Monthly Archives: December 2008

A Significant Year

I gen­er­ally loathe such arbi­trary mea­sures of time, but the fact of the mat­ter remains that there were some fairly impor­tant things that hap­pened in my life within the last 365.

I had my first art gallery exhi­bi­tion. So far, I’ve sold 12 pieces, which I’m ecsta­tic about. I’ve also since become good friends with the gallery own­ers, Frédéric and Misun.

I started — and fin­ishedpyscho­an­a­lytic ther­apy. After my crip­pling panic attack exactly one year ago, I was encour­aged to seek some help, and this ther­apy ended up going much, much deeper. I wasn’t scared in my rela­tion­ships because I didn’t real­ize how much bag­gage I had. But now I know.

I got my sec­ond tat­too. This sig­nif­i­cant thing about this is that it’s prob­a­bly my last tat­too. After the first one, I finally feel com­plete (and symmetrical).

I got a car. And I’m lov­ing the free­dom. After buy­ing my house and being gain­fully employed, a car was the only thing left. This means I can buy large items, I don’t have to depend on friends to get me places inac­ces­si­ble by bus, I can go home from par­ties when I want, and awe­some road trips out of town.

I kissed her and she kissed me back. Sometimes, there’s noth­ing more impor­tant than hav­ing the right girl kiss you the right way.

I released ver­sion 10.0. This was by far the most pop­u­lar design of my site, being fea­tured at places like Perishable Press’s Web Design Showcase and at the top of Crestock’s 13 Minimalist Blog Designs You Really Should See. Unfortunately, this also meant I higher pro­file, and more attempts by peo­ple to copy it.

I went through a course of Isotretinoin. This effec­tively ended my acne, which became a pretty big prob­lem in the last year. It’s a won­der­ful feel­ing to wake up and not have to worry about what my face was going to look like.

I got this let­ter from a reader. I receive many let­ters and com­ments, which I greatly appre­ci­ate, but this one really stuck out because some­thing that I cre­ated had affected some­one in an intensely pos­i­tive way. I hope to be able to do this again some day.

The Return of Water

Well, I have water. And hot water too. I’ve been doing loads of laun­dry and dishes in the dish­washer. Not to men­tion sweet, sweet BMs on a toilet.

Bathroom ceiling

Bedroom ceiling

But my bath­room and bed­room ceil­ings still look like this. Not to men­tion the coarse dust on every­thing and the uprooted fur­ni­ture. I had sev­eral entries with pic­tures to post, but my colour-calibrated mon­i­tors are sit­ting in the spare room. I have no idea when the con­trac­tor is going to be back to get every­thing dirty again. Otherwise, I’d do some cleaning.

Either the con­struc­tion com­pany is on hol­i­day (which con­tra­dicts what the worker said), or they’re dodg­ing me, because I haven’t been able to get a hold of any­one for days now. I’m stuck in limbo here, lit­er­ally liv­ing in the liv­ing room (what a fit­ting name). It’s left me rather sick and unmotivated.

Pull Over

When it’s 2:30 in the morn­ing and there are no other cars on the road, I try to time my speed with the red lights so that I never have to come to a com­plete stop. On approach­ing an inter­sec­tion less than a kilo­me­ter from home yes­ter­day, I suc­cess­fully did so, and started accel­er­at­ing again when the light turned green.

Then I noticed a police car dri­ving in the oppo­site direc­tion do a U-turn and start tail­ing me. In my head, I’m hop­ing he pulls me over. I’m in no rush to be any­where, I’ve done absolutely noth­ing wrong, and I want some jus­ti­fi­ca­tion for every time I’ve dri­ven fum­bled for my wal­let in the dark before dri­ving her home in my paja­mas, on the off-chance that this may hap­pen. Besides, I’d never been pulled over before, I want to know what to expect.

After a moment, his lights go on.

Continue read­ing “Pull Over”…

Holiday Hell

Nightmare. The word almost every­one has been using to describe this hot water sit­u­a­tion. From my friends and cowork­ers, to the plumb­ing tech­ni­cians, to the sales reps, to the contractors.

When the con­trac­tor came over to make holes in my ceil­ing, he brushed against a pipe that went to the hot water tank, and since it was almost rusted com­pletely through, it snapped and started leak­ing. Water shoots out of the hole any time I turn the water on, so I’ve had to shut off the main valve. Now I have no water. I can’t wash my hands, I can’t go to the bathroom.

The exhaust pipe that goes to my fur­nace isn’t up to code any­more either, so even if I get all this work done on the house, my ceil­ing would have to be ripped up again when the fur­nace goes. And since mine is 12-years-old and rated for 15 years, it could die on me as soon as three years (or sooner). So I’ll be get­ting the fur­nace pipe replaced too, which essen­tially dou­bles my pipe instal­la­tion costs.

In addi­tion to mov­ing as much fur­ni­ture out of my room as pos­si­ble into my guest room (thereby rob­bing me of my photo stu­dio, Tai Chi prac­tice area, bed­room, and main com­puter), I’ll have to cover the remain­ing things in sheets to pro­tect them from the dust. When the pip­ing is all replaced1, the con­trac­tor needs to come in and patch up the holes, scrape all the stip­ple off my ceil­ing, respray the stip­ple on, and repaint it. I don’t even have an esti­mate of how much that’s going to cost.

The house is my one area of sta­bil­ity. Where I retreat to when every­thing else is falling apart. The one place I need to be con­stant. I won’t feel set­tled until it’s all been resolved.

And to think that I was look­ing for­ward to the hol­i­days. I was pic­tur­ing myself enjoy­ing my well-earned time off, eat­ing bacon and eggs, play­ing a few games, and start­ing some new projects.

How far away the image seems now.

  1. And with luck, they won’t refuse to do the job because they don’t have enough clear­ance. []

Life Is Pain

Hand spot

Sometimes, you stab your­self in the hand with a point, but it’s not sharp enough to break the skin.

Sometimes, the blood comes to the sur­face, and this is as much of your­self as you can show the world.

Sometimes, the pave­ment is cov­ered in snow out­side, and you can drive over 100kph in one spot before the trac­tion kicks in.

Sometimes, you scare your­self with your recklessness.

Sometimes, you real­ize that life is pain.

Sometimes, you have noth­ing left but numb­ness and resolve.