Wednesday, February 28, 2007

Late night epiphany

The wedding band is a circle.

We have completed our circle.

The circle has no beginning or end. It just continues.

And so our story continues...

Scared of history

For most of the past week, I've been feeling calm and happy and relaxed. There have been a couple of reality-check moments when I have told myself, "be sensible, talk is cheap" but he has allayed most of my fears with his sweet words and sincerity.

Today, I had a moment of petrified terror. He was telling me how he was unable to listen to Hinder's Better Than Me for a few days after I left but now it makes him happy. So I listened to it and I was overwhelmed by "I told myself I won't miss you but I remember what it feels like beside you" and started crying. Then he said something that made me laugh and I was crying and laughing and soggy and snotty. It was lovely.

Then the baggage voice in my head kicked in, "you don't love him", and then my heart retorted, "don't be ridiculous you foolish girl". Honestly, is it possible to have been hurt so many times that your brain attempts sabotage any future happiness? I fully understand that I can't possibly know if I love him yet. But I'm happy. Me, happy. I've spent the last four days alternately shaking my head at how crazy the whole situation is and quietly marveling at the full circle return to 13 years ago.

I wrote this several weeks ago, the day that I booked my flight...

I knew a guy in high school. Okay, we dated. It ended up being extremely convoluted (surprise, surprise). But the important facts are that he was super sweet, fun, intelligent, a perfect gentleman and a superb kisser. That is neither here nor there but it was important in a first boyfriend ever. Well, not ever, but the first that really counted for something. My parents HATED him. Well, at the time it certainly seemed that they did. When I look back now, my mother hated him. Because she hated everyone. My dad was just trying to keep the peace as usual. To a 16 year old, I was just angry and confused and disappointed. They never even gave him a chance.

They said that we were "culturally different". It's true. We don't look the same (that is a euphemism for being of different races -- Bend It Like Beckham, anyone?), but he did worship the ground that I walked on. He also taught me how not to dance like a solid gold dancer. Ah, Red, Red wine, where are you now? I don't remember meeting him or talking to him and was, at first, mostly perplexed about the whole thing. Why was this boy interested in me? Why was he looking at me like that? And why is my body doing such strange things when I think about him. Such was the naive, sheltered life of a little Indian girl. It was lovely and sweet and oh-so-high-school. Long phone conversations and missing yous. (Hmm, note that earliest serious relationship was long-distance!) Romantic and soft and innocent and wonderful.

And I was a total bitch to him. I am so horrified and ashamed and mortified of the way that I treated him that I can't even begin to put it in writing for all the world to read. It was the beginning of very bad behavior that would last... oh, look, until NOW.

I am truly amazed and humbled that he is still friends with me. That we had sushi many years after I dumped him cruelly. Twice, less than two years apart (oh dear God, who was that girl?). That we still correspond almost daily over IM. And, after nights spent drinking and partying, he still drunk dials me over Skype. Inviting me to run away to a deserted island with him. Most of all, that he invited me to come and visit him. And stay at his new condo... in the BAHAMAS!!!


So, history lesson is over. In exactly 29 days I will be packing my bathing suit (and mumu) on a plane to a tropical white sand beach! He doesn't actually have the condo yet, so I may end up sleeping on the beach. But I hear it's above zero degrees down there so, provided I don't get sand in ahem, I'm okay with that. I don't have any plans for the week yet. Except sitting on the beach, napping, drinking, dancing, fishing... and, of course, meeting the parents. I must remember to take them each a gift. In 13 years, I never met his parents. He said his mom is really looking forward to meeting me. I can't think why - perhaps to give me the lynching I so well deserve.

I really must go to bed so that I can get up early and work out (bikini, bikini, bikini, stretch marks, cellulite, flab GROSS) and then go learn how to run a gel, have lunch and go to class, all before noon. Voila, instant motivation. Bye bye procrastination.

29 days...

Must find some additional motivation to get me through the next 35 days. The last time we did this (12 years ago, in high school), I performed so miserably on my final exams that my teachers asked me if something was wrong at home. I doubt I will get the same consideration this time around.

Tuesday, February 27, 2007

He's coming!

He's really coming. He actually booked a flight today. I can't believe he's coming for 12 days. He'll be here in 36 days. I have to admit, after all the credit card drama over the last few days, I didn't think it was going to happen. But he said he would come and he is.

I have spent the last few days telling people about everything that has happened. I even told my mother (!) and she didn't freak out. She apparently hadn't mentioned it to my dad because he didn't bring it up when he called tonight. I didn't say anything to him because he sounded upset and anxious about money and stuff. I guess he'll be the last to know. In terms of the important people in my life, I think there are very few people left to tell.

My Valentine took it badly. I could tell he was angry because he got very quiet and then basically hung up on me. I can't believe that I entertained the idea of being with him for such a long time with so little in return. I wonder if he regrets telling me that he didn't want to visit me because he was afraid we would end up in a relationship? I'm starting to wonder if everything that went before was just to bring me to this point.

Here is a snippet of conversation from late last night.
On my parents' approval:
B: "I'd really like if your parents approved of this."
Me: "Don't hold out for my parents' approval. It's not in my mother's nature to approve of anything. She's not satisfied unless she's judging and criticizing someone else..."
B: "Well, I'm not planning on marrying them, am I?"
...(long pause in which I did a double and then triple-take)...
Me: "You said the M word."
B: "Wow, I did, didn't I? And I didn't even flinch. What have you done to me? I would never have noticed if you hadn't pointed it out. Wow."
Me (mental cartwheels): "I have goosebumps right now."

I bought tickets to Phantom of the Opera. It's his favourite musical. I sent him the confirmation email so he'll see it when he wakes up tomorrow. I hope it makes his day.

Friday, February 23, 2007

Is he my "happily ever after"?


What a week. I'm back from my jaunt to the Bahamas and I'm exhausted from sleep deprivation, drinking and lots of wonderful sex. I hesitate to post that type of detail but only for a brief second. Might as well be honest while being anonymous, no? Anyway, where to begin? At the end, I suppose.

I'm back at home and that feels good. But I miss B. This week was almost indescribable. I very nearly didn't make it home. I don't know anymore if it's worth finishing grad school. This time last night I was calling WestJet to see if I could change my flight. And we were still awake in the early hours of the morning talking about settling down and having kids. It's as though the last 13 years didn't happen.

They did. He's a very different person now than I remember. He has a veneer that bothered me at first. The lawyer is front and centre from the moment he puts on his tie to long after he has left the office. But I got past all of that very quickly and I can still see the teenager that was head over heels for me at first sight. That boy has turned into a loving and caring and sweet and sensitive man. I want to walk away from my life and live in his. I want him to hold me and take care of me and tell me I'm beautiful. I want to have his children and make him breakfast and massage all the tension out of his neck and back. I want to sit in his car and drive around after dark listening to XM and smoking cigarettes. If he had asked me to marry him, I wouldn't have left Nassau this afternoon.

This time last Friday, I had already met both his parents and was well on my way to blacking out from excessive alcohol consumption. They mix them strong in the Bahamas. My total consumption was a BahamaMama at lunch, half a glass of white wine in the evening before we left the house, a BahamaMama at the bank where I met his dad, a BahamaMama at Hurricane Hole and one last BahamaMama at Atlantis. Granted I didn't have dinner but I've never been drunk that quickly before. I blacked out while talking to his cousin and managed to make it to the washroom and back to the bar while suffering from what I'm certain was almost alcohol poisoning. Then it was water for the rest of the night. We went to Bambu and danced all night. I love that he can move. I love that he can sing. I love that he loves to do it and that he loves to do it with me in his arms. We danced close, we danced apart, we danced with each other except for one dance with his cousin. We didn't get home until 5 am. It turns out that I lost my wallet but didn't realise it until the following morning.

Saturday was spent hungover and touring the island. We sat on the beach in the afternoon and it was chilly. We were still a little awkward at that point. In hindsight, I think it was because we both knew how we were each feeling but wasn't sure about the other. It was a quiet evening with the family and then we went home and I decided it was time to break the ice. I ended up giving him a two hour deep muscle massage. Sometimes a man has to physically submit before he'll let you in emotionally but I think that it was worth the effort and the skinned knuckles. I caught up on his life, his love life specifically. He has developed a reputation for being a player. My little B, a heartbreaker. Who woulda thought it?

Sunday was again spent with family and friends. He had a lot to drink in the evening and when we got home, he asked me if I wanted to go to the beach. So we bundled up, grabbed two wine glasses and a bottle and sat in the dark trying not to get washed away. It was windy and cold and dark and he held me close and told me that I had always had a special place in his heart. I told him that I remembered the date that the Blue Jays won the World Series the second time. October 23, 1993. It was the day we met. And I said to him, "so who has a special place in whose heart?" and he leaned over and kissed me. A little bit of liquid courage sometimes makes good accelerant. That night we did all the things we never did as naive and innocent kids. I don't want to have sex with anyone else again ever. I just want him. He told me he would take care of me, that he had always loved me, and over and over he said I was beautiful. I can't write all that without crying.

The rest of the week is a bit of a blur. His inability to get time off was frustrating but it meant I got to know his mother very well. We spent the whole of Monday together. I spent Tuesday by myself at the beach and by the pool. Wednesday tried to go to Harbour Island but the service had been suspended and I spent the morning stuck in his office waiting for him to take me home and hiding post it notes. When we sat down to lunch, he got a call from the office. A client had showed up and demanded a meeting. So I didn't go home and instead wondered around town for a couple of hours. When I showed up at the office again, I was in tears. Frustrated that I was missing out on time with him, time at the beach, time in the sun. So I bailed out and told him to call me when he was free and took the ferry over to Paradise Island. The rest of the evening was great. We went for drinks at Cafe Europa. Dinner at Luciano's. Dessert at home in bed. Thursday morning at the beach, he finally left work at lunch time and it was by far the best afternoon of my vacation. Lunch at August Moon with his mother. Afternoon at Love Beach. Dinner at Bimini Road. Wondered around Marina Village looking at boats.

I want that life for myself. I know it's mostly artificial. The dinners out and the tourist lifestyle. But I want the ocean and the sand and his company and to be around his family. I miss him. He said he would try to come up in March and would fly me down there for my 30th birthday.

My cynical heart is preparing for empty promises but my soul wants to hope and believe. Does fate exist? Will the third time be the charm? Now that we're adults, will be have better control over our decisions and our futures? Will this be my happily ever after?

Thursday, February 15, 2007

Valentine Schmalentine

Stupid chocolatey pink retardedness.

Although my Valentine seems to have ignored my request. So perhaps I'm feeling just a tad neglected and bitter and unloved and unworthy.

I finished packing for my trip. Just the overnight stuff to go in my carry-on now. And I have to figure out how to pack the maple syrup so that it doesn't blow up all over my stuff.

Wednesday, February 14, 2007


At least until I have posted this blog. Amazing how loopy the end of my last two posts have been. I mean, ":)"? Come on now, that's the drugs talking.

I actually have nothing to post today. Nothing decent anyway. So I will succumb to the blogorrhea and write about absolutely nothing.

It's snowing again. Not only is it just snowing, we are in the midst of a goddamn snowstorm again. Why do people live here? I'm moving back to the West Coast as soon as my thesis defense is over. Just get in the car and drive. Wait, scratch that, I'm flying next time. I mean, SK is great, but undulatingly flat. Really spectacularly boringly rollingly flat. Crap, I digress. Oh yeah, stupid sucky snow. And windy. Not nice at all. I almost didn't make it to pilates class but I'm glad I went. I discovered muscles under the flab in the shower today. That was gratifying. I'll just have to make sure I flex all the time from now on. Damnit, there I go again. Yeah, as a result of the snow, I'm not going to attempt the commute to the office tomorrow. It's ugly out there. There's snow piled up on my window sills and I'm 10 floors up. Ridiculous.

Also, I went to a new aesthetician back in December and I'm going to see her again on Thursday morning. When she asked me what I wanted to wax, she asked "ah, your bathing suit, and do you want to do your buttocks?" but she pronounced it "boot-tocks" and I was killing myself laughing. No, I don't want to do my boot-tocks! Yipes.

Yeah, that's pretty much it today. I can hear my cough surfacing again so I should take some drugs and go to bed. Pharmaceuticals are my friend.

Oh yeah, one more thing: Pandora rocks. Go. Now.

Monday, February 12, 2007

I am a Super Villain

Your results:
You are Mystique

Poison Ivy
Mr. Freeze
Dark Phoenix
The Joker
Green Goblin
Dr. Doom
Lex Luthor
Sometimes motherly, sometimes a beautiful companion, but most of the time a deceiving vixen.

Click here to take the Supervillain Personality Quiz

I also got 100% on my engineering midterm. My prof wrote "WOW!" on my paper and told me that I was the only student of hers to ever get perfect. Who knew? I'm really an engineer in disguise. Mystique by day, engineer by night. And sucky at HTML, apparently.


Sunday, February 11, 2007

Breast Cancer Society of Canada rejects cash donation

The Breast Cancer Society of Canada rejected a donation from a local exotic dancers group.

I will be sending an email to these people tomorrow afternoon before class.

Honestly, I'm speechless with disbelief.

Onto more mundane topics, like my life...
I'm hoping that the two teaspoons of cough syrup with codeine are going to kick in any minute now and I won't be able to finish this coherently. Maybe I need to be in bed. Perhaps I should have brushed my teeth already. If this doesn't work, I'm going to be screwed tomorrow. I need to leave the house by 7 am at the absolute latest to get to a conference in Burlington that starts at 8 am. Perhaps I should try and leave by 6.30. Oh God, painful. Perhaps I should print a map too. Perhaps I should decide what to wear tonight instead of running around tomorrow like a chicken with its head cut off...

Well, that was easy. I am apparently going to wear what I wore to work on Wednesday because it is still in the large pile of laundry at the foot of my bed. I wonder if codeine expires? I suppose I can still take my birth control with this as my doctor didn't say not to last year when he prescribed the stuff. The cough syrup, that is.

I like having a large pile of laundry at the foot of my bed. Apart from making it easy to get dressed in a hurry, I like the way the weight feels on my feet when I'm falling asleep. I used to put my feet under X's legs and it felt good. I wonder why.

To make a long story short

I spent most of my twenties in a relationship that I thought was the last one I would ever have. We met at university in 1997 when I was least expecting to meet someone. We were together for 7 years officially. He taught me a lot of things. About choosing your battles, about the meaning of family, about infinite patience and forgiveness. He moved to BC in 2001 to pursue his dream and I followed him in 2003.

For almost 7 years, we talked every single day. Sometimes several times a day. We broke up at the end of 2004 because I wanted to get married and buy a house and settle down and declare to the Universe that our souls were one. But he was too unhappy with me and scared of me to commit. I know this because he told me three months ago. If I'm being honest, we were both unhappy and, in hindsight, if we had stayed together, we would both still be completely miserable. But we still saw each other and talked every day for more than a year after we broke up. My parents love him. I love his family and miss them a lot. I never knew the meaning of Thanksgiving until I met his mother and for 7 years, it was my favourite holiday. Now, the holidays make me want to permanently put an end to the suffering.

Shortly after we broke up, he bought a condo (ironic?) and I helped him paint and decorate and furnish. We travelled together several times to the States and around BC. Ate dinner together almost every night. But since 2005, I've bounced around with other guys who have been a combination of emotionally or physically unavailable or just bad to me. Not abusive, they just didn't care. It was my way of punishing myself for being such a terrible person. I'm fully aware of my behaviour but changing it is something completely different. Meanwhile, he met someone last summer and they live together now. They're going to Australia for two of our best friends' wedding in March. I can't go obviously and it hurts that the current "one" gets to go and I won't be there.

So, after all of that, I can't seem to get past the things that my mother said to me as a teenager. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps she wasn't. I realise that the only way I can be in a successful relationship now is to know how to love and value and respect myself. After all, if I can't be good to myself, how can I expect anyone else to? I think I've said that before.

But, after 7 years of thinking that I was with the only person who has ever been right for me, it's hard for me to accept anyone that might be "interested". Now, when someone expresses an interest in anything beyond just friendship, I push them away every way I know how and run as hard in the other direction as I can. It's the only way I know how to protect myself from all of the bad things that have happened before. I don't know if I'll ever get beyond this. For now, it's who I am. Take it or leave it, I have to live with it 24/7.

Saturday, February 10, 2007

I miss food

I know I should eat something but I don't want to. I'm not hungry but I can feel my stomach gently protesting the emptiness. I've eaten half a bagel, a banana and some cookies today. Wait, that's not right. Surely I've eaten more than that... no, perhaps not. I have a full yoghurt container of spaghetti sauce that I don't want to eat. The thought of it grosses me out.

I miss going over to X's house for perogies before salsa class. I miss having people to eat out with. I miss West coast sushi. I miss enjoying the taste and smell of food.

I don't really feel like doing anything anymore. I did manage to get some stuff done today though.

I bought some maple syrup to take down to B on Friday. Apparently it is expensive in the Bahamas. While I was at the St Lawrence Market, I ran into a coworker and his girlfriend which was kinda nice. He kept saying how weird it was to run into me, even though I live in the neighbourhood, which made it even funnier.

I also bought some art from a little man named Rob. I believe in buying art when you see something you like. Provided you can afford it, of course. Today, I spent $100 for what is essentially a triptych. I suppose I could attach a photo of it here.

It's on the top shelf of my living room and I'm short which is the reason for the funny angle. The $100 is not exactly within my budget right now, especially since I'm going to the Bahamas next week and I will probably wish that I had the money to spend there. But the last time I fell in love with art at first sight but decided not to buy it on the basis of cost, I regretted it. It still haunts me and I wonder where the Indian princess with the hookah pipe at night is right now.

What else did I do today? I reviewed an undergraduate thesis that my supervisor told me he thought was very good. I'm not sure why. It's good for an undergrad perhaps, but overall it's a bit weak. Especially on the language and the analysis of results. I reviewed some journal articles and made a bit of progress on my thesis concept. When I say progress, I mean, "wow, there is so much that I don't know and I wish I had paid more attention in genetics and microbiology. Oh wait, I never took genetics or microbiology! What the hell am I doing here?!"

Sigh. I should just take some cough syrup with codeine and knock myself out for the night. I wonder if I took the entire bottle, would it knock me out for all eternity? Not that I have a whole bottle left. And if it didn't, what a waste of perfectly good cough syrup.

Why girls are better than boys

I went to Piglet's mom's house today to hang out with her while hubby worked late. Actually, she called me during the midterm and we played a bit of phone and email tag this afternoon. So I picked her up from the office and we went over to her place to have dinner and bake ginger cookies. I even managed to sit through an hour of Grey's Anatomy without completely freaking out. I can't believe Meredith went in the water! I'll probably have screaming nightmares tonight. Yet another reason to not have cable. I might even have to go online to find out what happens next week. There are some damn fine-looking doctors on that show, let me just say.

Anyway, we talked about a couple of things. I told her about the nodule on my thyroid that came up in an ultrasound last week. It felt good to share it with her. I am scared. Not scared of what it might mean, but scared of having to deal with whatever it is alone. And she seemed a bit worried, even though she said that it probably isn't serious since I don't have to rush in to see the doctor about it. I know that X means well when he says not to worry about it. But what I really need to hear is, "try not to worry about it too much and I'll try to pretend that I'm not worried about it even though I am". Actually, B said to me today, "try not to worry about it right now" when I told him about the midterm. It was the "right now" that made me feel better. Put things in perspective a bit.

We also talked about her sister-in-law's blog. And her upcoming housewarming/hubby's birthday party/pregnancy announcement. And of course, we talked about the pregnancy and stuff. It felt good just to hang out with her. I didn't need to talk today. At least, I didn't need to talk about my feelings. I just needed to interact with a real live person. I needed to be distracted by low-maintenance activities. Food and baking helped too.

I'm going to try and sleep now. I had half thought about having a beer when I got home but I think that my bed will be infinitely more rewarding.

Friday, February 9, 2007


Yup, flunked it. There was the usual post-mortem after the exam, with the unusual aspect of having the prof there to confirm that I totally screwed up one question that I was SURE was right. I figure I probably got 20 out of 30 marks which translates to a 1.67 GPA. I need to get a 2.67 in the course, and maintain a 3.67 average overall (out of a possible 5) to keep my scholarship. I have a month left to decide to drop the course. My supervisor is going to have a cow. I started the term with 4 (one more than a full load) and, if I drop this, I'll be down to 1. But I can't afford to go to school if I don't have my scholarship.

The thing is, this type of performance is quite unusual for me. I usually screw up when I'm slacking off. But this exam, I just had no idea. Even though I went to see the prof for help. Even though I went over all the questions three times. Even though I was explaining stuff to other people in the course. I'm not usually just totally fucking stupid. Normally, I'm lazy and self-destructive and that translates into bad marks. This one though, different. Stupid.

There were two questions that I spent altogether an hour and 20 minutes looking over. I just had no idea how to even start them. There was one, worth 4.5 marks, that looked really easy but I thought "no way, it can't be that simple" so I took some logs and came out with a totally different answer. Turns out the first one was right.

The other question, no idea how people got the answer. Mine was just pulled out of my ass. So, yeah. Studying probably wouldn't have helped me on this one.

I'm going to bed with a box of Kleenex and a fantasy of a sharp knife in a hot shower. I would drink but I can't stop crying and snotty beer is even more gross than beer by itself.

Dying inside

Overheard at Fashion Week

"You look gorgeous! Are you in love?" He snorted. "Absolutely not. I'm so dead inside."

I just phoned a friend to ask for help and he hung up on me. I guess I deserved that. Stupid. The Universe keeps telling me not to ask for help. Mostly I don't. But then I forget and I do. It always ends up the same.

Thursday, February 8, 2007

Still stupid today

This time tomorrow I plan to be drunk.

Very, very drunk.

I will also be alone.

This fucking midterm will be over. I will probably have failed it. But at least it will be in the past and it will be something I have to "get past" instead of something I have to "get through". Always easier, no? I suppose it's a matter of perspective.

So, here I am, planning how best to get drunk instead of studying. And wondering if I really will be brave enough to get drunk all on my lonesome. In all likelihood, I will not. Knowing me, I will come home, have one beer and pass out on the couch. God I'm old. How come nobody told me that grad school was for 20-somethings?

I hate feeling stupid. Not knowing the answer to something because I can't make sense of the goddamn question. I have just realised that one of the good things about work is that people rarely tell you that you are stupid. Oh, I'm sure they think it often. Daily. Hourly, even. But rarely does someone come up to you and say "you are a fucking moron and you deserve to die". At least, nobody has ever said that to my face. And if someone asks you a question and you don’t understand what they’re asking, that’s more often their problem for being so retarded as not to be able to speak in clear english.

What do you do when it is a professor who is determined to mess with reality so much within the structure of two or three sentences that your brain is tied in knots and you second-guess absolutely every single logical and coherent thought that comes out of your head? Swear a lot. Think about putting the prof in a punching bag and beating the snot out of him a la what’s-his-name in Die Another Day. The crazy DNA-morphing Korean/white lunatic boy warrior. Colonel Moon/Gustav Graves. Dammit. How come I can remember trivial details like that but I can’t answer “Estimate the number of survivors who owe their lives to treatment?”

On a less bitterly self-loathing note, I cooked dinner today. Although it didn’t taste like utter garbage, although I didn’t burn it, although I haven’t given myself food poisoning (yet), I have no desire to eat it. Actually, it tastes just like X’s mom’s spaghetti sauce which is my favourite comfort food in the whole world. Really should have stayed with him for the food. Like I haven’t cried myself to sleep every other night for the last two years over that. The last thing I need to do is mourn the loss of food. I wish I could have left my muffin top behind. And now I have a yoghurt container of spaghetti sauce that I am not in the least inclined to eat. I should have put vodka in it. Perhaps I should make a note of how I made it.

Large pan: fry extra lean ground beef til cooked
Smaller pan: fry table spoon of EVOO with green onions and garlic
Add the two together
Add pasta sauce, tomato paste, oregano, rosemary, thyme, pepper, paprika
and thicken
Sauce pan: half a bowl of whole wheat rotini

Too much for me to finish tonight, especially after baby spinach salad with craisins and balsamic vinaigrette. And especially considering I didn’t want to eat any of the stuff once I had finished cooking it. Tough balancing act. Don’t wait til you’re starving to start cooking in case something terrible happens. Don’t start cooking until you’re hungry because food always tastes better when you’re starving. However, perhaps this is a potential new diet/financial savings plan.

if i had one wish

i'm definitely going for a smoke. there are lots of websites out there that will tell you how to kill yourself but i just don't have what it takes. although it occurred to me that now would be the best time to do it because i don't have life insurance and i wouldn't have to worry about faking it for my parents to get the money. there is no money.

i just told a friend that i've thought about crawling out the window before. he was shocked so i lied and said i hadn't. but i have. so many times. stood there and looked down and wished.

there's a part of your brain that's wired for survival. it's like the part that wishes i was dead isn't connected to the deeper, more primal part where instincts are stored. the part that thought "no fucking way".

so i smoke. i'm sick. and i'll feel like shit tomorrow. but i feel like shit now and, if i had one wish, i would wish to not feel, to not think, to not hate myself, to not suffer.

Wednesday, February 7, 2007

If I tell you I'm hiding, will you pretend not to find me?

I'm hiding from everyone. Hiding from myself. Hiding, because the truth is scary. Hiding because I'm exhausted. Hiding because I don't know what I'm doing here.

I feel stupid today. In fact, here I am, having set up a brand new blog, and I can't even find any words.

Maybe tomorrow will be better.

In hiding

Happiness is like a butterfly: the more you chase it, the more it will elude you, but if you turn your attention to other things, it will come and sit softly on your shoulder.

-Henry David Thoreau-