I’m breaking my writing cycle today because I feel like writing. Well, no, I don’t feel like writing, I feel like expressing, venting.

For some reason, I felt lost all day. At one point it made me nauseous, and I started to break into sweats and get flushed in the face. I thought I could make it an entire week without one off day, until this day happened. There was a very general feeling of uneasiness, but that may be a continuation of yesterday. I was really nervous before Doug’s birthday gathering; I didn’t know who was going and that made me really nervous. I still don’t know why.

So I admit, I dropped an excessive amount of money on a Hitachi DZMV550A Digital DVD-RAM camcorder. My only excuse is that I had been planning on purchasing a camcorder since the summer, and vowed to do so as soon as I could afford it. This wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment thing, it was a carefully incubated desire which kept growing into the perfectly guilt-free shopping experience I had. Besides, Aaron talked the man down $110, but I saved $210 in total from additional sales.

I had been looking around for a wide-angle lens all day, but none of the four major(ly accessible) photo stores had them in stock. I’m a little disappointed in the stock range of the wide-angle, and have been finding it difficult to capture…basically more than one person. In any case, I’ll probably have to order it online, and hopefully it’ll come in before I see John in the new year, which is why I bought the camcorder.

I also admit that I had absolutely nothing planned for today, aside from picking up my duvet from the dry-cleaners because Dolly had an accident last week. Normally, I have the next night planned the day before, usually either writing/hanging out with Trolley or gaming/hanging out with Trolley, so an unplanned evening is generally a good thing. Today, I only realized that I had nothing planned when I got home, and it just made me feel uneasy.

And I also have to admit that I listened to the audiologs of a “goth” I found online, for part of the day. It was strangely comforting, because of how humourous his monologue is, in a very deathly serious, non-jocular way. He laughs to himself a lot, and talks about his (horrendous) site updates, his smoking, his drugs, his self-proclaimed “flattering” copycat from vampirefreaks.com. Just knowing that I’m not as commiserable as this guy makes me feel better. I submitted it as an awful link of the day on Something Awful, and I’m almost certain it’ll make it. Funny note, Jackie used to date the guy who runs that site.

I really, really don’t know what this mood is now. It’s not malicious. It’s a little stoic, and almost confident as a result of that. I’m also a little scared.

Of what, I don’t know.

I’ve started tucking in my shirt. The only two times that I remember tucking were both at weddings; Dr. Lea’s and Jono’s. I didn’t even tuck for my cousin’s wedding, even after (or should I say, especially after) a chiding from Priscilla’s unpleasant boyfriend. Admittedly, I have a very thin waist, and tucking always makes me look extremely skinny. I don’t always tuck now, just when I’m wearing a dress shirt with certain new v-neck sweaters. If I don’t tuck, the sweaters end up bunching up oddly around my mid-section and make me look even skinnier.

I don’t mind it so far, although it feels a little odd to have so much material stuffed into my pants, like I have a skirt on underneath (not that I have ANY idea what that feels like, or ever pretended I was Candice Bergen from Attenborough’s Gandhi after finding a cache of my mothers old clothes as a confused adolescent). I’ve always been most comfortable with the casual untucked-shirt with tie or blazer style. I’ve been against tucking for so long that it feels like I’ve sold out, started laying down to the proverbial “man”, but really, I’ve only started to tuck my shirt in on occasion.

I’ve also started trying to sit up straight. I think that posture is an important part of self-image, and realized that I’m confident enough now to project it. My parents would always tell me to keep my shoulders back, because they’re generally forward in a sleazy slouch. I’ve been trying to go cold turkey and not slouch at all, instead of only sitting straight when I feel rested. The greatest challenge is sitting up straight while eating soup. The extra distance the spoon has to travel to the mouth is scary, and after a while, I end up slouching again to prevent stray drippings from making large splashes.

I wrote this on the bus this morning:

I wrote this on the bus this morning. I generally hate writing on the bus because it always seems so pompous. I don’t like to come off as someone who thinks he’s an important writer, or as someone who’s looking for attention. Then I try to tell myself not to care what other people think, because the fact is that all I’m doing is writing in a notebook. And then I pull out my notebook.

The notebook itself, however, may be the important detail. I bought a new ruled, pocket Moleskine to keep track of my ideas. It cost me a pretty penny, but I’m hoping it’ll last me a while. What I used to do was use a text file saved on my desktop when at my computer, or my Dominion Blueline A9 (coming in at a hefty 9 1/4″ x 7 1/4″) when travelling. The Moleskine is perfect because it’s small enough to carry on the bus, and too small (a pocket-filling 3.5 x 5.5 inches) for other people to read over my shoulder. I can’t stand it when other passengers nosily glance at my words.

It has a ribbon to keep track of the current page, a small pocket in the back to keep loose items, an elastic to keep the pages together and prevent damage, and some of the smoothest uncoated paper I’ve ever used. Perfectly, all of the things I look for in a notebook. This doesn’t mean that I’m going to leave my A9 in desuetude; I’ve relegated it to keeping track of miscellaneous notes, lists, songs, etc., recently the only task I have been using it for. The Moleskines also come with a little card in the back explaining an interesting history:

It is two centuries now that Moleskine has been the legendary notebook of European artists and intellectuals, from Van Gogh to Henri Matisse, from the exponents of the historical avant-garde movements to Ernest Hemingway. Many are the sketches and notes, ideas and emotions that have been jotted down and harboured in this trustworthy pocket-size travel companion before being turned into famous pictures or the pages of beloved books.

This long-standing tradition was continued by writer-traveller Bruce Chatwin who used to buy his Moleskines at a Paris stationery shop in Rue de l’Ancienne Comedie where he would always stock up before embarking on one of his journeys. Over the years he had developed a veritable ritual. Before using them he would in fact number the pages, writing on the inside his name and at least two addresses across the world, and a message promising a reward for anyone finding and returning the notebook in case of it being lost.

He even suggested this method to his friend Luis Sepulveda, when he gave him a precious Moleskine as a present for a journey they were planning to undertake together in Patagonia. And there was no doubt as to how precious it was, given that at the time even the last Moleskine manufacturer, a small family-run firm of Tours, had discontinued production in 1986. “Le vrai moleskine n’est plus” was the short and curt statement of the owner of the stationery shop where Chatwin had ordered one hundred before leaving for Australia. Despite having literally swept up all the moleskines he could find, they were not enough.

Now, the Moleskine is back again. This silent and discreet keeper of an extraordinary tradition which has been missing for years has set out again on its journey. A witness to contemporary nomadism, it can once again pass from one pocket to another to continue the adventure.

The sequel still waits to be written and its blank pages are ready to tell the story.

Now I feel free to do this. Write what I want, when I want, where I want. I love writing in this thing.

I’m back.

This is the ritual.

We meet. Usually by Greyhound.

We get stoned. In the car, in the park, or in the apartment.

This is what we’ve been saving for. What we’ve chosen to deny ourselves of, until the present company, so that the experience is more intense. The reason why we’ve withheld for so long.

We introduce to each other what we’ve discovered on our own. Songs. Videos. Experiences.

There is no pride. No bias. No judgment.

We cherish these times. These weekends. These memories.

When we can grow from one another.

Because we’ve grown from ourselves.

It feels barren today. It’s cold outside, but there’s no wind and the air is still. Everything is so unforgiving and largo e pianissimo sempre.