I thought it was odd that a par­lia­men­tary event being held in the cap­i­tal of Canada would use the American spelling of the word “programme”.

Soon, she pulled out a set of plas­tic, bulky Sony head­phones (the ones with the over­sized foam that actu­ally come with a music device), and searched her bag for the tape player attached at the end of the cord. Now, I admit that I’m already gen­er­ally attracted to older, homely look­ing women, but it was the fact that she had such a pure look of sim­ple bliss on her face when she put on the head­phones, as if she was wait­ing all day to lis­ten to her music, that I found most attractive.

November 15, 2004

The Half-Life 2 Hype

I won­der if any­one under­stands how much the release of HL 2 means to me. I won­der if any­one can under­stand how emo­tional I get just see­ing the con­cept art. The first Half-Life defined more than a year of my life, the way decades have defined phases for pre­vi­ous gen­er­a­tions. Half-Life was my favourite game of all time, not even sec­ond to Chrono Trigger. It was an expe­ri­ence, a jour­ney, not just a game, and the sequel is being released tomorrow.

I for­mat­ted my machine yes­ter­day (some­thing I haven’t done in over a year, even though I used to every quar­ter before the release of XP), to clean up my sys­tem in prepa­ra­tion. I’m hop­ing I’ll be able to run it on a decent graph­ics set­ting; my video card is a lit­tle dated now, but it’s still a DirectX 9 gen­er­a­tion ATI Radeon.

I can’t wait. The entire idea that some­thing I’ve been wait­ing more than four years for will be released tomor­row hasn’t quite set in my head yet.

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November 14, 2004

Stronger

Knowing that I love some­one may make me strong, but know­ing that some­one loves me makes me stronger.

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November 12, 2004

Long-Term Issue

The day was going so well. It’s the end of the week, work hasn’t been too stress­ful, and tonight is sup­posed to be fun.

One tiny fuck­ing thing had to ruin it.

I can’t believe I almost broke down here. I can’t even cry, when it feels like let­ting go and bawl­ing my eyes out would be the only way to get it all out of my sys­tem. I can only sit here, my eyes swollen and tired, and force myself to work. I don’t know how other peo­ple deal with their prob­lems, because I’m not the only one. I just seem to be the only one who hasn’t come to terms with it all.

Am I just a nat­u­rally weak per­son? How are oth­ers, who seem to have gone through the same thing, not be affected by it? Will this ever go away?

Before, I sim­ply hated. Then, for years, I believed that I came to terms with it. Now, I sim­ply ques­tion why.

Why is it so hard for me to get over this?

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November 11, 2004

Tuborg On The Shelf

Thumbnail: Tuborg on the shelf

Trolley left his Tuborg in my room tonight, but I pur­posely didn’t tell him so that I could have a chance to talk with him when he remem­bered where it was.

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November 11, 2004

Dating A Massage Therapist

Coolest thing about a girl­friend who’s a reg­is­tered mas­sage ther­a­pist: gen­eral health and med­ical train­ing means that she can dis­tin­guish between the dif­fer­ent gaits and kinet­ics of the thir­teen dif­fer­ent Eternal Darkness characters.

Oh yeah, and the pro massages.

PRO.

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November 10, 2004

Chaos: An Introduction

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Thumbnail: Curious Chaos

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Last week, Aaron and Karen got a nine-week old kit­ten, named Chaos. I had the plea­sure of check­ing up on him over the week­end. He was extremely ner­vous about meet­ing me at first, but he even­tu­ally warmed up enough to play with a mousie that I once bought for Dolly. I can already start to see parts of his per­son­al­ity com­ing through; he’s a lit­tle shy, but really enjoys human atten­tion, and can spend hours just bat­ting things around.

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November 8, 2004

Self-Restraint: Tensility

Some peo­ple turn to pills and things
To help them through the day
To take them up or down or just
To ease the blues away
But me I really want to feel
The ups and downs of life so real
Happy or sad emo­tions reign
My tears flow just the same

—Lamb, I Cry

I had been try­ing to write this for nearly a month, but couldn’t get it down until I really lis­tened to the lyrics of I Cry on the walk home past the power lines. I decided to split this up into two sep­a­rate entries, after real­iz­ing that I have two sim­i­lar ideas in my head, but two very dis­tinct issues. Perhaps it just took a few extra rough days of work to force me to think about this. All the things falling apart that I have to fix, respon­si­bil­i­ties, dead­lines, and tons of other mis­cel­la­neous things are def­i­nitely mak­ing me think of ways to get the ten­sion out of my arms and shoulders.

Sometimes, when I come home, all I want to do is get piss drunk or mind­lessly stoned. Maybe go reck­lessly buy a bunch of things I don’t need, to make myself feel bet­ter for that lit­tle amount of time. Sometimes I just feel like doing some­thing irra­tional, even though I have no idea what or why, sim­ply because I believe it would get my mind of things. And yet I don’t do any of this, espe­cially when I’m hav­ing a par­tic­u­larly bad day, because I don’t want to be depen­dent on anything.

I don’t want to rely on nar­cotics, or mate­r­ial goods, or self-mutilation, or any­thing at all to make myself feel bet­ter. I want to be sure that I can han­dle things, no mat­ter what, on my own. I force myself to feel every stress­ful, mis­er­able, for­lorn emo­tion, so that I know that I can get through them.

Sometimes, every day can be a test. Music and writ­ing are the only things that I allow myself.

And some­times I have to tell myself that it’s enough.