It’s strange to feel like I’m ready for a relationship at only this point in my life. It didn’t seem right that anyone should love me if I didn’t love myself, and that didn’t really start until recently.
It also took a good round of therapy to figure out that I was sabotaging my relationships so no one could have the chance to hurt me. If I consider which ones would have worked out had that not been an issue that caused me to break up with my girlfriends in order to protect myself, I can only think of one. But that was a long time ago, and while we may have worked then, it’s no guarantee for the people we’ve become, as I’m sure there’s been a lot of growth on both our ends. It’s only now that I feel like my personal evolution has reached a peak, a place where I’m satisfied with who I am, and there won’t likely be any more drastic changes that may affect the dynamics of a relationship.
I’ve been able to recognize that the risk of getting hurt is inseparable from the trust we place in the people we love, and that risk is always worth it. I’ve left behind my baggage, something no one else should have to deal with, and I’ve had enough experience to know exactly what I’m looking for in a relationship and what kind of people work with me.
Took me 30 years to figure it all out, but everybody’s gotta learn sometime.
Don’t have much to say lately. Sometimes I get stuck at the title.
I’ve been holding off on starting various classes cause I’m not quite into my regular pace of life. I’m still riding the crests of over-stimulation from my trip, not yet ready to be routinely seeing people. Consequently, this means I lose sense of time, weekly classes once being my anchor points for certain days of the week.
I always look forward to grey and dreary days, when it’s the perfect excuse to stay inside and just tinker on the guitar.
I never feel lonely anymore. I’m too comfy in the house, too occupied with this sense of hedonism, too busy pouring myself into my projects, too spoiled by life I’m living, too blessed by the cards I was dealt. Sometimes I end up parking my car at a strange angle one could never hope to replicate, and I’m sure this is how my neighbours can tell I haven’t been out in more than a week.
The Hintonburger: a six ounce handmade local beef patty with bacon, cheese, signature barbeque sauce, and fuck yeah.
All I ever wanted was a little bit of peace. Now that I’ve found it, I’ve stopped thinking about the future. Right now is good enough.
Music sounds so good. It’s like everything has a beat I can dance to.
Sometimes I start writing an entry based on notes from a few weeks ago, but I end up discarding most of them cause I don’t feel the same way anymore. It’s like I’m constantly shedding skin in the words I delete.
I tend not to over-think things now. My decisions are based on what I want at any specific moment, instead on the future, or the consequences, or what may happen as a result. This regression has been one of the most important (and difficult) things I’ve learned to do. It feels like I’ve been going in the wrong direction for 30 years, but at least I was able to figure that out before much longer. Now I understand Picasso when he said, “It took me four years to paint like Raphael, but a lifetime to paint like a child.”
Pat on his new grill. He’s still figuring out the hot spots.
I don’t even practice guitar anymore, but I’ll put on a song I’m addicted to and pretend I’m playing with my favourite singers for hours. It’s not helping me improve (which is usually what I enjoy), but by god is it fun.
The weeks leading up to my trip were full-tilt cause I couldn’t stand being by myself. It was never that bad before. I even bought an iPad app that lets me watch random webcams from around the world, just so I could have something happening live next to me, even if it was two-thirty in the morning. Usually it was a buffalo chips restaurant in Florida with mustard tablecloths, a beach resort by the sea in Italy, or an overhead cam of a sushi chef in Tokyo.
Nowadays, I don’t mind the solitude or the company. I’m feeling unwound and have settled into old habits; not getting enough sleep, eating at the wrong times, never going out. The main difference is that I get so much less of ____ nowadays, which means I feel so much more alone, but I’m strong enough to be okay with that now.
The days are bright. Like a boy, I find it hard to concentrate on work when the sun fills the house with warm light.
It’s been four months since Leonard died. I remember going to bed that night, constantly turning over my pillow to find a dry spot, sobbing so much I couldn’t fall asleep.
The necropsy showed that he had a massive liver and kidney infection. My vet excused his language and said, “Shit happens” when I asked (perhaps with a quiver in my voice) what I could have done to prevent it.
Soon after, he sent me a card offering his condolences, and said it was a pleasure dealing with someone who cares so much. It was probably the best thing anyone could have done to assuage any feelings of guilt. That fact that Leonard had a stub tail with no signs of scarring makes me suspect that he was the runt of the litter, likely born with a weak constitution, but that doesn’t stop me from always feeling like I could have done more.
He was always so affectionate, almost to the point of being overly so. Every morning he’d rub his nose on my face until I stirred, which would be extremely aggravating if it weren’t one of the most seraphic ways to be woken up.
I remember him sleeping with me one bright afternoon. Dolly decided to nestle herself in the crook of my arm under the blanket, and Leonard soon joined us, though he decided to curl up on my neck instead. It was the perfect nap configuration.
I’m still glad I had him, as short as our time was. It saddens me most to think that I never got to know what he’d be like as a mature cat, whether he’d keep his playfulness and extroversion into adulthood. At the very least, Heather G and Sergey, Aaron and Trolley, Darren and ____ all got to meet him before he died.
I took this picture of his Humane Society profile before heading over to meet him. They named him, “Elvis”.
I’ve been checking the Humane Society website for male kittens available for adoption ever since. I recently found one with the right details and a goofy face too, but I don’t think I’m ready for another cat yet. I’m not sure I could handle it if the next one happened to die so suddenly as well. But I know that soon enough I’ll be itching to adopt again, and that the idea of having another cat in my life will prevail over any worries.