bewildered

The sun beats down. Hades here. Beads of sweat drip down, into your eyes. You use your elbow to wipe it away, your hands occupied. Every muscle is tensed. This is the moment.

You pull. And white. Then red.

You wipe it away with your elbows again. Then your hands are freed and you look down. It's so hot you feel lightheaded, not present. You rub your eyes and look down again. Agitation about the scene in front of you builds. What just happened? Were you there? You look at the red on your hands. You rub your face again as if the action will bring you face to face to reality. But what you've made, what's in front of you right now- that's your reality.

And you wonder; 'how did I get here?'

i'm left a figment

in the dark, i remember that place. the cup the backs of your knees made for my caps. curled against your slight frame, my cheeks against your ribs, feeling your rythmic breathing. comforted in that place, i'd drift asleep, knowing, that in the morning, you'd turn. that slight crooked smile, a sliver of your teeth visible, but mostly- the look in your eyes. knowing, that i was real for you, and your nightmares were just. that.

i read it all in that look. and nothing at all.

because i believed, but never knew, when your belief would fail. would drift. into your nightmares. and i would be left. a figment.

that place still exists. the cup the backs of your knees made for my caps. it's real in my memories and always, just. that.

insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results

the world is mine, they say
and yet I choose,
to throw it all away
and repeat.

i wish the black was less
appealing than the light,
that peace could satisfy more
than a fight.

if it's not sharp, I can't feel
not leaving scars, it's not real.

elusive are the rose colored glasses
imminent,
the impending destruction
that lives with me,
waiting
in the wings
to bare its snarled grin.

the world is mine they say,
and yet I refuse it
and repeat.

illusory perfection

When I drive past the house, mornings on my way to work, it stands out. The front lawn is always perfectly cut and green, the bushes and hedges trimmed, and the flowers beds planted just so, blooming just one day earlier than all of the other gardens in the neighbourhood. Although the house isn't new, it looks fresh and, any wear and tear is unnoticeable with a yearly paint of coat and required maintenance.

What is noticeable, however is that the interior is always dark. I can never see any lights on, and if there are, they are flashing or intermittent, almost like an SOS.

One morning, I notice the front door wide open. I swings in the wind, and if it weren't for the fresh coat of forest green paint, you would think the house was abandoned. Curious, I slowly pull up in front of the house. As I make my way up the front walk, I see one of the curtains, normally pulled tight across the front window is hanging loose, exposing the darkness of the interior. I knock on the flapping door, quietly at first, and then louder. "Hello?" I say timidly, then louder when there is no reponse. Satisfied that any inhabitant would have been properly notified of my presence, I enter.

The smell is overwhelming and I wonder why I didn't notice it at the threshold of the house. It smells like rotting wood and wet mould. As my eyes slowly adjust to the darkness, the scant natural light let in by the ripped curtain reveals a path of broken glass, blackened patches of carpet and leads to a shockingly destroyed couch. The couch is in a cream floral pattern that harkens to the mid seventies and is riddled with holes edged in black. They look like very large burn marks and some are so deep you can see the woody skeleton that lies within.

I back out of the room slowly. I don't want to see the rest. The destruction inside is so shocking, I can't imagine what goes on to leave it in that state. And I don't want to.

free from the closet monster

I'm attempting a renewed effort to write here. I feel like it's good practice, if I want to develop a 'style'. Unfortunatley (or fortunatley, depending on your view), as a pisces, style is fluid. I notice it most in the way I dress- biker-ish chick one day, professional and polished the next. I feel I can assimilate into any environment, and differentiate when I want to. Would it be vapid and vain to discuss style for a quiet moment? The rhetorical question begs an evaluation of your view of style as an intellectual entity. The girl who cleaned my closet last week (I got rid of FOUR large garbage bags full of clothing- some I haven't worn since Junior High), has a definite position on style. She says that "how you present yourself is a reflection of how you're feeling inside". I have to say that minimializing the clutter in an area I consider important (my closet- the doorway to how I'm feeling), has almost lifted a weight off of me. I can focus on other things now. Shopping (one of my favorite activities) has been revitalized for me. I know what I have, what I need, and what I want. I'm more efficient at it, therefore I don't have to do it as much, I don't feel obligated to buy, and when I do, I know it's really something I need/want.

Basically, I've been blessed with some clarity in that area of my life. It leaves me time to focus on other things, and leaves me less frustrated in the morning.

So, for this week, I want to focus on writing- and make an effort to veer away from the vain and vapid. I want to experiment with style.

Three things I'm grateful for since my last post:
1. The closet clean. AMAZING.
2. Finishing my article-judgement/discussion comes Thursday.
3. A quiet weekend. Bless!

Below are photos, of my organized, color coded closet:

lost in words

I know I haven't written for a while. Why, you might ask. Well, I've been busy writing. My first attempt at slight infamy, I've slotted myself into the next issue of a local magazine. So last friday, I wrangled my photographer/bestie and headed to Saskatchewan to see what kind of trouble we could get into. I was ready for lame sauce, but instead, I got awesome. I was ready to protect my neck (as the Wu would say) but I would say we were greeted like long lost family. We met most of the people our age at the bar attached to our motel - yes, that's not a typo- there was a bar AND an off-sale (liquor store if you're not aware of the slang) attached to the Heartland Inn. Booming bass greeted our arrival, and as my travelmate informed me (she is a small town veteran), Friday nights are THE night in small towns. It definitley was. And of course, we had to get drunk enough to sleep in the dirty motel we had chosen.

Anyways, more on the trip later....gotta get back to writing!

Three things I'm grateful for since last post:
1. An AMA membership. They say curiosity killed the cat, and I'm curious. So driving through a snowy field to get a photo of an abandoned chruch didn't faze me. Until we got stuck. The tow truck driver was quite perplexed by our choices to say the least.
2. My bed. Never felt so good after the motel.
3. My bestie for being such a good travel buddy and fabulous photographer.

i got a promotion. then i cried.

The piscean roller coaster never fails to amaze me. After six months of hard fought lobbying for a promotion to match what I was already doing, I got it. Then I cried. Out of happiness, you might think. But no. Sadness. Of how anti-climatic it was. How I had no one really to share it with. How more money doesn't equal more happiness for me. How I still really hate my job. How everyone acts like I do so much, but the brainpower needed to do it is in the low percentages. And so on.

So, I went out and bought a ridiculous pair of shoes. Then I heard my neighbours above me having sex. But I didn't care. 'Cause the shoes are hot. Really really hot, and they were steaming up my front hall with their hotness.

Three things I'm grateful for since my last post:
1. Recognition (and compensation) that I don't need babysitting at work anymore and haven't for a long long time.
2. A good friend to help me shop, and therefore, spend some of the new moola.
3. A beautiful sunny day yesterday and a nice walk home from downtown (and that my house didn't flood like half of the others in my neighbourhood).

one day older

I'm one day older than yesterday, but legally, I'm also one year older. What have I learned since yesterday, if age purports to engender wisdom? Well, I've learned that when you start drinking at 1 pm, you have to continue on a steady but moderate pace. If and when you stop, you will be down for the count. I've also learned that I might have a chance with Karma, because I woke up to birthday weather that was out of this world. Sunshine and fresh powder all day. Like the dreams you have where every track is fresh, and the sun is glinting through the trees in the glade, waxing golden on your ride as you float along. Except this dream was real. I've learned that a drive through liquor store is probably one of the best innovations that I've discovered recently. We drove up after dinner and the birthday girl simply rolled down her window, ordered three tall boy Pilsner singles and some shooters. No getting out of the car, going into the cold cooler, showing ID or anything. AWESOME. And lastly, I've learned that unlike my first birthday away from home when I cried like a baby in my dorm room- age has mellowed me out and I was cool with the chill day that I had yesterday.

Three things I'm grateful for as a 24 year old, so far:
1. Powder, sun & beer
2. An awesome father, who as described in the words of dude at the hill; "It's pretty cool that your dad is willing to get crunked to celebrate your birthday". Well said.
3. That the rest of my family, maxing, relaxing and chilling by the pool in the Canary Islands, put down their drinks to give me a call and tell me they were thinking of me on my birthday.