Posts tagged with "hope"

Eight Hours New

Everything is okay now.

My coun­try just spent mil­lions on Bush’s 24 hour “rela­tions” vis­it for secu­ri­ty alone (even Loo had four RCMP patients one day dur­ing prepa­ra­tions) with no talks of our cat­tle farm­ers con­tin­u­ing to suf­fer through the U.S. beef ban, Tool’s lat­est album is still my least favourite, I’m scared of los­ing my sex dri­ve, some of my best friends are going through some stu­pid shit that I can’t do any­thing about, the lat­est Half-Life 2 patch has dropped my frame rate by more than five frames-per-sec­ond while the stut­ter­ing con­tin­ues, and I swear my iPod is going to run out of bat­ter­ies on the bus ride home.

But I got a full eight hours last night.

And I’m ready to con­quer the fuck­ing world.

Morning By The Elgin

I was on my way to catch­ing the bus to work this morn­ing, when I passed by a fan­cy restau­rant filled with patrons at the cor­ner of Elgin and Slater. The patrons were all peo­ple past mid­dle age, enjoy­ing con­ver­sa­tions over break­fast, dain­ti­ly eat­ing their bacon, and tak­ing cau­tious sips of their sun­shine joe.

The first thought in my head was, “How could any­one be so hap­py at such an ungod­ly hour?”. Then I held my thoughts (along with my peev­ish mood) in check, and won­dered to myself. Perhaps they spent the night embrac­ing the warmth of anoth­er’s body, hud­dled togeth­er against the chill of the open night air. Perhaps they were think­ing of their lovers, and could feel noth­ing but strength, think noth­ing but hap­pi­ness. And I liked that expla­na­tion.

It’s all enough to make one smile at any time of day.

The Appreciative Insomniac

I can’t fall back asleep. I’m still on hol­i­day sched­ule, which is all about stay­ing up late and tak­ing naps, not being in bed by ten then wak­ing up halfway through the night. Six fresh mos­qui­to bites don’t help the sleep­ing process either.

Anyway, what I meant to say is that I’m grate­ful to have this when life proves to be a lit­tle too over­whelm­ing and I prove to be all too human. When there’s no one else to turn to for some rea­son or anoth­er. When Beth’s vocals or orches­tral pop noir roman­tique don’t help, or help enough.

It’s good to know that I have some­thing, and some­times I have to remind myself of that.

Reversal: Part 1 (The Inexplicable Catalyst)

19. Have you ever been in love? Unfortunately.

—LBJ

Well, here we are again.

I used to think that love was only pain. That was when the only expe­ri­ences I had with love were bad, when every­thing I ever felt was unre­quit­ed. The fact that I felt this way was rep­re­sen­ta­tive of the fact that I had­n’t got­ten over those feel­ings at the time. How child­ish, inex­pe­ri­enced, con­fused, imma­ture I was. This feel­ing shaped much of my per­son­al­i­ty in the last few years, although I’ve recent­ly been able to come out of such an emo­tion­al block­ade.

Having a rela­tion­ship where most feel­ings, how­ev­er con­fused, how­ev­er tor­ren­tial, how­ev­er tem­po­rary, were shared, has allowed me to come to terms with the past. Such an inci­dent has ben­e­fit­ed me great­ly, has let me know that I’m not so numb any­more, that it’s pos­si­ble for such a rela­tion­ship to exist even if I may nev­er expe­ri­ence it again. Perhaps I was so scared that I would nev­er fall in love again that any such expe­ri­ence would have shocked me into get­ting over what had hap­pened in the past.

Now I embrace the feel­ing of love, embrace the fact that the sim­ple act of lis­ten­ing to a song can fill me such poignan­cy, com­plete­ly regard­less of whether it’s good or bad. Not only do I enjoy being able to care for some­one, I enjoy miss­ing them as well, as dif­fi­cult as it can be. I like the fact that some­thing can turn me ter­ri­bly, illog­i­cal­ly weak. Every emo­tion involved, whether it’s plea­sur­able or painful, fills me with the urge to write, to cre­ate, to express. This is what I look for. This is what I need.

Now only good can come of love.

Spiral

A few fac­tors have helped make things eas­i­er in the last lit­tle while, but per­haps the most sig­nif­i­cant is the real­iza­tion that almost noth­ing around me has changed. That all cere­bral influ­ences have remained fair­ly sta­t­ic in activ­i­ty.

And I think to myself, “How could I have been so stu­pid? How did I not come to this real­iza­tion soon­er?”

And hav­ing lived a lit­tle more, loved a lot more, every­thing seems brighter.