I have 106 unpublished drafts in my database.

Things I don’t feel like saying. Parts of myself I’m not ready to reveal.

The written word has always been my medium of choice. Photography is only an extension of that, when I need to express myself better than words can let me, and video goes one step further.

Aside from picking up a useful word here and there, I’ve never made a conscious effort to improve my writing. The things I say are taken from my memories, experiences, and thoughts. How I say it is inspired by snippets of Nabokov (when I’m feeling lyrical or verbose), Cohen (when I’m feeling sad or romantic), Herbert (when I’m feeling dry), or Irving (when I’m feeling quirky or honest). The only way I’ve been able to gain any semblance of a writer is by mimicking to the best of my ability the lyrical styles I enjoy the most.

Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever stop. Writing is often a need, not a want. I do it when I’m feeling restless, when I have something to say, when things are unsettled, when I have things to figure out. And the case most often is that life is filled with these moments. Perhaps if I ever find some sort of permanent serenity, I’ll be able to stop.

But I probably wouldn’t want to.

For most of my life, I felt like I was young for my age.

I remember the later years of elementary school. I would be the one wearing things like jogging pants on the civies¹ days. The other kids would be smoking under the bridge, starting playground fights over girls, contracting gonorrhea through sexual contact. Even in high school I was eating lunch on the bleachers with John while others were ODing on rat poison, winning worldwide math competitions, or being featured on cover articles of Macleans.

I had never really understood how people grow up. Most adults I know have been the way they are for their entire lives. Due to the fact that I can only figure out the changes I’ve made in six month cycles, I’ve mostly grown in small, undetectable increments.

It’s only in the last six months that things have changed. I’ve reached my (previously life-long) goal, not gradually, but rather suddenly and unexpectedly. Interestingly enough, this was due to three different factors, and I suspect that I wouldn’t have been able to reach this point without every single one of them.

Now I feel old for my age.

The Trinary Maturity Series

1. Introduction
2. The Job
3. The Girlfriend
4. The House
5. (In)Conclusion

1. Days where we didn’t have to wear uniforms, a short form of “civilian” [↑]

A strong Alberta clipper will track southeast over southern Ontario today into upstate New York tonight. Snow heavy at times has spread right across the Ottawa Valley into Québec and will continue throughout the day.

Snowfall rates have often been 2 to 4 cm per hour with this very strong clipper.

Freezing rain and ice pellets have moved into the St Lawrence Valley area east of Brockville late this afternoon. A sharp Arctic cold front will blast through the regions this evening as the clipper sails into northern New York state. Temperatures will plunge up to 10 degrees to well below freezing within the first hour after the front goes through. As a result: rain in the regions east of Lake Huron and southeast of Georgian Bay will change suddenly over to snow or flurries with untreated surfaces quickly becoming icy and very slippery.

Elsewhere the snow and freezing rain will pull out of the regions this evening as the clipper and sharp Arctic cold front moves into northern New England and southern Québec. Snowfall amounts of 15 to 20 cm are likely in the snowsqualls along with whiteout conditions from blowing snow.

Dangerous travelling conditions are expected due to very low to at times nil visibility in heavy snow blowing snow and icy conditions. All travellers should exercise extreme caution and adjust plans accordingly.

My most vivid memories of the spring are from high school. About a month before exams began, every guy would start spending a minimum of thirty minutes looking out the window every day. On the southern side of the main building would be a small football field, and two soccer fields, as well as the tennis courts, hockey rink, and large swimming pool. Three more fields used for various other sports, such as lacrosse, cricket, and field hockey, could be seen on the western side. At the north was the baseball diamond, as well as the small pool, and more tennis courts. The main gates of the school property, what many considered a triumphant walk away from the main building after a day with no spares, was at the east.

What male teenager would be thinking about anything but running through the wooden halls, throwing off their tie, and rolling in the lusciously green, well-manicured grass? In a school with a lack of females, no less. Add to the fact that a significant portion of alumni pride is put into a well-funded sports programme, and the result was classes of boys bottling testosterone, encouraged by teacher and coach alike to be released in the form of physical activity. (I find sports metephors very useful for making veiled sexual references.)

I could see it in every one of them, how difficult it would become to concentrate in class, instead of imagining how the hours after school were to be spent. But it was never like that for me. While everyone else was waiting for the fields to thaw, I’d be waiting for the snow the fall. It’s days like these that make it hard for me to concentrate.

All I want to do is stay at home wrapped in a blanket, watch the snow collect, and write.

It’s always fun to joke around with Aaron about how high maintenance he is. “Negative maintenance”, we call it, since it’s all in relation to the girl. I don’t think that I ever stay as one type of maintenance; it usually depends on the relationship and girl for me.

Nick told me yesterday that I was the most independent person he knows. Being the most anything to someone is always interesting. “Independent?”, I asked. After living with me for a few months, he hasn’t known anyone else who can stay in their room for days on end, he explained. “More like no life”, I thought.

Ever since I was a kid, I haven’t had many friends. For about two years in grade three to grade four, I hung around Andrew and Alex mostly, but this ended when they switched schools. Until grade eight, I had no one to talk to or do things with. I was the friendly loner in school, the person no one disliked who was never invited to anything. In grade eight I became fast friends with Greg, until I swapped schools with him, and he found a more popular group. Then once again, I ate lunches by myself. For two entire summers, and — I do not embellish this one bit — I stayed in my house and played solitaire for four months, unless visiting relatives.

In grade eleven I became friends with John (even though I’ve known him since grade five) but John was even more of a loner than me. We would do some crazy shit during our lunches, and ended up pissing off more than one teacher. Ever since then, I’ve had an anchor, someone I could turn to and talk to, although moving to a different city has hindered the amount of time we could spend together.

In the first and second year of university I wouldn’t leave my room. People called it “the dungeon”, and asked me what I was doing outside whenever I was waiting for an elevator. I didn’t get along too well with the people on my floor (intolerance, yet again) and the friends I made in class weren’t anti-social, but weren’t social as well. I would get to my room on Fridays, and generally not leave until I had to go back to class on Monday.

It’s only been in third year, after meeting Aaron and Trolley, that I feel like I’ve come into a comfortable group. I’ve been fortunate to have picked up some good friends along the way, such as Eugene, Dina, and Pat, but our relationships are more limited, due to a lack of time spent together. I mean, Aaron and Trolley are the ones I can get drunk with, stoned with, who take care of me, who I exchange secrets with, who I feel most comfortable with. (Oddly enough, my ultimate test for this is how loud I can sing in front of them, but that’s another story altogether)

However, most people are busy with school now, and I’m left in my room most of the time. I actually do stay in the apartment quite a bit, and yet it doesn’t feel strange to me. I’ve been trained my whole life to be a loner, as someone with no life. Perhaps this can be seen as some sort of independence, but in reality I’m dependent on my friends. I’m just waiting until everyone is done school and has enough free time to do things. I can’t wait until that happens.

And if I end up no friends? I think I’d be sad.

But I’d be used to it.

I’m thinking about going home for a little while, since I haven’t been in quite a few months. I’ve seen John and Darren through cottage trips and visits nonetheless, but I haven’t actually talked to my parents since the beginning of the summer.

There’s an Old Boys reunion dinner happening at the College some time this month, as well as Association-Day, something I haven’t attended for seven years (Brendan Fraser was in attendance the last time I went). I don’t think I’m quite ready for a reunion yet, although I’m sure if John was there I’d be fine. The focus is on five-year, 10-year, and 15-year Old Boys though, so I’d feel awkward with the abundance of younger five-year guys and the older 10-year guys there.

It would be nice to revisit the old, familiar College grounds with John after so long. I haven’t actually been back since I first started university, when John and I got together and snuck into the newly finished rec centre. My most vivid memory would be walking along the huge fields of emerald grass with John on our lunch breaks, while my least favourite memory would probably have to be the people. If Fitzgerald were to interview me for a sequel to Old Boys, I’m sure I’d have quite a few words to say.