Ah, residence. The first year of university, the first year away from my parents, and my first year in Ottawa. Also, the year I was introduced to Fear Factory, Dream Theater, and Refused.

I found these old pictures while organizing my pictures folder. Boy, do they take me back.

Take a look at this photo, for example, where I strapped a pair of khakis to my head, and started head banging to Deftones — Shove It (My Own Summer). Why did I strap a pair of khakis to my head? Cause I didn’t have long hair. Why did Pita and I decide to do this one day? I have no idea.

Or how about these ones, where the girls agreed to give me red chunks, back when I was obviously in my Tool phase. Nadine mis-read the instructions, mixed the wrong chemicals, and it came out all sparse.

Highlights include:

• Failing Calculus 2 with Dave and Jarod. When we wrote the supplemental exam, it was five people total in the program who failed, three of whom were us. I guess I had the wrong study buddies. In the end, I was the only one who passed.
• Most of the guys on the floor getting sued for sexual harassment.
• Jarod and Jono’s rave room, lit with a blacklight and disco ball, which was somewhat famous around campus.
• Constant conflict between neighbors, me and Pita included, over the volume of music.
• Going to the gym with Dave, and having him spot me while I benched the bar. As in, the bar without weights. Afterwards, I would spot him while he benched 240. I don’t think I could have helped much.

Pita took these photos, got them printed, and scanned them. Dated ‘99. Sure they aren’t great. They’re dark. They’re grainy, taken with a cheap film camera. But they’re still unforgettable memories, and it gives them a certain dated style. Makes me wish I had a taken some pictures myself.

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This looks familiar.

A place I’ve been, a feeling I’ve had, a girl I fucked one night in the fall.

Back then she cried. Lying in bed next to me, she told me she was sorry. I believed her, but I didn’t trust the tears, because she knew how much it turns me on. She got what she wanted anyway, and I suppose I did too.

That was the last night I saw her.

But it isn’t candid enough. It’s too forced. Unnatural. As if she’s trying too hard again to capture what was lost, and what she could have had.

So she found another version, and used him in my place.

An hour to the new year, and I’m in the train station.

Trying not to throw up. Trying not to think about meeting new people. Trying not to think of having to see people I hate.

One of the station doors is propped open, but there isn’t a single person inside. The station, normally bustling, is empty, with just the buzz of the lights to fill the empty space. Not even a waiting taxi outside. Everything sterile as a hospital. I wanted to take a picture, but I could barely move, so I pulled out my notebook and managed to scribble two words:

Another debilitating panic attack.

Pat and Jen’s party was postponed, so I had already decided to stay home. It was ten when Aaron called me to go over¹.

Halfway through the bus ride, I was filled with a sudden rush of anxiety. Maybe it was the people on the bus, or the fact that I wasn’t mentally prepared to be at a party. I couldn’t breathe, yet I was hyperventilating.

I had to get off at the next stop, which turned out to be the train station. As I sat inside, the anxiety would pass in a couple minutes, then come back in a wave as strong as before. I called Aaron and told him I was going to head home, but he insisted, so he sent Rob and Doug to pick me up.

I arrived drained and exhausted. It was a hellish night.

I can only hope the rest of the year goes better than this.

1. The only way I found out about the New Year’s party was from Rob’s comment. Aaron never told me about it himself, so I wasn’t going to presume that I was invited, because I never take my friendships for granted. [↑]