Web design is a frequent itch for me, as inspiration comes from everywhere. Quite often, I come across a beautiful site that has a clever element here or an interesting pattern there, and get the urge to redesign my own.

But as there’s no such thing as a perfect athlete, there’s no such thing as a perfect design. Minimalism, while functional and accessible, tends to lack personality. Style — while beautiful and full of character — tends to be biased and stagnant. I find myself in a constant state of flux between the two ideals.

Right now, I’d love to have a bigger canvas, something like Days With my Father, where I can display my photos in a much larger format (because, really, the impact of a photograph is lost when it’s small). I’d love to have items organized by columns fit that perfectly in a grid, aligned along natural vertical rules. I’d love to have something a little more complex, something that invites a viewer to explore further.

But I’m happy with this one. It does what I want. It looks right, no matter what day or mood I’m in.

Having a design that matches my situation is important to me, which means they generally don’t last longer than a few months, as I tend to evolve within that time. There have been many times that I’ve written, “This is the last redesign for a while”, only to be unsatisfied in some way and to change it within a few months. I unveiled the current one at the beginning of the year, and it’s probably the one I’ve been most satisfied with. Whenever the itch strikes me, I browse through the archives and admire how clean everything is, and how different types of content seems to work in the same area. Then I realize how hard it would be to come up with something better, and the itch goes away.

So no redesign for a while.

Promise.

We met on the bus, side-by-side, reading books that both won Nobel Prizes.

I was supposed to meet you here three years ago, and they’re out of apple cider. The cranberry cider is tart, but only too much when you sip it so. There’s a subtly distinct taste to it, barely enough to stop me from wondering if I just paid $2.45 for warm cranberry juice. I didn’t even want this drink; I just wanted to sit down and write.

I never would have come here if you hadn’t suggested it. There are too many people. Too many going for the freshly-grounded, shade-grown, fair trade bullshit that’s been marketed to the hipsters who think they’re doing the world a favour by patronizing the right kind of places. Pretentious people who come here to read, then put their headphones on because it’s too noisy.

I don’t fit in. That’s probably a good thing.

I was supposed to meet you here three years ago, but your boyfriend got jealous and wouldn’t let you come.

We met on the bus, and I haven’t seen you since.

I hope John’s wrong. Not because he’s a pessimist, but because he’s a realist. I came to him overflowing with excitement, perhaps with a bright naïveté, only to be brought down in seven words, and the words have been ringing in my ears ever since. I use to think he was tactless and unsupportive. Maybe he is. But he tells the truth, and instead of my hopes, I can only turn to him for this.

That doesn’t change the fact that I’m a fantasist, who wants this right now.

Who needs this right now.

My room is a mess, a side-effect of my busy schedule. I should be cleaning. Hell, I should be sleeping, but I’d rather write instead, seeing as how I haven’t had a chance in four days. It would appear as if I’m going through some sort of expression withdrawal.

Vincent Gallo practically wrote this entry for me.

(If you’re going to listen to this song, turn the lights down, or at least close your eyes. Remove yourself of any ambient noise. Breathe slowly for 30 seconds before playing it. This song deserves it. You deserve it.)

Even though it went up to 28°C today, the morning started cold and calm. There was so much moisture in the air that one could taste the grey.

It made me strangely stoic when I left the house. Something about the whether that reminded me of how comforting it can be to feel sad. It’s as if the earth had decided to compliment my mood with cloud cover. I can’t even explain the cause of my sadness, and can only guess that realization and acceptance are setting in. The only saving grace is that I feel confident enough to pick myself up and move on. Not that I want to do it alone right now. Wish I had the option.

As the day dragged on, things started to wear me down. Exhaustion dried my eyes. I kept trying to pick myself up, kept trying to hide my sighing sadness from those around me, to no avail.

Wish I had a smile in my wardrobe for days like this.