The days go on continuously, measured in beats-per-minute. Winter’s here in all it’s bright glory, but the sun sets a little later every day, marking the change of seasons. It’s the only way for me to keep track of the passing time.
So many days are spent alone, yet I don’t feel lonely. The only problem with isolation is that it lets me spend too much time with my own thoughts. This, combined with my introverted tendencies (which means my stimulation comes from memories), makes me feel like I’m trapped in the past. I suppose it’s not all bad, but it certainly does make it harder for me to heal.
I don’t know what to write. There isn’t the same struggle or need to vent. I find myself sitting and staring at a blank screen for hours at a time. It’s not like I feel the need to say something for the sake of it. There are still thoughts and ideas that linger, things to get off my chest, but they’re either too too simple to mention, or too complex to put down.
It’s strange to see this path laid out before me. I could wander off and explore new things, but I’m still too comfortable.
Things don’t change, but I don’t think I mind so much anymore.
The only thing I bought in Britain was this tea candle shade of the London skyline, found in a shop filled with baubles and knick knacks where Mike and Emma took me. They had a feeling it was my kind of thing. Funny to think that they knew me so well already in those three days. I love watching the shadows dance across the shade in warm colours.
I went through an entire spectrum of emotions there. Through all the wonder and excitement were still moments of weakness, giddiness, sadness, and insecurity, because there are things you can’t escape by flying to the other side of the world.
I’ve since settled back into my old life. The trip didn’t change me, not in any epiphanic way at least. It was more of an affirmation of myself and the way I’ve been seeing things.
There were so many times that I was far out of my comfort zone, thrust into independence, pushing my limits, and that forced me to be objective to keep my wits about me. In those objective moments were objective views of myself, where I began to understand that I was responsible for everything that was happening. For all the memories and experiences and footage and friendships.
And suddenly, I realized, I like me.
I suppose I should make a formal introduction.
My dad knew I was looking for a guitar so I could start teaching myself, and his co-worker’s daughter happened to be selling hers. I decided not to buy it cause I had no idea what it was, not to mention the fact that I’m notoriously picky about these kinds of things. He bought me the guitar anyway (using my birthday as an excuse), and I drove to Toronto to pick it up the first chance I had when I got back from Europe.
I asked Steve to do a demo of the guitar because his skills can really show it off.
Takamine F370SS solid wood acoustic dreadnought.
It turns out the guitar is absolutely gorgeous, with solid spruce on top and solid koa on the back and sides. And being handmade in Japan in 1999 — the only year this model was in production — makes it an instrument that will never be replaced. An heirloom I’ll pass down to my children if I ever have any.
Continue reading “Larissa — Takamine F370SS”…
I generally don’t like straight covers; the idea of playing something exactly the same way as the original artist seems more like karaoke than any kind of musically creative pursuit. But to be honest, I can’t hear this song any other way cause it’s already fucking perfect.
On a set of D’Addaria Light Phorsphor Bronze, and with a complete lack of fingernails.
I was going to wait to see how his personality developed before settling on a name, and for a while I was calling him Serge (after Gainsbourg) cause he was almost overly affectionate, constantly pawing me and rubbing my face with his. Eventually, I realized it’d be impossible for a cat to live up to such namesakes, so I went with my first choice, which was Leonard. It has Leo in it, which is perfect for anything from the felidae family. I could never call him Lenny though cause “Lenny Cohen” sounds so wrong to me.
I love cats with goofy faces, and I can tell Leonard has a bit of one already from the way his cheeks puff out. I also like my cats fat cause there’s more to hold when they decide to crawl into the covers. As novel as it is to see how tiny Leonard is in comparison to Dolly, I’m looking forward to see him putting on some more weight.
Unfortunately, Dolly’s personality has changed. She’s a bit less affectionate, less vocal, and more sickly; I’ve been dealing with perpetual respiratory infections and eye abscesses ever since I brought Leonard home. I’m wondering if she associates being miserably sick with the arrival of the new kitten. Her maternal instincts seem to kick in when he lies next to her, and she’ll try to lick and groom him, but he doesn’t seem to like it much and they end up fighting. Hopefully, he’ll grow into the habit.