I’m at the point now where I don’t need to carry around a notebook to keep track of the subjects and ideas I want to write about later. There are so many things to say that I only end up remembering the important ones anyway. It’s like a subconscious way of filtering out the things that aren’t worth mentioning.
A good feeling. As if life never ceases to be interesting, and there’s always something to experience, to learn, and to tell.
Jeff and Darren are over for the next three days. They came five hours from Toronto to hang out with me, before they begin work for the summer. This makes me feel special.
I’ve taken the rest of the week off. I expect to be conscious for a few hours between now and Sunday. Thank god for paid vacation days.
Three more hours and it’d be an all-nighter.
I finally got Nala and Dolly to eat off the same plate. It took a few cans of Fancy Feast (the only wet cat food Nala will eat), and about two weeks of servings in progressively closer proximity. Food seems to be only thing that will get them both to brush whiskers without conflict. Even if one cat simply walks by the other, there’ll be a paw swipe or two. I doubt that they’ll ever completely get along. Neither cat seems to be compatible with other cats, even after getting accustomed to each others scents.
Even before getting in bed, I knew that I wouldn’t be able to sleep because of this. I knew that as soon as I woke up to roll over, I wouldn’t stop thinking, wondering about the situation I’m in.
Somewhere in my mind I want to run away again, simply because it would be the easiest thing to do. Fortunately, I know better, and realize that I have to face up to the decisions I make, as well as the consequences that result.
I can’t tell if the hardest part is not knowing or not assuming.
There’s a group of people I once knew well, past the barriers of formality and beyond any boundaries of unacceptance. Unfortunately, circumstances didn’t go our way, and I had to leave. It may have been considered a self-imposed exile, but exile sounds so severe. Leaving was the only thing that I could think of. I’ll be honest and say that I don’t know from what I was running.
I just know that I was running. I just know that I needed to get away, to distance myself from some of the only people who have ever treated me with respect. From some of the only people who have ever treated me like family. With no explanation, I left, and they have every right to never speak to me again.
Now, years later, I find myself missing what I had. How selfish.
Perhaps it was the commitment. Perhaps it was my intolerance. Perhaps I was trying to protect others from getting too attached. Most likely, it was a combination of everything. I won’t say that I made a mistake, because I make my decisions based on limited knowledge and current, undeveloped wisdom. I will, however, apologize and admit that I’m sorry. Sorry for ever causing any sort of pain, to the last people in the world who ever deserve it.
This is me at my most humble.
I wasn’t going to write today, but the rain outside smells too good to go without being mentioned. It’s been raining all day, and as Trolley noted, the stench of Spring rot has been washed away. All that’s left is a refreshing chill, and I imagine myself on an café patio, dressed in layers, sharing a warm drink with someone on an iron wrought table. The conversation would be heavy (with a light tone), and the music coming from the open glass doors could only be Anni Rose by Tulku.
And so, the weekend had to come to an end. It was great to get away, and refreshing to hang out with some decent people. Adam most of all, who renews my ever waning faith in humanity every time I see him. I had a few songs in mind for the video, but the first song I thought of, and the one I eventually used, is by The Postal Service. Before I started editing, I could only recall the first few bars, but I knew that those notes would be able to perfectly define the feeling I wanted. Funny that it happens to be named There’s Never Enough Time. There are so many things I could say, but the videos say it all.
One of the best things about the farm is that it’s a farm. There are the two large and loyal dogs, Willow and Atka. There’s the chirpy housecat, Femo, who likes to twist and turn her body for one to scratch. There are cows, who can jump really high if frightened.
Aside from the animals, there are all other sorts of little things that make the farm rustic and differentiate it from the city life I’m so used to living. It’s not every place that I’ll find random 12-guage shotgun shells on a cabinet, or piles of firewood that are bigger than my house. It really makes me feel like I’m away; away from computers, school, work, or traffic.
I’ll end off with a shot of the inscription on Eric’s flask.
Here’s to them.
It wasn’t a great day for landings, but it was perfect for hanging out on the hill, soaking up the winter sun, and goofing around.
If I’m introduced to a good song at a moment in time, I associate it with a specific memory. At Sandbanks last year, it was Eric blasting Yellow Ledbetter by Pearl Jam before the park warden stopped by to gave warning. This time it was 93 Till Infinity by Souls Of Mischief, a track with a true 90’s beat. It’s easy to deduce the general age of the group from the music; the songs that Eric plays on his stereo are the ones that the Bancroft group grew up listening to.
It was the middle of winter for us, but on that one weekend, it felt like the beginning of spring. We donned our vests, hoodies, and sweaters for runs down the hill. The temperature was just under 10°C, and there was no need for heavy down-filled coats. The scenery is beautiful. No one around, no authority telling us what we can and can’t do. The perfect weekend gettaway.
As Aaron noted, Matt’s ability to jump on a board and naturally carve up the hill after an extended snowboarding hiatus is telling of his board experience in general. The one successful landing I got of Aaron seems tiny compared to the jumps that Matt and Eric do, but he assures me that it’s a lot steeper (and scarier) from the top of the hill than it looks at the bottom.
Euchre has become universal for our group now. We must have played nearly a dozen games that night, and I managed not to lose a single one, with the help of Aaron as my partner. For the last four points of one game (as seen in the video), I was dealt one of the best hands I’ve ever had: both bauers, an ace/jack trump, and an off king. I was lucky enough to make the trump suit too, since Aaron flipped over a red bauer. I seem to have tremendous luck when I’m on the farm. Last year, when I was partnered up with Nick at the hunting cabin, we had an undefeated winning streak. It’s generally never a good idea to play against Trolley’s cousins, though. They grew up playing together, so it’s impossible to track the number of signals they use.
I’ll admit that this is me. Good times because of good people. One of the best nights of my life.
Adam already has the best story of the year. I happened to be carrying when we were stopped for a traffic check on the way up (which made me nervous enough), but it wasn’t anywhere close to what Adam had on him. I didn’t need a flaming shot to calm myself though.
Isn’t it funny that Matt talks about burning his lashes minutes before Adam singes his own.
There were three main crews vacationing at the farm that weekend. The Ottawa crew consisted of Trolley, Aaron, and I. In the Toronto crew was Adam, Efrem, Lyda, and Jim. The main group, the ones originally from Bancroft, were Tyler with Meryl, Eric, Sarah, Matt, and Kate, although Trolley and Adam would also be considered members, and brought their respective crews. Of course, even Trolley’s cousins showed up, as they always do, since they’re only a short snowmobile ride away.
It took a few hours for everyone to arrive, since people were up to five hours away, so time was spent The Streets listening, card playing, and alcohol inducing while waiting. When Eric walked in and said, “WOAH”, Aaron and I completely stopped what we were doing and looked at each other. It was obvious that Eric was loaded already, because he’s rarely so boisterous.
And Sarah’s brown cow filled the snifter when she started.
A few months ago, Trolley, Aaron, and I headed over to the farm for some partying, snowboarding, and general relaxation. It was only a weekend, but it was one of the best weekends in years.
During the ride over, we stopped off at a grocery store to load up on munchables. Every time I see the video, I remember how excited I was, just from hearing my voice. A weekend away with two friends and no worries. Of course, I’m so excited that my voice cracks, and it sounds like I’m going through puberty again.
Being on the farm is like being in a world of its own. 350 acres of land, including little forests, a hunting shed, snowmobile paths, cows, and limited light pollution. Just imagine the privacy, with the nearest neighbour not even at earshot. At night it’s a debilitating darkness, and the milky way comes out enough for one to make out the distance of specific stars.
Promised myself I’d be in bed by nine, but my nervousness has made me too jittery to sleep.
“Poignant”, he said, just as I was thinking the word, and it made me realize that if there’s one thing I do try to be, it’s poignant. I don’t know why. Perhaps it shows good communication. Perhaps there’s mental relief in knowing that one is not alone, that others can understand and may feel the same way.
There were two other things I was going to write about, but this is the only thing I think I can get down. Too tired to write, and too nauseous to sleep. I tried to talk through it with John first, to get my thoughts in order, but there was only one conclusion.
I only feel alone when I’m sick.
There’s this thing that’s missing, and if I generalize it enough, it comes down to someone with unconditional acceptance. One may think of the classic maternal figure: a person who can be depended on, no matter what the circumstances. With the (ideal) mother, even aside from a physical presence, there’s a mental support there. Someone who’s willing to go out of their way to help in times of need, dire or not. Someone who asks, “Do you need anything?”, before one may actually consider such an idea.
Of course, this is a very specific example, and many other people usually fill such a role, such as relatives, spouses, or friends. Unfortunately, I still find myself without, in these exact areas. I have no family in close proximity. I’m single (and even though I’ve had my fair share of chances to be with people who were willing to unconditionally accept or help me, this wasn’t enough for me to stay with them).
The case of my friends is more complex. Out of the six, two live in different cities, and it remains that Aaron, Pat, Trolley, and Shirley are the only ones who can simply physically be there for me. Shirley is almost always automatically too busy, being the mother of three children and the holder of a full-time job (I don’t know how she does it), so she’s the last person I try to bother. Aaron is seldom there for me, because he’s almost always doing something else, and I never fall high enough on his priority list. When I needed his help during a particularly stressful day, he was out of contact. When I was having a bad shroom trip, he was with his brother (although he did talk me out of one last year when we went camping, which I appreciated greatly). When Louise hurt me for the last time, he was having dinner with his grandparents. None of this is the fault of either Shirley or Aaron, but simply due to the fact that both people are busy. Too busy for me, at least.
I’ve learned that right now, the only people I can depend on are Trolley and Pat, and even then, I still try not to rely on them. Trolley will hang out with me to make sure I’m okay, is willing to get me anything I may need or want, and will even let me decide what we listen to (a very generous gesture), in times of trouble. However, he isn’t as open about how he cares about people, so even though I know that he cares, he doesn’t show it enough for me to be comfortable asking for help. This isn’t his fault; I require a significant amount of reinforcement to be comfortable enough to go to others, and generally it’s more than most people naturally show. Pat is also someone I can call up when I need to, but usually he’s so busy that I need to book him two months in advance. This discourages me from going to him, but he’s one person who will definately make time for me when I ask him.
Perhaps if my friends realized that I only ask for help when I actually feel like I need it, whereas some may think that I go to them for superficial problems. I try to get through as much as I can by myself, but when I can’t handle it alone anymore, I look to others. When I’m turned away in those times, it hurts more than anything else.
Part of this may be blamed on my own low tolerance for pain and sickness, but I don’t think that such a thing should matter. People experience suffering differently and have varying thresholds of pain. What’s important, to me, is whether someone feels like they’re alright or not, not whether or not they actually are. Even if I know that I’m going to get through whatever temporary affliction I may have, it still helps to have someone willing to be there for me (John believes that this simple mental support contributes greatly to the healing process), even if they also know that I’m going to be alright. For example, when I’m hungover after a night of binge drinking, and it seems like I’m throwing up the lining of my stomach, I feel like shit. It’d be nice to have a person who’s willing to help me keep my mind off the nausea, willing to get me whatever I need to cure the hangover, even though it was my fault, my stupidity that got me there in the first place, even though we both know that the hangover will eventually go away.
And if I was comfortable enough to ask this from my friends, maybe I wouldn’t feel so alone.
I’m sick.
Going into work today was a mistake. I’ll be staying home tomorrow.
