My entries used to be filled with so many details, moments, thoughts, and emotions. I used to believe everything I wrote was important. Not that I was ever a particularly good writer, only a person trying to be honest with himself, and that was the way for me to sort out the things in my head.
Now that need isn’t there anymore. Instead, I write to keep track of where I am, knowing that in time I’ll be wondering how far I’ve gone, and let my pictures fill in the blanks.
On my birthday, Lisa treated me to all-you-can-eat sushi at my favourite restaurant, and cleavage.
The new Leonard Cohen biography is out and Genevieve tells me it’s amazing, or at least a great deal more informative than the course we took last year at Ottawa U about the birth of the romantic troubadour. I used to be completely obsessed with this man, but now I can’t remember the last time I put on one of his albums for a straight listen through. I knew he was coming to Ottawa this Friday before tickets went on sale, but never bothered trying to get my hands on one, even though it used to be a goal of mine to see him perform live before the booze and sex took him like a true rockstar. He represents a part of my past I hardly relate to now, and it’s left me feeling like I need a new hero (who has some very big shoes to fill).
Little boy’s birthday parties involve a little less sexy and a lot more chaos.
I have so many friends with their paths set out for them over next 20-odd years cause of jobs and kids, yet just as many who’ve arrived at adulthood and are now wondering what’s next. After finding a career, buying a house, and getting married, they’re learning that these were goals they never wanted for themselves, only things people have always been telling them they should have. Now they’re wondering where to go from here, and how to find a true sense of fulfilment.
I went through the same crisis years ago, but feel no less uncertain about future at this point. It’s only natural to go through constant cycles of struggle and resolution if we’re determined to grow and improve, not to mention the curves life tends to throw at us. I’m starting to view it with a sense of freedom instead of doubt.
Thank you winter for making my cats super cuddly and slow-falling snow and the chance to wear new cardigan-dress shirt combos. You are totally worth the hassle of having to warm up my car (for now). It’s because of you that I learn how trust is found in the gentle cooing of girls who fall asleep on your shoulder.
Mornings are spent upstairs in the breakfast nook, now that I have work I can get done on my MacBook Pro. To be bathed in the cool sunlight reflecting off the snow was a change of pace I never knew I needed.
Jesse’s birthday brunch at the Lieutenant’s Pump.
I’ve been living without any sort of schedule. It’s nice to be able to make my own hours cause I’m far more productive at night, but it also makes my life free of the structure that keeps me paced and balanced. The only reason I have to keep any sort of regular sleeping pattern is so I can be awake when my friends are.
Still, I tend to stay up past the point of exhaustion so I don’t get stuck in an endless cycle of thought when trying to fall asleep. Otherwise, the cider always helps.
Soon, hunger will overtake the fear of punishment.
It’s one of those weeks where I’m feeling antsy cause I don’t know when I’m seeing Lisa next and I haven’t heard from her in a while. I don’t pursue the issue cause she has her own life, and I have so much to do that it works out anyway, but that doesn’t make me miss her any less. Our time is special cause there are so many things I share only with her, our exclusive little club for Breaking Bad, cat walks, and super hotties.
It feels like I only talk about my friends lately. Probably cause that’s what my life is filled with now. They’re the good that’s come out of the bad, the ones who picked up the ball when others let it drop. They validate me and notice what I wear and listen to me cause they believe what I’m saying matters. And at the very least, they’re a chance for me to care about someone else.
I’m ready for the winter. To be reborn with the first snowfall that covers the grass, awash in muffled serenity.
Time is measured in weeks, not by the cycle of day and night, and this makes everything pass at a blistering pace. The good weeks involve bacon breakfasts and people bringing me food and new projects and Magic nights. The bad ones involve battles with my old arch nemesis, acne, and his side-kick, scarring-on-my-fucking-nose.
I’ve been dealing with this overwhelming sense that anything can change. So much has left me feeling like there’s no certainty anymore. Maybe that’s why I’ve stopped dreaming. I have no idea what to expect from the future, and I don’t know if that scares me or gives me hope.
To stop myself from thinking about it too much, I distract with all the right things and few of the wrong ones. It’s a fragile form of stability. Some days, the strings, they don’t do enough.
It’s been hard to write, though not from a lack of inspiration. Far from it; it seems like there’s a smile or tear hidden in every little detail of an Autumn day. The problem is I don’t have the time. I don’t reflect on an emotional rush until I have a chance to write by a window in the dark, and those opportunities are getting more and more rare.
That means I’m getting better at putting my feelings on hold, though no better at figuring out whether that kind of distraction is a good idea. I imagine it’ll all catch up to me at some point, and I’ll find out soon enough.
It’s a sure sign that the Cipralex is out of my system. I’ve decided that being able to feel is better than being numb, even if that means not knowing which way things are going to go. Right now, I’m just appreciative of frugal forms of happiness again, my latest discovery being the feeling of a healthy lather rinsing clean from your hair.
Maybe my time away did me some good. I lost a week, but I’m feeling recharged. I’ve been productive. I’ve been social. I’ve even been exercising.
Now I’m ready to begin again.