We were at the house late last night, building desks and filling drywall holes. I decided not to sleep in this morning, because I needed the time to get work done, although I also needed sleep to get it done properly. There are mailouts to complete, statement stuffers to design, bitmaps to vectorize, and countless other things for which I’m responsible. I convinced myself that I’ve (begrudgingly) gone through enough torturing days of little sleep for someone else, so it would be more appropriate if I did it for myself now.

Stepping outside, the chill of winter morning still in the air against the early light of spring, I skipped nine tracks until Claudio started singing, in his shifting, melodic voice:

Bye bye beautiful
Don’t bother to write

My lethargy turned into energy, as I thought of how things have worked out based on the decisions I made. How I could die happy right now, although I’d prefer to wait at least two weeks if given the choice.

The way I seem to have everything I deserve, and nothing that I don’t.

Someone used a yoghurt and rice example on me the other day. In his beautiful Lebanese accent, he told me, “It’s like yoghurt and rice. I can explain it to you, but you won’t understand until you try it for yourself.” There must be several other ways of saying the same thing, but the most interesting I’ve ever heard was two examples at once: Taco Bell and anal sex.

Now I’m dying to try yoghurt and rice. I’m guessing that it would only work if it’s white rice (jasmine fragranced would be neutral enough), and a plain, non-fruity, yoghurt.

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Today, I got to pick the restaurant. I chose one that’s always bustling on the weekends, even when there isn’t a wedding reception being hosted, named after the Yangtze River in China. There was a mixture of language in the air, due to the fact that I was surrounded by large Chinese families, catching up on each others lives, and young Caucasian couples, on their Friday night dates. The families were all familiar. I could relate to every young boy in them, trying to finish his deep fried crab claw balls while concentrating on the game in his GameBoy. The couples…

I thought about the time we walked around those long, sterile aisles that only you could take me to. There were small plants of basil next to a miscellaneous food item sample stand, and it was my first time smelling the aroma of a live stalk. What a drastic difference it was from the basil I bought in a container, or labelled as “FRESH” when they were ripped from the roots before transportation.

“For some reason, I feel like steak”.

Someone from another couple overheard and couldn’t help laughing.

“I know exactly what you mean”, the man jovially said.

We looked for a steakhouse afterward. On the highway, I asked for a suggestion. Your knowledge of the local restaurants was always wider than mine. I gave reasons against your first two proposals, and you refused to continue, frustrated. I thought about the time we tried to find a game we could both get into, and you rejected the first eight. How difficult it was to not kick that Gamecube into the wall, and yet I didn’t say a word, something I could only control because of how much I still cared at that point. I put my foot down to make a decision (much better than the alternative), and we set off for a teppanyaki steakhouse.

It was a place that I saved for celebrations. We were seated alone at a table usually reserved for eight, along with a lone performer, twirling his knife and flipping his flipper. A celebration of us we agreed.

And I decided that those couples around me weren’t so unfamiliar either.

I love the feel of a new book. Before the corners are dented, when the cover is still slippery smooth.

Guy Gavriel Kay — The Last Light Of The Sun
I was a huge fan of Tigana (although not so much Fionavar Tapestry, even if it was partly based in the city I grew up in). I don’t even like fantasy books, and Tigana is on the list of my top five books of all time.

Carol Shields — The Republic Of Love
As I said in a previous post, I was in the mood for something modern although I couldn’t bring myself to admit that I was also in the mood for something romantic. I found out about this book when I noticed Karen reading it during last years May 2-4 camping trip.

Mordecai Richler — The Apprenticeship Of Duddy Kravitz
Ever since I read The World According To Garp, a book full of lust, humour, passion, and life, discovered from the “Recommended Reading” list that my high school published every year, I had a deep repsect for the books I was exposed to in class. However, two English classes meant two different curriculums. When I was studying The Great Gatsby, the other class was studying To Kill A Mockingbird. When they were doing A Prayer For Owen Meany, I was doing Pride And Prejudice. The Apprentiship of Duddy Kravitz is to make of up for the time I spent studying The Catcher In The Rye.

It was only a few days after I bought these three books that I realized every single one of these authors is Canadian. Why does this country rule so fucking much.

The city begins to melt as the sun warms soil and pavement alike. Trickles of water run everywhere while the ice dissolves, a prescient sign of the streams soon to be come from lawn sprinklers and car wash hoses, as excess finds its way to sewer grates. By night, the temperature drops below freezing again and the small urban currents turn solid. Pedestrians practice their waddles in the morning as they maneuver across the slippery patches. The only remains of ice are the paths left compressed by the trampling of feet through the winter.

Every day I wake up it’s a little brighter, in my room, and in my mind.

To know that I never want to talk to you again.

Aaron and Karen are notorious for their inability to end a phone call within the first fifteen minutes of picking up. This isn’t always their fault, of course, because most of the time it’s the people at the other end who persist in staying on the line. Sometimes I’ll pretend that it’s a wrong number when we’re hanging out so that they won’t be disturbed. Unfortunately, this time, the person was persistent. It ended up being a rude charity worker.

My Chinese has a terrible Western accent, bad enough for me to be able to recognize it and cringe. Normally, I’m not so bad, but I was definitely rusty and caught off-guard.

Hi.

It feels like my glasses are dirty, but it’s really the surfaces of my eyes.

There’s this indescribable desire to be amongst others, after spending time with myself for so long. I’d like to sit in the middle of a café right now, I think to myself, so I could listen the layers of people talking. I’d like to be slumped down in a soft library chair, deciding which book to take home, with the hushed shuffling of pages all around me. I’d like to be walking on the streets of New York, dodging the taxis on 42nd and tenth, walking across the streets with the other pedestrians.

This is one of those nights.

I choose to live and to
Grow, take and give and to
Move, learn and love and to
Cry, kill and die and to
Be paranoid and to
Lie, hate and fear and to
Do what it takes to move through.

—Tool, Forty Six & 2

Unfortunately, I’m not myself when I’m around my friends.

With them, I’m happier, more confident, extroverted. It’s usually only with them that I can test the boundaries of social conduct, because I know that they understand me, accept me, and are willing to back me all the way. Sometimes, I end up saying some pretty embarrassing things off-the-cuff, things made more embarrassing by the fact that even my friends aren’t laughing. But to find the boundary, one has to cross it at some point. And it’s such a fucking power trip to know that I’m testing myself as well, testing how far I’m willing to go, something that I can only do with the right people.

Without my friends, I recede into my shell. I require them at parties, events, social functions just so I can interact with people normally. When I do find myself in absence of their presence, I force myself to be social. I consider how I would behave if I was with them, and proceed with caution. It’s slowly getting easier for me when I’m by myself. Perhaps I’m gaining my own self-confidence when I’m not around them.

Something I that can only gain when I’m with them.

The Stepping Through The Shadow Series

• Part 1
• Part 2

I haven’t been sleeping well lately. At night I wear an anti-bruxism splint (made of thermal active material to eliminate metal clasping), and this prevents the occlusal surfaces of my teeth from wearing down. Unfortunately, this doesn’t prevent the actual act of grinding, and sometimes I still wake up with lock-jaw.

Ever since the beginning of the year, things have been along moving quickly, both good and bad. On top of that, most of it has been happening all at once, leaving my emotions in a rather unsettled state.

Everything feels like it’s some duotone greyscale.

It’s not that anything is wrong, but there’s been a lot on my mind, especially with the upcoming move. I have to get the walls trimmed and washed before painting them. I have to get the locks changed and dimmer switches installed. I have to find the perfect desk and recliner for my room. I have to make sure that the phone and cable is installed. I have to adjust to a new set of monthly (sometimes bi-weekly) payments for insurance, hydro, heat, condo management, mortgage, and property tax. I have to relax and take one thing at a time.

Hopefully, things will be settled by mid-April.

The transfer of keys is the very last step in buying a house. Aside from all the steps involved in actually purchasing one, to get a set of keys means the completion of many things. A consolidation of one’s funds (deposited in trust, posted on file, verified by accountants). The payment of all parties involved (lawyer for legal fees, government for land transfer tax, insurance company for title insurance, as well as the seller for the full amount of the house). A record in the municipal ministry of the transfer ownership (once the lawyers of both parties involved have paid for an execution clearance certificate).

The keys signify that the deal has been closed, and nothing has gone wrong between the time of purchase and the day of transfer. Usually, I worry about things going wrong, even when there’s only a marginal chance, and I have a complete understanding of this fact. When someone shakes my hand after an interview to congratulate me on getting the job, I’ll worry for days, right up until I get my name on the contract. This was no exception. Anything could go wrong — seller changing his mind, hidden lawsuits or liens, or even a failing of the final inspection — from the day I made the bid to the last minutes of the closing date.

Yesterday, I walked into my lawyers office. I carried with me a certified cheque that was mostly my downpayment, but also included his fees and taxes (I’m fortunate enough to not have go into my line of credit to pay for the latter two). I signed several documents, received my status certificate and condo papers, as well as other letters of confirmation.

Today I picked up my keys, and now I own a house.

I’ve tried many times to capture the actual size of Dolly’s current girth, but the camera doesn’t really do a good job of it. I figured that the only way to accurately show how large she’s gotten is with stereoscopic images. That way, one can actually tell how much Dolly is coming off the couch with a bit of depth perception. It’s never easy to take stereoscopic pictures of a cat. Usually they’ll move or twitch when the alternating photo is being taken, so it almost always has to be done while they’re asleep. Even a twitch of the camera strap, or a shuffling of feet will be enough to pique the curiosity of a cat

Dolly’s head looks small in comparison to the rest of her body, but her head is actually normal for a cat her age, and it’s her pot belly that’s grown out of proportion. Every time someone comes over, I usually get a comment on how much she’s grown. Outward.

I haven’t written about this subject in a while now. I needed to take a break, to distance myself in order to gain some perspective. Now that I’m here, I feel comfortable enough to talk about it again.

But before I go on, a little explanation of my potential bias is needed. I’ve always been one to believe that a single bad experience shouldn’t turn someone away from anything forever. I try to keep this belief in my head when I catch myself associating the D/s lifestyle with pain (ha! get it?) and frustration. The only hands-on experience I have being a dominant was with a person who would repeatedly hurt me and bring me down.

However, I don’t believe that this was a conscious characteristic. It was a personality that was widely hypocritical, mean, and extremely difficult to deal with, but all of this fit the “type” of submissive that she was. I saw her as a tremendous, effusive force that, when wielded correctly, could be used to great advantage. The only problem is there are only few with enough strength and patience to tame and guide such a force, although someone who could accomplish such a task would form an unbreakable bond between master and slave. I knew that I would eventually have the strength, but I certainly did not have the patience to be dealing with what constantly felt like a person working against me.

So it’s with this cautionary step that I proceed to explore the D/s branch of the BDSM umbrella. My sub was dependent on the lifestyle; she required it in her relationships, and her only means of relaxation was being a bottom at a party. I knew the risks of getting involved. One of my biggest fears was that I would grow dependent on the lifestyle as well. After all, what greater elation is there than to feel as if one owns another mind, another soul, another person.

As of yet, I don’t feel some tremendous urge to go out and find a sub to abuse. I’m not experienced enough as a dominant to do that. I know, however, that D/s is something I’d want to explore in future relationships. I consider it a basis of openness, trust, and acceptance. Exploring the lifestyle (as a female sub especially) would lay the groundwork for a lot of other things.

Many of which I have yet to discover for myself.

I haven’t been able to get into anything in the last little while. Keeping myself occupied has been difficult. There are distractions everywhere, and I don’t think this will end until I move.

I’d really like to get into a book, but I’m never in the mood for what I have available. I’ve decided to take a break from Thus Spoke Zarathustra, which is why the Zarathustra sessions are on hold. I zealously read it when I was searching for a greater meaning to the problems I was going through at the time, but now I’d prefer to read something that’s easier to get through. I still have my copy of Doctor Zhivago that Christie gave me, but I would need to be in a certain cultural mood (i.e. Russian) to enjoy it, and I’ve read enough Russian literature in the last five years to keep me satisfied for the next little while. I’d like to start Moby Dick again (and possibly even finish it this time), but I want to be a little more settled in my life before I try reading such an epic again. I’d try to finish the Story Of O, but I generally try to stay away from hardcore erotic literature when I’m on the bus or before I go to sleep. I’m not in the mood for sci-fi right now, which is too bad, because John got me a copy of The Butlerian Jihad a few years ago at Christmas, one of the only thoughtful gifts I’ve ever recieved from him. After reading Tigana I can’t get into any other fantasy books, because they all seem shallow and cheesy in comparison. I’m in the mood for something modern, so maybe I’ll go to Chapters and pick up a copy of The Stone Diaries.

There aren’t any decent games to get into at the moment. I don’t completely agree with the new matchmaking policies introduced in the 1.17 patch of Frozen Throne, so I don’t play on battle.net anymore. Usually it’ll be a tower map against John, or a big free-for-all with Trolley and Aaron, but nothing compared to how addicted I was to Starcraft or TFC. I also know better than to get into something like World Of Warcraft if I want to retain any semblance of an actual life. It’s tragic to not be able to play what could easily be one of the most significant games of the next decade, but I’m not willing to take that risk.

There isn’t any TV I can get into lately either. I’m waiting for the fourth season of Trailer Park Boys to come out on DVD. I’ve watched the first seasons of Arrested Development and Clone High over and over again. I’m waiting for Trolley to recieve the first three seasons of Six Feet Under to come in through Zip.ca before watching it. I got half-way through the second season with Louise, but it started to get pointlessly depressing. Maybe this is just in contrast with shows like Trailer Park Boys and Arrested Development, where people who are placed in the worst situations still manage to keep their chins up and their hopes high.

The only thing that has been able to keep me occupied is music, which has been coming in at a regular pace. After hearing Cochise by Audioslave, I wasn’t too impressed with what has become the aftermath of both Soundgarden and Rage Against The Machine breakups. Perhaps this is due to the fact that I’ve always been on the Nirvana side of the Cobain vs. Cornell debate. Some may think that grunge died with the dissolution of Soundgarden, but Nirvana fucking started it all, mock Pixies band or not. In any case, my first impression of Audioslave’s sound was that it was flat and repetitive. What else can be expected from a bassist known for mimicking the main guitar riff in flagship songs like Bulls On Parade and People Of The Sun? I had been listening to Audioslave’s Shadow Of The Sun from the Collateral soundtrack for two weeks now, but it was only two days ago that it really hit me. And yet I’ve been going through so much music lately, that the song becomes as significant as any another I’ve decided to keep.