(I thought it only appropriate that I name this entry after another Shane Watt song, as the last one was as well. Amazingly enough, they both go together.)

I’ve been feeling better. A lot better actually. One of the reasons why I was feeling so depressed on Friday was because I was so unmotivated, not so much in terms of not wanting to do anything, but not wanting to do anything productive.

Part of this puritan attitude (as John’s professor dad calls it) is due to my upbringing. The months of summer between school semesters were never a time to relax, according to my parents, it was a time to study ahead for the upcoming year. I was made to feel guilty if I was having fun.

Then, at one point on Friday, I realized how wrong that was.

So this weekend I embraced my lack of motivation. I decided that I didn’t care about being productive. That I’ve been working hard the last few weeks and I’m ahead on my projects, so I needed a break.

I watched a few movies I’d been saving. I hung out with Bronwen. I played some GTA IV (which offers it’s own particular satisfaction in terms of being able to beat up executives and hipsters who are walking around with cups of gourmet coffee). When I needed a break, I decided to do some maintenance on my music library, something I never seem to find the time for otherwise. And what do you know, I ended up being productive without meaning to.

Amazing how a change in mindset can instantly flip one’s mood. It’s normally not so easy for me, because in the back of my mind I feel like I’m fooling myself, but for some reason, it worked really well this time. Probably because it makes a lot of sense.

Next week, I’m going to stick to a schedule to get things back on track. I’m going to exercise some self-control and abstain from any brain activity and start reading one of the books that Tatiana gave me, to help me fall asleep before bed.

I used to think that I should always be looking forward to tomorrow. Instead, I’m looking forward to right now.

Oh, and listen to this.

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Sometimes you wish your friends lived far away so you could drive home forever, and sing off-key into the darkness.

But at some point you have to come home and undress, you have to stop the pressure of the water running down your back and step out of the shower, you have to go to bed for the sake of your colon, you have to put aside your thoughts for another day.

There was something about his expression that made you believe that you’re better now. You’re safer. Maybe the realization that your mistakes are your own to make. That you’re stronger now than you ever were, and that people care about you, enough to tell you the truth when it’s the last thing you want to hear.

Praise the night, for this wouldn’t be possible any other time.

My throat has developed something of a raspy tinge from talking all weekend. I’ve never had particularly strong vocal chords. I told myself I’d speak as little as possible today; we’ll see how long that lasts. Maybe I can drink some honey tea instead.

It wasn’t so much that I overbooked myself as plans going on for much longer than expected. Which pretty much means I didn’t get any work done, so I won’t be going to Toronto next weekend so I can catch up. Not that I really want to anymore, as the last two days have left me feeling overstimulated and satisfied. Anyway, Dan took a quick look at my chart for this month (on his own initiative) and told me not to do anything big on the 15th and 16th because it’s “risky”. I never let my horoscope determine what I do, but maybe this is the way the universe tells me to stay home.

I didn’t even have time to do my weekly grocery shopping. I’m eating stale bread and canned soups today.

The best part of the weekend was having an excuse to use the Numi Dancing Leaves teabuds and teapot that Louise bought me last Christmas, something I’d been saving for special occasions. Amazingly, I got three full steeps — which translates into six cups — out of one Golden Jasmine bud.

Those things I had been trying to forget got lost somewhere in the before I even realized it. Isn’t that what forgetting is about?

Sometimes I need these weekends. They recharge me, they give me hope, when hope is so fleeting.

I’m trying to ride that feeling, and let it carry me forward.

Before you start reading, play this song. It’s a Deftones cover of The Smiths’ song Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want. There have been a few other artists who have done covers too, including Muse, but only Chino has the kind of raw emotion in his voice that matches Morrisey.

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This song was written for right now.

I’ve moved mainly to video. Getting a little tired of the still photograph medium. I had my first commission this weekend at the NAC, recording a jazz trio concert in exchange for a few tickets for my friends.

If you couldn’t tell, I’ve been obsessed with colour tones and vignetting lately. Making my photos look like old memories. Maybe this is a way for me to go back; reverting to past experiences, drawing inward as an introvert, regressing to a different time, when all I had was innocence but that was enough.

I’ve been strangely serene. Sleeping well. When things get complicated I’ve been less stoic, and more light-hearted.

Maybe it’s the house being clean. Maybe I’m satisfied with the the new decorations. Maybe it was the last weekend, getting caught up on errands and tasks, finally feeling like my head is above water.

Maybe it’s the weather. The rain. The wind. The warmth of the sun. The temperature drop. The way I can leave my window open at night.

Maybe it’s feeling socially fulfilled. Seeing friends, laughing hard, trips out of town, trips on my own.

Maybe it’s the nights spent holding her, caressing every inch of her skin. Maybe it’s the way she held me too.

Maybe it’s the acceptance. A way I’ve let go where I’ve found myself finally free, and living. Something I always think I’ve been able to do, only to realize a day later that I didn’t before, but I have now, honestly.

Maybe it’s all the movies I’ve been watching in the time between, seeing myself in every character, every situation. Going back to high school, being back at university.

I’m not sure what it is, but I know this feeling won’t last forever. It never has. It’s the flux between storm and serenity that moves me.

Been writing this entry over the last week.

In a couple days, this blog turns six.

Maybe I just had a few good weeks.

I connect with Frédéric and Misun in two very different ways.

With Frédéric, we relate through our emotions, our drive, and the need to express ourselves. We also have a tendency to feel like outsiders, perhaps because we’re often judged or misunderstood. In this way we comfort each other, because it’s as if we feel less odd or alone.

Misun, on the other hand, is like my big sister. She cares about me, takes an interest in what I do, and gives me advice the way I imagine a sibling does. I can share my insecurities, my dreams, my feelings with her, as if I’ve known her my entire life.

Together, they encourage and support me, although never to the point of flattery. In this way, I know that I can trust them to be honest; something increasingly rare nowadays, as people hide behind smiles and empty words. When I’m with them, I feel like I’m wholly understood and accepted.

I always leave their house with a tremendous sense of hope, because they believe in me the way no one else ever has.

The crooked become straight
The empty become full
The worn become new
Have little and gain much
Have much and be confused
So the Sage embraces the One and becomes a model for the world

—Verse 22, Tao Te Ching

Yesterday, I woke up from a nap at four in the afternoon. Usually, when I wake up from a long nap, I feel groggy and uneasy, but this time I was bright and rested.

When I went outside, the rain had stopped. It washed the bird poop off my windshield, it filled the air with the lingering scent of cleanliness. In my car, Becky started singing in the stereo.

And every time she hit me with the words “cavalry of light” in her wavering vibrato, I had to sing at the top of my lungs along with her, my voice cracking, my dignity left behind me.

This morning, I was running late for work. But by the time I got to the car, the sun had been out long enough to warm the breeze. I could roll the windows down and let the air in. The traffic made me even more late, but it let me take my time too. It gave me the chance to enjoy Lenny crooning to me about how true love leaves no traces.

It’s like I’m waiting for something to go wrong, because I’m not used to things going this well. But nothing’s going wrong. Things are be working out. Everything has a reason, no matter how small or trivial.

Taoist theory says that surrender brings perfection. Don’t force anything. Allow things to happen, and they’ll naturally balance out. Perhaps I’m finally believing this, instead of simply understanding it.

When things are going badly, you’re not really behind.

You’re just waiting for the good that wouldn’t be possible otherwise.

Over the last while, I’ve been receiving some very nice letters and comments.

Two, in particular, touched me. This one:

I stumbled upon your blog a few days ago. I’m reading all your archives right now.

One of your entries moved me so much I had to pass it to my best, most initimate, most sensitive/sensual girlfriends. It wasn’t a big group, but a group I felt could hear what you were saying in your entry. It was about finding the spot on a woman that should be kissed.

I read your blog every day because I can’t believe there is a man out in the universe who is this intuitive, in tune, so aware of himself emotionally and physically. I wish you had gone to my college – you would have been so loved and admired.

So this entry distresses me, and I don’t even know you. I understand lonliness – I’ve never had intimacy, or rather, I’m very afraid of it. I don’t even know why I’m telling you all this because you don’t know me either and you won’t care, but this entry hurts. You must know by now that someone thinks of you everyday. Maybe it is your mom, maybe an ex-lover or girlfriend or male friend or co worker.

I think I’m more in shock that you can write so honestly and openly. I’m jealous of that.

well, I just wanted to let you know that. And that I have a crush on your blog. Can a person crush on a blog?

Please take care,
Zaira

And this from a few months ago:

Hi Jeff,

you don’t know me and we will probably never meet. It’s sort of interesting the way the internet has changed the way we can know someone.

Allow me to introduce myself, since you have already bore your soul in a very real way that has moved me to write to a complete stranger-something i have never done.

I am a 30 yr old interior designer, a born and bred new yorker currently living in brooklyn. It’s been slow at work lately, so to pass the time I have taken to reading blogs mostly design related, but somehow i read a comment that you had made on a random blog, looking back i can’t remember which one unfortunately, and it led me back to your personal blog somehow.

you see I am not like you at all. I feel similar feelings, and even have similar beliefs, but I don’t have the guts to put myself out there in that way. I dont even have a blog, and i can barely talk to my friends about the way im feeling. so for me your blog is very therapeutic and refreshing.

like most people who blog, im sure, you wonder if anyone out there is reading. Well just wanted to let you know that I really like your blog and will continue to read it.

I have added you as a flickr contact and i see that you have reciprocated-*armadilliz* I am not a stalker / crazy person, or anything like that, just a fan, so rest easy.

Take care,

-Liz

And while people tell me how much they appreciate me being open and sharing myself, it’s nothing compared to what they share of themselves in these letters. I don’t know what compels someone to write to a total stranger, but it’s a warming gesture, something that inspires me when I’m feeling closed and self-conscious.

Thank you to the people who’ve written me. Thank you to the people who share their own problems and issues and lives. Thank you to the people who let me know that I’ve inspired them to start their own journals. Thank you for supporting me when we’ve never even spoken.

It’s your words that make me feel like I’m not so alone when I’m sitting in my house, wondering what to do with myself. It’s your kindness that gives me strength when the world is falling down around me. It’s knowing that I’ve been able to make a difference that keeps me going.

Thank you.

There’s a tremendous bond between mother and daughter, something unmatched by fathers and sons, or even mixed-sex parental relationships. You can see it just from the way they interact.

As a male, I’ll probably never be able to fully understand, but being able to recognize it and knowing that such a wonderful thing still exists is enough to make me feel as if the world is in the right place.

A couple more pictures behind the cut.

Continue reading

Twice in one day? What?

Five years ago, I wrote that hope was the mindkiller. It can be a euphoric feeling, but as the result of several bad experiences, the potential for disappointment outweighed the gain.

My way of dealing with disappointment was to assume the worst. It made me comfortable. There was certainty, and I could move on.

So I had learned never to hope. This is how I changed. This is how I adapted. A defence mechanism I used to protect myself from being hurt. I had been fine with this, until today.

Perhaps it was having Julie tell me that I’m better than the attitude I have, or the life I lead¹, but I’m filled with hope again. For once, I dare to dream of something greater.

I want it and hate it at the same time. It gives me courage, but throws my world into uncertainty, like I’m setting myself up to be hurt again.

But Julie’s strong enough to believe in me and stubborn enough not to give up, because I’m not capable of believing in myself.

And maybe that’s enough to break the cycle.

1. It made me realize I need someone else to tell me certain things, because I can’t see them for myself. I hate the fact that I can’t be strong enough for myself. I probably shouldn’t. It just means there’s something else about which I’m being too hard on myself, which I’ll have to tell my psychologist about anyway. [↑]

Turning over and over in the sky, length after length of whiteness unwound over the earth and shrouded it. The blizzard was alone in the world; it had no rival.

When he climbed down from the window sill Yura’s first impulse was to dress, run outside, and start doing something.

—Doctor Zhivago

When one looks outside their window and sees this, this blanket of purity, what else can one feel but serenity, contentment, and hope?

I’m not going to deny it anymore. It’s always been you. But I understand, you don’t need to explain, I get it. Work, our lives, we’re busy. You’re about to go off on a grand adventure. And I can see why you think that a relationship with me and that adventure are mutually exclusive but I just want to say my piece. Getting lost with each other could be the greatest adventure we’ve yet to embark on and I just want to say that if you want to get lost with me I’ll always be here perpetually lost without you.

I read his letters, some dated, some titled with expressions of forlorn hope. Familiar words that cut me to the bone.

They’re beautiful. I never knew he was capable of such poignancy, such emotion. It fills me with envy.

Sometimes I just want to be noticed. Not often, but sometimes late at night when I’m thinking about the “what-ifs” of the day. Being too obvious would be dangerous though and so I slink away, back to my cave to think, rather than do. Such a coward, I loathe myself. You’d say no, every rational scenario I’ve played out ends with that.

He’s trapped, perpetually lost in the thought of another. This time, I’m on the outside, looking in. It’s all new for him, and I can hear in his voice how much he detests it.

His angst is unbecoming. He’s not a writer, but he writes these letters, hoping the catharsis will save him. I’ve been here enough times to know that it’ll be alright, but that there’s also nothing I can do to help, so I resign myself to helplessness.

And now I’ll be pre-occupied and jealous for the rest of the weekend. Me, jealous and not trusting myself to speak, me. Not me, anymore. This love is like leprosy, pieces of myself are falling away. It’s ablative.

Yet his tone is so unfamiliar, so unlike him. Me, he writes, Not me, anymore. He doesn’t even believe it himself. The sanguine friend, reduced to an enfeebled state he wants desperately to cast aside. Even with the wisdom I’ve gained, it still surprises me how attraction, infatuation, love can make one so irrational.

In these letters he shares his feelings, wholly, as if to say, “Here is my heart. Please hold it gently”. The words would strip him bare if he spoke them to her, so he writes them where no one but me will read.

A prisoner, he lives in this cage, caught between the will and the risk of expressing to her how he feels.

Three pictures.

Patience is the greatest advantage. Time brings all answers. Knowing that the sun will rise again tomorrow puts the mind at ease.

Sometimes you just need to wait.

I’m at the point now where I don’t need to carry around a notebook to keep track of the subjects and ideas I want to write about later. There are so many things to say that I only end up remembering the important ones anyway. It’s like a subconscious way of filtering out the things that aren’t worth mentioning.

A good feeling. As if life never ceases to be interesting, and there’s always something to experience, to learn, and to tell.

The city begins to melt as the sun warms soil and pavement alike. Trickles of water run everywhere while the ice dissolves, a prescient sign of the streams soon to be come from lawn sprinklers and car wash hoses, as excess finds its way to sewer grates. By night, the temperature drops below freezing again and the small urban currents turn solid. Pedestrians practice their waddles in the morning as they maneuver across the slippery patches. The only remains of ice are the paths left compressed by the trampling of feet through the winter.

Every day I wake up it’s a little brighter, in my room, and in my mind.