a rusting spine

It's amazing how the tenor of these posts changes when I'm working. They also drop off in frequency of course because I'm not up at 3am lamenting my existence or anything like that quite so frequently.

I mention it because I'm quickly running out of time before I may once again be out of work. I've been solidly employed for a number of months now and it is... well, honestly, it's still another five months or so until I'm finished, but I keep thinking about the future lately and it's making it seem much closer than it actually is.

Of course, I'm also thinking about my weight which makes me inclined to write here too. I did really well for a week or two, I made muffins to eat for breakfast (instead of the unsatisfying ones they have at Timmy's) and I brought my lunch every day. This meant that I could walk at lunch, for all of lunch. And then I could walk to the bus stop.

I haven't made more muffins. I haven't been bringing lunch. That means I'm eating things that aren't as good for me and I'm not walking as much. The clocks were adjusted here at work and while I'm thrilled that I make my bus connection now, it also cuts out walking to where I transfer. The HSR may go on strike/be locked out at the end of the month. Part of me really hopes it happens because then I'll have to walk (I'm trying to see the silver lining, who'm I kidding, a cessation of bus service in February is not really an ideal situation, even if it does make for an easy way to get exercises). But, I think it would help all the same. It's so much harder to exercise in winter and while working. J & S go for runs and up and down the stairs, but they can do that without having to go in the dark. Maggie goes for runs, but also, doesn't have to go in the dark. Really, it's just an excuse and I know it. Still, I can't wait for warmer weather when I can bike to work again.

It's a fine line between doing the things one needs to in order to lose weight and not paying too much attention because focusing on it almost always resorts in thwarting. I don't begrudge certain people their success (or I wouldn't if I'd been equally successful), it's just that other people seem to find it so easy. I'm sure they don't, but the way they talk about it they do.

Anyway, I have been mentally trying not to whine or complain especially about things there is no sense in whinging about. I do need to stop waiting for the right time, the ideal circumstances and just make certain things more of a priority.

10:55 a.m.

*Please note, I'm ignoring the maudlin mood of yesterday and moving forward with good thoughts. We will not discuss yesterday again. Thank you.

This is a New Year's Resolutions Testing Facility, please be advised that unclaimed resolutions may have to wait until next year and that frivolous or ludicrous resolutions may be sent to frustrating people who should know better.

I can't remember if it was New Year's last year or just in the past year that I expressed the desire to have more dinner parties. I still want to and will hopefully plan to. However, what I think I will try and do is have more spontaneous dinner parties.

Step 1: Prepare more food than I can eat.

Step 2: Whatever it is (even if it doesn't constitute a meal with side dishes and courses etc), send some sort of message to a number of people inviting them to arrive between the hours of 6 and 8 to join in the meal. No reservations required.

Step 3: Eat delicious food, hopefully with some other people, maybe have some wine. And if no one else shows up you've still got tasty food and lots of leftovers.

I just read a really tasty recipe for some soup with goat cheese biscuits. Now, soup and biscuits aren't quite a meal, but they're not not a meal either. I think that should be one of them.

Also, maybe a soup party. Make a number of kinds of soup. Invite other people to bring an appetizer, side or sweet and enjoy.

Mmmm. Food.

10:59 p.m.

It's always a bad sign when I decide I need to write one of these isn't it?

Unless I've just had a really crazy dream. I did have one last week. Maybe I'll get around to writing it down.

I'm trying to stay positive, to acknowledge how I feel, but not let them consume me. I just keep thinking how I'm going to end up the maiden aunt to everyone I know. I'm not unhappy about that maybe, if only there was a story of passionate love and its tragic end. (Who'm I kidding, I'd probably go off the deep end if that happened.)

I love my friends. I would be happy to be an aunt to their children, but I don't want to live the rest of my life alone. But I always feel like I'm stuck in this paradox. I can't make someone I love appear and constantly looking for that person is exhausting and makes me miserable every second they don't turn up. But not trying and not looking... How'm I supposed to meet someone if I clam up and hide if people show interest. I mean, I can handle a direct "do you want to get coffee", but ... fuck, why do I bother?

The same stupid thoughts go through my head over and over. It doesn't do any good. I need to get out of my head and just do things.

09:47 p.m.

Areas that I want to improve/pursue:

Some sort of research. Whether it is archival or historical (or both somehow).

A creative pursuit. More actively working on my writing, learning to knit, or more complex sewing projects.

Cooking good meals. Eating good food. Not spending all my time on the couch lost in the akadin. There's nothing wrong with working on it and enjoying it, but it should not consume all of my waking life.

Making my apartment a home I love.

10:16 p.m.

I want to be done.

With everything. I don't want to work. I'm remarkably unsure of why I want to live. I'm not thinking of doing anything drastic, I just don't know. Getting a job that will pay the bills has been my focus for the last year and now that I have it it's painfully clear how little else I have.

I've been writing a lot lately and thinking about it a lot more, which is refreshing. It's been a long time since I've been able to do that and not have menacing thoughts about my finances interrupt the flow of storytelling. But I have no hobbies outside of it and I never meet new people. Even though I am pleased to be writing again, I feel like I'm stagnating in all aspects of my life.

And I get to work and I just can't stop thinking about being done work, even if I love what I'm doing. I just want to be done with everything. I'll get home and be glad of the time, but I'm living my life waiting for a time somewhere in the future. And all that's good for is frittering away the present.

I don't want to complain. I'm not even complaining, really. I know there should be more to my life and I wish I knew how to make it happen and wished I had the energy.

09:10 a.m.

The Canadian Identity

The difficulty in being Canadian in what has been the age of America is the same as being the quiet, perhaps a little geeky, honest kid in high school. In the American created ideal of high school the football quarterback is the ideal. The quarterback is popular, good looking, and through these merits, king in a kingless land. This title, as divine right had long before him, grants him leeway in behaviour. He dictates what is of interest, who is cool, and what is acceptable.

Enter the mid-year transfer. A somewhat shy, quiet child, son of a strict and serious father and wild, while still elegant, mother. Through the tragedy of accident and divorce, has been sent to live with distant relatives. He's attractive, but in a subtler way, not as muscled or sure of himself. Immediately, he is adopted by the quarterback, recognized as being of the same ilk, but that little bit weird so ultimately he cannot compete with the quarterback for the limelight. The transfer student is helpful, hard working. Willing to carry things for teachers, join extra-curricular projects that the quarterback has no time for or no interest in. He is fascinated and takes pleasure in smaller things. He would be part of a number clubs and groups, work on the school paper, ultimately trying to find somewhere that his strange heritage would make him fit instead of stand out.

As Canada nears graduation, he may find his feet and his voice a little. Sticking up for the little guy, even if anxious to not offend or alienate his first friend, he is earnest about doing what is right.

Following graduation America goes to the local state college; meanwhile, Canada, with all of his extra-curricular activities and hard work, has earned himself a place at an ivy league school. The first few years don't seem that different from high school, Canada may find others who understand and accept him, even if never quite escaping that basic inborn insecurity.

It might be at thirty or maybe at middle age when the small cracks really come to light. America is no longer the top dog. Having reached the peak of his popularity and strength in high school, he clutches at those trophies and old photographs, reliving past glories. America wasn't a dumb jock, he got a degree and a job, but the glory is fading.

Canada, meanwhile, has found that age has dulled the insecurity of youth. A new sense of self and strength is slowly growing, while he steps out with more confidence and bravado. And it is here, at this first blush of superiority, that Canada could stumble. Canada stands at a fork in the road. On one path, he may remake himself into the image of his high school superior. He too can be brash and powerful, demanding others bend to his will. Or, to the other way he can hold true to those basic virtues that have made him the respected, loved man that he is today.

It is time for Canada to embrace our identity. In a world where the geeks have inherited the earth, we too can take our rightful place. Though we may not have been so down-trodden and ignored in high school as those others who are coming into their own as well, we may have a need to prove ourselves, but there is less of a need to retaliate, to seek revenge for the pain and suffering of our youth.

09:29 p.m.

The previous entry stands on its own, but I won't remember the dreams if I don't write them down and this is the best place for it.

Last week I had two rather unsettling dreams. The first involved Kevin, mainly. He was part of this gang faction (and everywhere was divided into gangs in some weird apocalyptic future). The leader is a fairly young woman, younger than us and though she has been hardened by leading this gang and whatever her life has been up to this point, but she's still young and vindictive. I'm not describing her quite the way I'd like. It was a dream and so I suppose this might be why I'm finding the description elusive.

At some point, Kevin and the leader had a bit of a thing, but Kevin had ended it. He seemed aware that he'd hurt her and she seemed aware that he hadn't meant to, that it was just the way these things go, though she still hurt. However, because she'd been slighted, she was sending him off as part of this group who were going to battle another gang.

So, the dream all takes place in this old building. Like an old school or hospital, late 19th century sort of thing: white walls; cold, smooth floors; long corridors that let in grey light from beyond. It is the gang headquarters. The gang Kevin is going off to fight occupy a big glass high rise. We are sitting in what passes as a living room and meeting room. The leader sits on a low platform or bench, presiding over the room. The strange thing is that it's not so much a room as the end of a large hallway. I'm sitting on a couch with Kevin and Maggie (it's a good eighty years old too and beaten up)and the couch is pushed up against the stairwell, we to look at the leader you have to turn completely sideways. I think the stairwell was blocked off so no one could use it. Past us other random people milled around, associates of the gang (girlfriends, hangers on, but not active members). They were all involved in their own thing, as if this truly was their living room.

The leader tells Kevin his assignment and he agrees, knowing it's a death mission and that she's sending him on it because he slighted her. He gets up and leaves taking the few gang members who are there. That happens almost in the preable to the dream, that part you don't really remember dreaming, but you know happened. Then most of the dream was the leader apologizing to me for sending him to his death. And I felt awkward that she wasn't saying anything to Maggie. It was strange, but what was worse was that the whole time I firmly believed Kevin was dead.

The second dream I remember in less detail, but it involved my dad firing a shoulder mounted rocket launcher into an apartment window and killing two people. They were bad people and we all knew that, but it was disturbing on a number of levels.

Well, those are my dreams for the last two weeks. Maybe my dinosaur familiar will visit me again tonight.

01:22 p.m.

My tyrannosaurs rex came back last night. It’s been a while since he’s turned up and while my sleeping habits mean I’ve remembered more bits of dreams lately, and many of them have been unpleasant in one way or another, I’m curious about his return.

In the vein of misery and violence in my dreams, he was far closer than ever before. The other two times (I think, I can only remember one at present) the T. rex was there, but stalking. It was the threat of presence not a giant tooth filled mouth and snapping jaws or clawed hand. This time it was. I hit the snooze button way too many times to remember more of the dream in detail other than at some point we were closed up somewhere, a giant tree trunk, some sort of room (I have no idea) and the rex’s head coming in through the opening, wood splintering around it as it forced it in deeper and one of its arms coming through the hole at the same time.

I know it was scary at the time and I know I associate him with anxiety, but at the same time I was kind of happy when I woke up. I don’t have recurring dreams, but it’s fun it have such a distinct recurring character… Of course, it would be more fun if he wasn’t trying to kill me.

I’ve always been fascinated by the concept of totem animals. For the same reason that people like the idea of a guardian angel or a fairy godmother, having someone looking out for you, guiding you is a comforting though. For whatever reason, animals seem less absurd than other guiding creatures to me. I’ve never tried that hard or had much luck finding a totem. I have such strong attachments to certain animals already and I can’t get them out of my head enough to let it happen naturally, even if it still ended up being one of those animals.

Totems recently came up in a comic I was reading. The woman discovered her totem was a sting ray. It was such a different animal than I had ever considered. I vaguely wonder if a T. rex could be a shadow totem for me, though it is strange in so many ways. What does it mean if one of your totems is already extinct?

It's odd to be writing about this. I'm not really new-agey. I have more or less sorted out my spirituality for the time being and I'm good with it. The bits of new age that fascinate me are the vaguely historical things. Obviously, a lot of people into new age are looking for a connection to the past and a connection to the earth that is hard to find. The ritualistic aspects are appealing. Except for the fact that it all seems too cheesy to me.

In the way that I find meditation or yoga relaxing and fulfilling so long as people don't get too flaking on me. I'm too practical and scientific to be superstitious or to believe in my horoscope too seriously. And yet, I am not unwilling to believe that things are quite so simple as we they look on the surface.

And again, the idea of something there to guide me occasionally is comforting. I don't expect ravens to swoop down and dive bomb me if I'm about to walk off a cliff, but my dreams often point to underlying things in my life and if I could identify a totem animal and it showed up in my dreams, it would be nice. Even if only as access to my subconscious.

12:47 p.m.

When people talk about things showing up that they have never seen before or all of them happening on one day, I'm always a little skeptical. Blame it on the combined fact that I know too much about how the brain works and that I can't just shut up and focus on the important part of the conversation. (I mean really, why does it irritate me so much that people don't know that they walked past that state/sign/car/whatever every day for weeks and then they learned something or saw something else or whatever happened and now they notice it all the time and think it's following them!)

Now see, that was an entire digression about why when I say that images of cities, intentionally shaped cities, popped up today, I did not think it was a coincidence, but recognize instead that any number of people could have see all those things and not thought it was odd. I don't think it's odd, I just happen to like maps and the design of urban spaces to a point where take long digressions from work just to examine them. The album cover of one of the cds at the archive today was a photo taken by Georg Gerster. I haven't been able to find the fascinating photo. It was a city that was designed like a celtic cross with equal arms. All his photos are fantastic, and his book The Past From Above looks well worth reading.

But I was reminded again just how much I love the architecture of the city as a whole. Not just individual buildings but the way that buildings move and form together. I love old maps where you can see the winding of the streets. Even modern maps, though I find the colour and additional information distracting from the basic layout show the strange blueprint of where old and new parts of cities merge and interact.

I've gone off to look for photos so many times while writing this already rambling post that I've stumbled on something else fascinating: Kowloon Walled City. It doesn't exist now which is too bad. Perhaps not so bad for the residents, though one wonders where they ended up living when it was torn down, but what a fascinating place. Ah cities.

This is such a weird post. I'm kind of all over the place. I take ten words to say two. Blah. I'm happy though. I'm working and that makes things better. Not perfect, but better indeed.

And Hell's grim tyrant...
08:14 p.m.

All I want to do is smoke their cigarettes. I want to sit there and pluck that stupid white paper out of their hands and inhale and cough and feel myself die a little because I'm so fucking tired of all of it.

01:44 a.m.

As Rachel pointed out today, tomorrow (really today, but you know, having not gone to bed yet it doesn't count) is a Monday and the First of the month. What a good day to start on resolutions and things. I actually tried last week without the push of any of those chronological signs and had a terrible accident on my bike. All the same, perhaps this week will be more successful.

It is only two and a half months until Alex and Grace's wedding. It's not even that I want to get in shape for that, but it is a finite goal time. And I certainly would like to feel better than I do now. I've just seen all of my friends (for the most part) who will be there this weekend, it would be fun to show up and totally wow them.

I would also feel so good about myself if I started exercising regularly and ate better. I always want it all to happen so fast and it's so hard to stay focused on something that takes so long.

02:44 a.m.

"Are you okay?"

Yes. Because no means talking about it and thinking too much about how I can't fix it and how lousy I feel all the time and I can't change any of it. I can't make it better, so what is the point in talking about it. But with too much liquor and the only people who I never really doubt I'll cry like a child, which I won't even do when I'm alone and I'll hate it even more the next day because I still can't fix any of it.

She was stuffing herself with the letters on the page like an unhappy child stuffing itself with chocolate.
04:10 p.m.

It's been cooler the last few days. It's not cold or even close, but the shift from mid to high 30s to mid to high 20s has put me at ease in a way that Autumn always does. Without question I love the Fall. The magic of the burning trees, the warm days and cool nights, weather that is enough to wear cozy clothes, but not to feel cold. There's something about autumn-time that is like a blanket full of friends and quiet and ease.

I was recently directed to this website/magazine that has reminded me exactly why I had great plans to host dinner parties. The relaxed dinner with friends, but with a slightly more formal air than the impromptu gatherings when I normally have dinner with friends.

I'm thinking four to six people (four seems a bit small, and I could do bigger than six, but I don't really have enough chairs for six as it is). Anyway, a regularly circulating crowd of people once a month or every few weeks. It'll help me use my dining room more often and hopefully it will encourage me to get it into shape (since right now it is just my dumping ground for things).

Besides, some music, nice food, nice wine. I can send out invitations (because everyone loves to get mail). I also really like the idea of having a guestbook. I could put the invitation or the menu on the first page and have any comments or whatever following it. I also really love the idea of favours. What exactly I don't know, though I do love the idea of Duke of Kent trading cards or something.

Perhaps one of the difficulties is figuring out who to invite. A good balance of people and conversation. In some ways, dinner parties work better when you know lots of different people, whereas almost all of my friends know each other. Still, I'm thinking for the first one maybe Rachel, Kev, Marlon, and Jules. They all know each other, so it wouldn't be that special, but it would be a nice excuse to see Juliana, who I don't get to see often, and there wouldn't be any awkwardness. If it's cool enough, I might make ratatouille for the main dish. I'll figure out the rest later.

I don't know, there's something about living in your home that I think having a dinner party is a great way to do that.

12:02 p.m.

I'm not sure that I'm fit for human company. Normally, I manage not to be grouchy and miserable around people. I leave or plan my day around it somehow. I guess most of the time being with people cheers me up too.

Friday morning I had tea with Rachel and Maggie and by the time we were finished I was in one of the most terrible moods ever. I went home and spent most of the four or five hours I had until I saw Rachel again getting out of that mood.

I only mention it because instead of being in a lousy mood during the day when I was at home with no one but the cats it was for most of the evening when I went to the match. I was short tempered and on occasion mean. It was horrible. They all took it fairly well, but I can't keep doing this. And I don't even know what's wrong with me. That's the worst of it I think. I don't really know what's bothering me.

I could guess, but even thinking it in my head to write it down it seems wrong. I'm unhappy and it shows in so many ways. Rachel asked if it was ennui earlier today and I guess it's the closest to the truth, but I don't know. I'm miserable and tired of being miserable.

01:21 a.m.

I know a quick fix won't work. I couldn't manage a quick fix anyway. One hour at a time, one day at a time? Could I manage that. I'd still want chocolate and oreos and fritos... and yet I'm going to feel like crap tomorrow for all the chocolate and fritos I've had today.

Still, it's not like it's a complicated problem. Don't eat more than x. Exercise to decrease x even more and you will lose y. Because x+x=less y. I know, I'm weird for not saying the words and turning it into a math equation. I don't know why. Why the hell do I do anything.

I want to kick ass.

I want to be tough because that's sexy. I want to look deadly. I want to be deadly. Bike forty clicks? Sure. Swim five k? No problem. Run? As far as you want.

But you know what the problem is? It's not getting to the gym or eating right, because right now I can't get out of bed. I want to go for a bike ride tomorrow. My clothes are set out, I almost went out earlier. But when that alarm goes off tomorrow am I going to hit snooze for an hour before I just turn it off and stay in bed until 1pm again?

It's Wednesday. Saturday, I'm supposed to go to a roller derby match. I want to go. The tickets have been set aside. These people kick ass. They are some of them the toughest, sexiest women I've seen. I think I'd even like to join them. Tomorrow, I'm going for a bike ride or I'm not going to the match. I don't have to do anything crazy, but I have to go. Now, while I'm at it, I might as well give it my all. Halfway through a brutal track at pump this morning I had a sort of epiphany. "While I'm here, I might as well give it my all. If I just do this half-assed what's the point?" But I'm not thinking about that now. I'm just getting up tomorrow and I'm going to go for a bike ride. Maybe win myself another bruise to match the killer one on my left thigh from nearly wiping out on Sunday.

I haven't been so proud of anything in a long time as I am of that bruise.

I want to over think this, but I'm not going to. Get up and go for a bike ride. That's it. Nothing about food, nothing about how far or hard I have to go, just going.

Moving on to problems I do have some more control over.

I think I'm a little bit in love with you... but only if you're a little bit in love with me.

10:07 p.m.

It's stupid for me to feel sorry for myself. I know it is, but it doesn't change it. I shouldn't even bother to write this down. Fuck.
06:29 p.m.

I'm ten kinds of not okay right now. I thought it was going away and it'll pass for awhile, but it always comes back. I can't tell if it's the lack of work or if it's the counting people. Counting people isn't helping. It takes all of my mental energy. All I want to do is come home and sleep, but I feel like it's not just that.

I'm tired. I can't keep pouring my love into people that don't exist. I want a real human person to touch me and hold me who I can kiss and nestle into their arms.

I want to get up early tomorrow and go for a bike ride. It will make me feel better to have some sort of set day, but it's almost one now and I don't know that sleep is going to be any time soon coming. I don't want to eat except terrible things and I don't want to do anything except drink and take a knife to my wrist. I was drunk last week and all I wanted to do was smoke Rachel and Kevin's cigarettes. I am not okay.

12:46 a.m.

I feel wretched and twisted up inside. I feel hungry and don't want to eat. I want to take a blade to my skin so that I can see at least one of the hurts in my life. I hate this. I want to bleed on the world.

There's something absurd about punctuating a blog. About having to consciously tell it that you want this paragraph and the one above to stand separate with two little triangles and the letters 'br'. Maybe it just means I'm not that far gone yet that I still want to.

Maybe if I went completely mad I would still punctuate my blog posts.

07:52 a.m.

Somehow, I managed to forget the power of books. It is so common place to describe oneself as being 'lost in a book' it is taken for granted and what it actually means is quite forgotten.

In the last week or two I have polished off two books in short order and am working on a third. The first was a stylized non-fiction about the OED, titled The Professor and the Madman.

The second was the famous detective novel Gaudy Night by Dorothy Sayers. It is one that Rachel has encouraged me to read for years and a number of others have highly recommended, but it is only just now that I have picked it up (and then devoured).

Part of the reason for the reading has been the half hour trip out to Ancaster twice a week (four times if I don't get a ride home). And that easily leads to reading in the evenings which is wonderful. It has been some time since I have been able to read without consciously thinking about the act of reading, without noticing that I am reading while doing it. Instead, I find myself drawn away for hours, or nearly missing my stop, because of the happy flight of my mind.

I am eagerly reading Deathless by Catherynne Valente and hoping to continue the streak once it is finished. My friend in Oxford (who I have been thinking about a great deal with those two books bringing up the city all the time) recommended a number of things to me in her last letter and I think perhaps I will try some Dickens next. That or the second book in the Inkheart novels, which Rachel has already lent me.

Placet.
04:40 p.m.

Yes, it's almost two in the afternoon and I nominally got up an hour ago (to go get fritos and get back into bed and eat them). I don't know if I should be really concerned about my unwillingness to get out of bed the last few days or just recognize that in the rudderless state of semi-employment this is just how life goes.

I do need to lay off the fritos.

01:45 p.m.

I've been writing a post in my head about the troubles of finding the things you love too early in life. I don't know if I'm being over dramatic, I still don't know that I won't get to stay in Hamilton, but I feel like that hope is slowly slipping away.

That was the post I was going to write. Now I'm not sure what I want to say exactly. I'm tired and miserable. This job counting people is exhausting in so many ways I couldn't have imagined. I really want a full time job. Or at least a permanent job that pays well enough. I'm sick of this two different jobs at once, taking the bus out to Ancaster. It takes an hour or more to get there and back and I'm only there for three hours. It verges on the absurd.

And yet, the odds of that permanent job being anywhere but here are increasingly good. All I keep thinking is that I'm finally starting to put artwork up, to get stuff sorted the way I want it.

I'm so tired.

My other self is a mansion; just living in this one until it grows cold.
08:39 p.m.

Plank for 34 seconds today. But I think I should get a bonus we did plank in bodypump today and side plank. Does that mean I'm already stronger or I'm fatigued and I'll be even stronger tomorrow?

I've done the dishes already and the coffee table is cleared off. The dining room table is covered in picture frames and I haven't decided yet whether or not I'm going to do that tonight or not. But, I think for a project I get a bye on the table.

This isn't a very exciting post. It's just an attempt to keep myself accountable. Tomorrow, I need to go check on all of my hunt stuff so I can finish all of that.

08:43 p.m.

Okay, so, five days in on my new resolutions. I'm doing okay. I did the dishes, cleared off the tables the first night. The tables have remained clear, but I haven't been quite so good with the dishes. I did them last night and I'm doing them now (between commercials). So, hopefully after a few more weeks it'll be a more regular thing.

Now, because I'm doing just so stellar, I've decided to add another daily challenge. (Hopefully, I'm not overloading my plate.) I want to try doing this plank challenge. I figure it takes almost no time a day and it is one of the things I have the most trouble with in the BodyPump/BodyFlo classes. If I practice the muscles will get stronger and hopefully I will be able to do better in class.

So, today I took my baseline, which was a whopping 20 seconds, but that's okay. It's a start right? I couldn't do a plank off my knees when I started the classes at the gym. SO! I think I'm going to make five minutes a goal. That seems totally insane to me, but it wouldn't be a challenge if it wasn't, right.

What I really want to try and do is exercise every day, but I think every day seems like doing way too much. But hopefully, I can at least add going for a bike ride Monday morning next week, so I'll be doing Monday, Wednesday (Pump), and Friday (Flo). And if I get Monday going, then add another day, etc.

Trying to do baby steps. (Even if I really just want to go whole hog... but I think I end up giving up too quickly like that. Starting small. Starting small.

10:30 p.m.

I was thinking of making a resolution for this month. I know it's May (not January) and it's the 5th already (not the 1st), but hey, if I have to wait until the first of June and certainly all the way until January, that's a lot of time to waste.

See, it's been a month now since Maggie has move out and while the place does not look horrendous it is apparent that I no longer have to worry about inconveniencing anyone else by my mess. You see, I'm a neat person when I live with others because I hate the thought of imposing my mess on them. Now, it's not really that messy in here, but I like the idea of being able to have people over at the drop of a hat and that does require a certain amount of constant cleanness.

Now, that the dining room table is scattered with things I've abandoned there isn't something that will stop me from having people over. I would prefer it to be clear though. The counter strewn with dishes (not really that many, they're just well spread out) is about 50% up there with things that I don't want to subject guests to. Not that many people make it to the kitchen after all. The thing that bothers me most is Dido's (one of the cats I'm sitting) fur all over the end of the couch. Honestly, that doesn't just bug me about company, I half don't want to sit on my own couch. I think I might see if the towel works better with her than it did with Sunday and maybe then I can just wash it when I wash the one on my office chair.

That digression is a little besides the point (though I do need to vacuum). Just before I moved out of my place on Herkimer to the Duke of Kent I was getting a good routine down about cleaning. When I moved here it was impossible to maintain that routine and I didn't mind too much because I shared the cleaning with Mags and so it just wasn't as much effort to have a completely clean house. Also, there was that desire to keep it clean for her sake which meant I didn't tend to abandon things in the living room often. There's a blog I like about this couple fixing up their home. One October, John, one half of the pair, resolves to make the bed every day because they've gotten out of the habit and are now in the process of trying to sell the house.

I think it might be time I try something like that too. I do make my bed, that hasn't changed a whole lot since University when at least if my bed was made my room felt sort of calm. But, I do need to make sure the dishes are done and it would be good if the living room and dining room tables were clear of things when I was done with them. That's not a lot to ask of me, nor do I think it's overload, since I am sometimes really good at doing the dishes every day and I used to be great at putting things back when I was done with them. So, for the next three plus weeks, I'm going to try and do that in an effort to get myself back on track with maintaining an apartment on my own.

06:08 p.m.

Oh, 2 a.m. It has been a while since we've been properly acquainted, much in the same as it has been a while since I have written here. Once again, I have no idea why I'm here. What is it that compels me to inhabit this space. One I will regret tomorrow, but is ultimately less permanent than the other. I may not regret the permanent one, but I may also look at it and feel very different in the light of 11 a.m. or 4 p.m. or 8:13 p.m. on the summer solstice.

I love the anonymity of this hour. When many are awake, but no one you can call, not predictably. Planes still rumble overhead and trucks thunder down the street and somewhere a dog barks at the rustling of a bush. But I am alone despite all the indications to the contrary. And it is a strange thing how much we can yearn for a solitary life when we are truly such social animals. Do humans live in packs? I wonder how anthropology classifies us. Are we solitary animals who regularly join others or are we pack animals who do not live in close proximity to one another. No doubt there's some other grouping that I am unaware of and of course it really doesn't matter because these are thoughts spilling out onto a page unprovoked and unhindered. It's a miracle this makes sense half the time.

I should stop here. I'm now trying to figure out, concretely, why I'm here. What has driven me to record any of this. What am I hoping to get out of this that won't seem so important at 8 a.m. when I wish I were still asleep, or 2 p.m. when I will have no sense of this feeling at all, or even 7:33 when I will feel this the way you try and remember a dream or the name of the person you just met.

I should sleep and perhaps in the quiet rush of sounds from the cool night air the answer will settle in my ear.

02:11 a.m.

Six weeks, three days.

It'll suck for so many reasons and be the best thing ever for almost as many. What I know I look forward to the most is the sleep. Uninterrupted, undisturbed, predictable, and peaceful. Obviously, it could be worse. I could be working, but I'm so goddam tired and I think I could survive if the sex was loud it's the twenty minutes of giggling and laughing afterwards that is what really does me in.

I wish I was a different person and it didn't bother me. I wish I slept like the dead. I wish she'd turn her light off.

I wish I didn't feel this much anger and frustration towards someone I like so much the rest of the time. I worry this whole thing will mar our friendship and that I still won't get to see her. That she'll just dissolve into couple land. I suppose maybe I should thinking about making new friends, the problem is there are already so many I don't get to see.

This is an incoherent, rambly sort of post. I'm giving up now. Going to try and go back to sleep, I guess.

12:16 a.m.

One of my best memories if reading was sitting on the third floor of my house on Stinson, tucked up on the black and white striped sectional thoroughly engrossed in Two Against the North by Farley Mowat. There was a clear blue morning out the skylight above and someone called up to tell me it was time to go (now I can't remember whether it was to school or to camp or where exactly), but I remember struggling to believe that it was warm and welcoming outside. That to leave the house I would need only shoes and not a giant fur-lined parka, hat, mits, boots and a team of sled dogs.

Perhaps it is because I feel that memory so strongly that I notice when I get tricked into the climate of a book. I feel cooler now, more willing to believe that it is a chilling -12 C outside and with the wind somewhere in the neighbourhood of -30 C. An hour ago, I would have easily insisted that it was a sweltering 30-35 and that the humidity would turn anyone into a puddle in seconds. My return to reality has a little to do with finishing The Great Gatsby, but also because fall arrives at the end of the book too. The chapter where it is impossibly hot and they all go into the city had me convinced that I was overdressed and wishing for a mint julep of my own.

Gatsby is an odd sort of book. I find it common with books from the early part of the 1900s that I find the direction of their narratives odd or at least a little meandering. It's as though they need to fill up the first third of the book before getting to the meat of it. I imagine it has more to do with conventions of the time or conventions now (possibly just our shorter attention spans), but it always makes me a little surprised when the action starts, as if the books were going to meander through unconnected events for the course of the story and I was along for a lazy trip down the river.

It's odd for another reason. My dad said when I mentioned I was reading it, that the book ends just when it should be starting. I can see what he means. The book's not really about Gatsby and so it's strange that it ends with his death. Carraway's finally learned a few things and is really about to start his life when you reach the end.

I enjoyed it. More than I thought I would when I started it. The language isn't so fluid as Mann or Nabokov. It doesn't have the same touch, but at the same time, the story was the right sort of engaging. When I grew tired of the parties they went somewhere else. When it seemed nothing would happen everything happened.

I'm glad too, that I have now read more than half of the books that structure Reading Lolita in Tehran. I read it some years ago having never read any of them and determined when I finished that I would like to read the books and authors she uses to frame her memoir and then reread it. To do it properly, I should probably reread both Lolita and Daisy Miller, the latter for sure, but at least having read them, once I've read the required Austen and Washington Square I can complete that challenge. (One which I doubted I would ever wish to do, because I didn't think I would much enjoy any of the books she discusses. It's pleasant when wrong is nice.)

I think now I'll probably borrow Pride and Prejudice but before I read it I think I want to read something else. Last night I felt very strongly about reading some fantasy. I think it'll probably be American Gods by Neil Gaiman. This is an unexpected decision (sort of like Gatsby and James) because I started reading it and was so thoroughly unimpressed that I think I stopped reading after one chapter. However, I'm going to give it a go, unless Rachel has the first of Steven King's Dark Tower series. Rachel mentioned something to me about American Gods recently that made me think with a different perspective I might enjoy it more than I did the first time.

They were careless people, Tom and Daisy - they smashed up things and creatures and then retreated back into their money or their vast carelessness, or whatever it was that kept them together, and let other people clean up the mess they had made...
04:27 p.m.

Motivation is an elusive thing. Goals are terrific and the reward for reaching them very promising, but the motivation in between is often lacking. It is, realistically, the hardest thing I struggle with, because though I would like to be fitter and feel healthier (and who'm I kidding, look both of those things), I rarely find the motivation to get even part of the way there.

I've tried that whole reward thing, but I can never really come up with anything that will ultimately get me off the couch (or whatever it may be). Partly, it's because I can almost always rationalize my way out of it - I don't need it that badly - or what have you. Small rewards don't work for me precisely because they're small. And ultimately, small doesn't matter, I'm used to not having small things or I end up buying them for myself regardless.

And so, I'm thinking about a double birthday present. One-hundred and seventy-five pounds and five hundred dollars to spend as I like. I can get a cryptex or a new couch or a nice carpet (which I will be entirely without once Maggie leaves). $500 and 175 lbs. What a present!

I think the trick will be sticking to it. And so, tomorrow morning, I'm going to take $500 out of the bank. Put it in an envelope and give it to Maggie and write May 18th on it. And I'll just have to deserve it.

Next week I will lose 2 lbs.

05:40 p.m.

I wonder how I will remember this period in my life in fifty years.

Will it be fraught with worry and unknown as my journal entries would suggest. Full of questioning and decisions, resolution, and other things never really followed through on.

Or, will I remember that while I was unemployed I made advent calendars and board games (this one's in progress), books, and did other little projects to fill the days with meaning and fun. Will I remember that I cooked and baked. Maybe, in fact, this will be the time I cite when friend's children ask when I developed my world famous cookie recipes.

I made blueberry muffins and pizza today. Last week it was lime curd thumbprint cookies and tuscan white beans with sausage and tomato. I made caramels and marshmallows over Christmas and discovered the tastiest quinoa salad I've ever had (not that I've had a lot of them, mind you).

Perhaps not so much my famous cooking or baking (though I would hope that I do that for the rest of my life), but the time when I launched my outstanding genealogy career by signing up for ancestry's expert centre.

Or, I will look back in many years and it will be something completely different that shapes this time. Something that hasn't happened yet or something that right now seems inconsequential or hardly formed.

Who can really say how they will value things in the future. I hope it's positively.

07:25 p.m.

Today I was possessed with the unremitting desire to read. (I know, a terrible life.)

I remark on it because it has been a while since I have actually felt this strongly and even longer since I did anything about it. Instead of deciding that nothing on my book shelf was suitable. Vowing to borrow something from Rachel the next time I was over. Or intending to stop by the library. I wandered over to Maggie's bookshelf and picked up Thomas Mann's Death in Venice.

I've never read anything by Mann, but I'm familiar enough with the name to know that he's well thought of. Often that would lead me running in the other direction, but it was so short I figured it really couldn't be that bad. In fact, it was terrific. It seemed like a not so odd combination of Henry James and Vladimir Nabokov. James I wanted to enjoy, but found a bit... off (or something) and Nabokov, who I loved. Mann has a similar way with words to Nabokov, but the tone and setting seemed so strongly of James to me.

What struck me the most about the book was the allure of Venice. Even plague ridden! I don't know if it is because I was there or if Mann's depiction of the grimy mystery and grandeur of the city is just so spot on that it made me want to start planning a vacation tomorrow.

Obviously, there is a subject parallel between Death and Nabokov's most famous work. Oddly, I thought that there was an even closer parallel in James, but unless I'm forgetting, I've only read Daisy Miller and that doesn't fit. I swear I'd read something about an older man and the younger object of his affections. Regardless, like Nabokov, Mann manages to turn a story about illicit love/infatuation into a far more nuanced tale that speaks much about the human condition.

While on the topic of subject parallels, I am reminded that I would like to read James's The Aspern Papers continuin my Venetian theme. I would like to continue reading and even if I'm not finishing books in a day, I could still keep it up. The problem is always having the right book at the right time (and having it on hand). I'm considering The Great Gatsby next, as I feel it is a glaring hole in my reading (of which I have many).

I am also marking these lists, not because I think they're necessarily good or right, but as inspiration for those occasions when I can't think of anything or am on my way to the library and need some ideas.
Books You Must Read
Our Hundred Best Books along with a clever introduction on reading.
Another list of All Time 100 Novels
1001 Books You Must Read Before You Die: inspiration in completeness?
Aaaand a quick list of classics, most of which were part of school readings and the ones that weren't I should probably read. (And it might not be a bad idea to reread some of the ones I already read.)

The strange craft... with that peculiar blackness which is found elsewhere only in coffins - it suggests silent, criminal adventures in the rippling night, it suggests even more strongly death itself, the beir and the mournful funeral, and the last silent journey.
11:38 p.m.

This video should be my mantra for the coming year.

Maybe I should take one of these a month and work on doing just that. I can combine it with the Happiness Project thing. The first month of the Happiness Project is to set resolutions, which I did the last time. This week it is to make concrete goals. I think this ties well into the whole theme of this video. Really the whole thing is very complimentary to itself.

My first resolution was to be happier. I get unhappy when I bad mouth people.
Goal 1: Only kind words.
I'm happy when my home is happy.
Goal 2: Put things away. Buy flowers once a month.
Having adequate money will make me happy and projects make me happy. I need to get in gear about doing the genealogy stuff.
Goal 3: Finish reading book, check for places to advertise.
At the same time. I often over plan.
Goal 4: Fuck the plan, put an ad in a magazine by the end of the month.

My second resolution was to be okay with how I am feeling. This is a tough one and I'm not really sure how to tackle it. But I guess I'll give it a go (fuck the plan).
Goal 5:Write 1-3 sentences a day about how I'm feeling, what's good, what's bad, what's eating at me, what I'm grateful for.

Resolution number three: Ask for what I want from people.
Goal 6: One thing a day, express your opinion when you wouldn't normally. Pick a time. Say no. Plan something. Choose something.

4. Accept that not everyone is like you.
Goal 7: Do something the opposite way from what you normally would.

Don't be a martyr; sneaky fairies have more fun (and better outfits).
Goal 8: Pretend you are a house elf/guardian angel/sneaky fairy and do something that will make someone's life easier once a day.

And lastly:Be the fairy in your own life.
Goal 9: Make a list of things that make you happy. Add to it as necessary. Do one thing on it purposefully. (Even better, find a way to have someone do it for you.)

That's nine goals. That shouldn't be too difficult to do each day.

“Don’t let the perfect be the enemy of the good.” [ie. Fuck the plan.]
12:49 a.m.

Ah, yes, the great time of resolutions.

I almost never formally make resolutions. For one, I'm probably too afraid of failing and to make a formal resolution and then have people ask me about it when I haven't done anything is worse. (I recognize the self fulfilling nature of this - without accountability there is little motivation.)

I haven't quite decided to make resolutions yet... or just maybe not what all of my resolutions should be. One of them is to be happier. I have spent far too much of the last year being miserable about any number of things, but mostly uncertain that anyone would actually want to spend time with me. Well, no one wants to spend time with someone who is negative and unhappy. I don't want to spend time with me when I'm like that. And so, I'm going to do my best to not be. This is a complicated goal. There are lots of things I can do to make myself happy and there are lots of times when no matter what I do I'm not happy, but that's okay too. There's nothing wrong with that, but I should try not to wallow in it.

Maybe that's resolution number two - to be okay with how I am feeling, no matter what the feeling, but not to marinate in it (unless it's happiness or joy, that can marinate away!).

A lot of this is being honest with myself about what I want and need. I was going to write that I need to figure that out, but I think I largely know. I want to feel valued and important in people's lives. I want to do creative and stimulating things. I want to make other people happy (probably because I'm happier when other people are). I want my friends to express their love and appreciation for me. I need to accept that they do that on their own terms not on mine and that it's more special if they do it in their own way.

Ask for what I want from people. Don't expect them to know. I'm terrible at this. I don't need to analyze why. I've spent the last year explaining it to myself. I need to ask for what I want from people and be prepared that it won't all be on my terms.

Accept that not everyone is like you. This is good and bad. They will not remember every little detail. This means they won't notice you washed the dishes or remember to thank you. But, it also means they don't care that the thing on their desk moved four centimeters or you finished the last of the x, because it's not that big a deal. More can be made or bought or acquired.

Don't feel like a martyr because no one notices. Enjoy being hte little fairy behind the scenes.

Don't forget to be the fairy in your own life. Do all the things that make you happy. Make yourself little surprises. Find ways to let other people surprise you even if you have to set it up.

01:14 p.m.

In twenty-four hours I will begin to count down the last minutes of the first decade of the 21st Century. I just looked at the entry I have for approximately this time last year and I wonder how much different my mindset is this time than it was then.

Again, it occurs to me that by my birthday I could lose between 20-25 pounds. I'm not big into making resolutions and this year is no different, but I would like the difference to be that I do make some life changes this year.

It's hard to tell if I'm in a better place mentally. There are some things I am worse on and other things I'm better on. I do believe I have more personal drive available to me, more reserves of energy. I hope to prove myself right. They always say to give yourself rewards for reaching goals. I always have a hard time coming up with things, but I think I may actually have some.

Whenever Maggie moves out whether it indeed be in April or if it's not for another year or four, there are a great number of things I will need. I had found a perfect shower curtain and then they all sold out. I get the sense that they're not going to make any more either. It's very frustrating, I've never actually seen a decor item I wanted so much.

But there are a few other things I could get. There are some tea towels that I quite like (the shower curtain was not dissimilar). I would also like some new bed linens. I've been thinking about these with the matching grey sheets. I also want new towels (I was going to get yellow to match the shower curtain, but I may have to hold off... or just get them anyway and eventually find a shower curtain to match).

Beyond that there are just a bunch of other things I won't have when she moves out. Maybe that's what I'll do, every five pounds I lose I'll get something off my list. See if that helps. The plan is to go to the pool Monday morning and kick the whole thing off right.

poison in my head behind exactly the same face
11:46 p.m.

It is nothing new that film and theatre are tools of escapism. I've always loved being wrapped up in a these things, especially in other worlds. It used to be that on returning to the real world I found the things I'd seen inspiring, now it just makes me want to hide.

There are lots of things in my life that I should be grateful for. And I am very lucky to be in good health, in good financial straights, to not be oppressed or really in a bad state in any respect that give the majority of the people in the world the right to be unhappy.

And yet, I look at the things in my life that are supposed to make me happy and they hardly do. My family is better, but I still feel like a guest half the time and we never talk. I haven't had a conversation with my dad about anything in ages. My mum and I get along well enough, but it's hard to say the relationship brings me joy and even if it might, I don't get to see her that often and it too often involves things that definitely make me unhappy.

I don't even know if I like my friends half the time. So much about them are things that I know I don't like and I wonder what it is that makes us friends. On good days I have no doubts why I like them and maybe the problem is I see some of them too much and it's impossible to expect people to be shining balls of happiness and light all the time. What it doesn't change is I don't know why any of them like me. I said that to Kevin once and he said he'd hurt me but he's actually the only person I understand where my value to might lie. But Rachel and Maggie don't need me. Certainly, Maggie cares more about someone she's known less than half a year than spending time with me. It's not fair to expect her to be as excited about seeing me, especially when I have no idea why she'd want to spend time with me, but it doesn't change that what I need more than anything right now is for someone to see some sort of value in me. Rachel tells me she loves me all the time, but her lifestyle drives me crazy and except as a bank I don't really know why she's ever needed me.

I drank a shot of whisky two days ago because I was so sick of staring at these walls and feeling like I have no purpose in life. I'm no use to anyone, no one wants to hire me. I feel like if I disappeared it would hardly matter. I know Rachel and Kevin would miss me, but I don't know why exactly Rachel would and two people isn't exactly a ringing cry of endorsement.

I spent half a day wishing I could go somewhere and take a knife to my wrist just so that I would feel something. I was fantasizing about getting a tattoo not for the ink but for the pain of it.

It's not that I expect someone to tell me what my purpose is in life. I mean enough Hollywood movies have convinced me that no is going to, but I'd really like that convenient series of events or epiphanies or whatever so that I could figure it out.

10:14 p.m.

What happens when you tear a strip off your best friends? Do they stop talking to you, do they listen, or do they ignore you? I'm asking hypothetically because I don't know. I'm lousy at it, but I'm starting to feel like it needs to be done.

And yet, what good is it going to do me? Will I feel better? Probably not really. I'll have got something off my mind, but honestly, I'll just feel like a jerk. Fuck. I can't even be bothered to write this out.

I'm just so sick of the cause and effect, bullshit, that no one else seems to see or in the offending party's case, decides to ignore. I don't understand how it is that people live like this. I don't understand why it is that I'm the weird one. I don't want a gold medal or even a gold star. I just don't want to have to worry about other people or feel like I'm watching a train speeding towards a brick wall that no one else can see.

I'm tired of being fucking responsible.

12:41 a.m.

I feel like I don't like anyone I'm friends with. What's worse is, I think it has far more to do with me than it does to do with them. I feel like all I do is pick and complain and find fault even if it's all in my head. I feel like I make my friends feel judged and I hate it.

Realistically, why is anyone friends with me? I'm not funny. I don't really feel kind. I don't think I'm fun. I'm the one who finds jokes inappropriate or feel like we're being too loud. I make them feel uncomfortable because they want to do drugs; for not having their lives in order. What about any of that makes me someone worth hanging out with?

I feel like Maggie hates spending time with me most of the time.

Rachel and I are better than we have been, but I'm back to feeling like her uncool sidekick and like I'm a buzz kill.

The worst part is I feel like I would give up so much more for them than they are willing to for me and I feel like I'm in grade 3 again and I have to pick between friends who are mean and horrible to me.

They're not, but I just don't understand why people like me and I think I'm losing all the likable qualities I might have actually had once upon a time. It's like if we met now would any of us actually still want to hang out with each other?

I just don't know who would want me.

10:43 p.m.

What do I have to offer people?

I'm not sure if I've ever known or ever really believed that there was much. For a while I thought it was information, wisdom, answers, but most people don't want that, they want someone to listen to them and tell them they're right. If I can't do it because I think they're wrong or I can't lie convincingly enough. What do I have to offer?

I just don't have an answer to that question anymore. I use to have that I was a nice person, but I don't even feel like I'm that anymore. Why would anyone want me? I'm reliable. Great. That just means I'm the person people call when they fuck up.

That's not a quality you like about someone. It might be a quality of value. But I don't know why anyone likes me.

I don't think I like me.

12:59 a.m.

What do I really have left to offer anyone? I don't understand why anyone spends time with me other than those who do so out of habit. I feel miserable most of the time, negative all the time. I feel constantly worn down and under attack. I hate that even in what should feel like my home I don't feel comfortable.

I don't know if I was better off without a roommate. I was more inclined to bouts of introspection I couldn't escape easily, but at the same time at least then I was secure in my home, even if it didn't feel comfortable or inviting. Was that the space or because I was in it? Would this quickly dissolve into just as miserable a place if she left?

She's not likely too any time soon and I'm not saying I want her to. I'm just tired right now. So tired and thin. I want to disappear.

10:58 p.m.

For almost twenty-four hours I thought I'd kicked it. I didn't feel miserable. I didn't feel trapped in a house I didn't belong in. It all crumbles so fast and I can't decide if it's as much my fault as anyone elses. It's probably all my fault in fact. It's always my fault.

Say something. Don't say something. It doesn't matter. I hate how I feel when I do. How most of the time I just end up feeling like I had even less right to be upset in the first place. And that the other person now feels bad or maligned. But not saying anything makes me feel ignored and stupid and like I must surely be asking the world of people if it isn't obvious.

God I hope I feel better when I'm done work. I don't think I will, but who knows. I keep thinking about running away. It sounds brilliant, but I'll probably hate it even more. I keep thinking about knives and I keep willing myself not to. To resist just a little longer; to prove to myself that I'm stronger. It's always the worst doing dishes.

I'm going to miss the pattern of work. On the way to the train in the morning say hi to the bus driver who always wishes me a good day. Upstairs, say good morning to the customer service ambassadors. Nod to the man who gets on and off at Burlington (unless he's asleep, which is about 50% of the time). Don't say hi to the man fanning himself in my car, because he never looks at anyone and I assume doesn't want to talk to anyone.

Adore the sight of the city as we come out around the bay. (Lament that it's really too dark to see it anymore now.)

Nod (maybe) to the guy who gets on at Aldershot and sits in the next set of four seats and I will see again on the train home. I know the pattern of the rest of the people who get on around me. If the woman in Burlington sits in the four across the aisle from me, I'll have my usual companion at Appleby. If she doesn't get on (and eat her crinkly breakfast bar) and no one else takes that seat he will sit there. He, being the silent well dressed man who brings his iPod and watches tv or listens to music and sits diagonally to me in our group of four. After he gets on, I don't notice the rest of the people so much. It is rare that we ever have to share for which I'm always grateful even if I hope he won't sit with me and that maybe no one will.

There's the river where they're doing some sort of tests. Neon plastic somethings (nets I assume) cordon off a part of the water. Catching things? Who knows. I imagine scientists (grad students probably) going down to check them during the day. Times when my train isn't rumbling by overhead.

Oakville. I hold my breath to see if too many people will get on. If a delay or some quirk will alter our normal arrangement. People don't like to be at the end (or at least at my end) of the train. Most of the seats only have two people in them on the top floor.

Then there is the Credit River, wide and smooth. It's too dark now for the rowers. It's really too dark for me to see much of anything on either of them in the morning now.

Normally I doze off for a little. The lack of stops and announcements let me lean against the window, bumping my head against the glass as the train rocks and sways. Magically, I always awake as we pull past the Exhibition grounds. I gather my things and head downstairs. Recently they've been changing the platform we get off at and so there is less need to be early, but it's still better.

Doors open. Surge forward. Down the stairs, along the tunnel, out and up onto Front Street. Cars? No? Dash across. Through the parking lot and then across Simcoe and Wellington. Back down. Ah, Timmies. Sometimes I go for the tea. I think mostly I go for the smile.

Half the staff at this one are French and at least three of them are always so friendly. They all seem to be having such a good time. My favourite is Simah. She never fails me, even when I can tell she's tired, there's that warm smile. Followed by warm tea, which can never hurt.

As I walk through the food court, mostly empty and mostly closed except for the booster juice, the place that actually makes eggs to order and today french toast! I smile at the guy sitting eating his breakfast. He's not always there, but he says hi to me when he is.

Almost to work now. Up those winding stairs and across King. Will Frank be outside sweeping the steps? I say good morning if he's there. He will probably make a joke about me getting my fix or ask where his is. Sometimes it's his assistant. Up the elevator and wait for Shannon to let me in.

There's the paper to read and email to check and then around nine the work begins. I look towards 10.30, when it's back to Timmies. Make the rounds. Jennifer. Shawna. Do they want anything today? Medium steeped tea with milk and a peanut butter cookie. Large steeped tea with milk and maybe something else, it's always a gamble. Then to Julie. Twoonie already sitting on the credenza. Large double-double. Always. Without fail.

The middle-aged TTC guy who grins back at me and says good morning and asks me how I am. Always flirts with me a little if he's the only one working. Place my order and back to work. The rest of the day goes by as it does, less pattern, but fairly familiar routine.

End of the day and there's the hike back down to Union. Avoid the people shilling free papers. Will there be other free goodies from guerilla marketers today? Check the clock in Union and see how I'm running. Down the stairs, through the hall, through into the Go Station, battle across the flow of people streaming in from the Subway, punch my ticket if I don't have my pass. Up the stairs and pray the train isn't there yet. That no one's taken my seat if it is. Up the stairs and into the corner, back in the corner always. And then the regulars.

The Jamaican woman who has kids is going to school and working. She looks like she's my age and I wonder how she does it all. Always with her book to study, but usually asleep before we pull out of the station. Other people who are familiar faces, but most of them get off at Clarkson and I'm always grateful.

All my rivers, now brilliantly lit by the sun. I hope there's been rain to see if the one just beyond Oakville station will fill it's spillway. Will it rage as a torrent. I long for it to wash down the branches snagged just at the bridge. It's rarely rained enough to make a difference, but I'm sad when I forget to look up in time to see them anyway. It's like breath of air.

And then the majesty of the harbour. God the city is beautiful. It doesn't matter about anything else that rush of joy and the stunning sweep of water. Sometimes I see the eagles. The last few weeks there is always a heron or two. Swans, white geese, cormorants, and ducks. And then we curve away and the shine of the sun off the water off of Cootes. It's like a sheet of aluminum foil flattened out again. Sometimes it's too bright and it makes my eyes tear, but I stare anyway. The soccer pitch and we move into the city and I know it's time to head downstairs.

The gang slowly forms. The people who sit together on the top floor and laugh and chat. The blind woman with her dog who always just wants to lie down. The man with the shoes in his bag. And so many other faces I have gotten so used to seeing. I haven't even named them all.

And then I walk home. The two guys on their bicycles passing me at some point on Duke. Sometimes there's only one. Check the mail and up the stairs. And there's Simon and sure enough, here comes Sunday. And the pattern slowly ends. The familiar faces coming and going. And in one more day. I'll see none of them again.

09:52 p.m.

I don't know what I'm going to do when I'm done this job. I mean, the plan is to have the best unpaid leave of absence from the working world ever! Which now that I write it, I realize is also completely untrue. Other people might plan road trips or do crazy experimental art projects where they wear the same clothes for a year and only eat for a dollar a day while writing the great national novel.

Instead, my goal is to not become a depressed lump who stays home all day and reads the akadin, sleeps, and progressively gains even more weight. In fact, I will do the opposite. Get up each day and go for a bike ride (new bike!) and cook good, healthy food, and work on all of those things that I never feel like doing because I get up at 5.30 am and have simply lost the motivation to do most things when I get home.

There was a hiatus here wherein I chatted with a friend who called and now I'm not so miserable. Which is good. I've been miserable so much lately, I'd like to not be. I keep trying not to be and I think I'm successful most of the time, but it's hard to keep up. And the 'fake it 'til you make it' approach doesn't work all the time.

I feel like I'm losing for free.

08:55 p.m.

She loses weight by being disgustingly happy and is successful. I lose a few pounds by being depressed and then gain it all back when I feel better. Fine not all of it and I'm glad she's happy, but blarg.

I shouldn't complain. I haven't put all my weight back on. I've still lost a few pounds and if I'm lucky still managing to stay under 200. Slow and steady right? I want to look like a fucking rock star.

Ha! Even if I was tiny I still have the face of a pre-Raphaelite muse. There's nothing edgy or tough about me.

I'm such a freaking pity part lately. Stupid everything. I want to get this job in Toronto so I can go away and disappear. Get lost in the big city and never be seen again.

I've always wanted to just disappear.

10:12 p.m.

People don't want to keep secrets. If they say they do, they don't mean it. Even if they've done something horrendous, there's usually some terrible burning desire to confide in someone. Maybe it's for exoneration. Maybe telling someone relieves the guilt of carrying it by yourself. That someone else knows means it's not such a terrible thing.

But no one wants to keep secrets. People are terrible at it. If you do something and tell no one. Unless anyone has reason to look into your involvement (ie. some criminal act) no one would have any reason to know. But people are dying to be caught. They write things down, the give hints. Maybe some people like to see how far they can get before people realize, but honestly, I think that's still just another excuse to be found out.

No one has any reason to come looking for this. I've never told anyone that I have a blog. I've never given the address to a single person. I forget it exists half the time. But, ultimately, I probably long to be found out. Otherwise, why would I post it online where anyone could read it if they found it?

09:47 p.m.

Every few months something reminds me of the missed connections pages on craigslist. I never expect to find one for me (though I would be lying if I said I didn't hope), but there's something about them that is strangely addictive.

People, giving themselves up to fate. Hoping that the cosmos will take this as a sign and somehow show them the way to someone they know nothing about and probably have little in common with.

I shouldn't be so cynical. Maybe it works.

I think about writing fake ones. Partly for all the other people who read them just to live hopefully through others. Partly to see what sort of response they might illicit... if any.

Maybe I hope magically fate will provide what I can't find.

Going to find me a volcano that's all mine

10:17 p.m.

48 days.

I'm so close. And now I'm beginning to panic. What if I can't get a job? What if I have to move? Sure moving would be an exciting adventure if it was far away, but I could barely handle being away for school.

I keep joking that my fall back is treasure hunting (designing them, not going on them), but maybe I shouldn't joke? I don't know, could I really make it into a viable business. I'd probably be self-employed, which honestly doesn't appeal that much, but at the same time it might be terrific. There's this company that runs hutns all over the US and also in Europe, but they don't appear to offer them in Canada. They seem to have a sort of franchise option... or I could just go it on my own. I don't know. Am I nuts?

I should sleep. Worry about this when school is over or something.

01:18 a.m.

77 days.

I've been playing around with my tarot cards. I asked for them to tell me about Connor and flipped over a card. They gave me Temperance and told me to wait.

12:28 a.m.

98 days.

If I make school and my health a priority. Not television or the internet, what is there really to stop me from sailing through the next fourteen weeks.

For the first time in my entire life, I will be done school with no serious intention of returning at least not unless it is for fun. And in fourteen weeks I could weigh almost 180 pounds... something I haven't weighed in nearly two years and well on my way to fit and healthy.

I'd like to be able to swim 2km without stopping and when it is first warm enough I want to be able to bike to the top of the mountain without stopping.

98 days and counting...

10:42 p.m.

We roll again around this time and I wonder how it will all come around 365 days from now. Will I be different? Will I have changed? Will it be for the better? I hate the thought that we may come to this time again and I won't be pleased with the changes in my life, that I may not have changed at least in none of the ways I might have wanted to.

It would be better of course if I simply weren't afraid.

A lot of this is because I'm in a funk. It's twenty-two minutes to midnight on new years and I have maneuvered myself into being at home alone, though this is, of my available options, what I would like most. In fact, I'm so tired that if it weren't midnight I think I'd be in bed already.

But, a good night's rest and this will all be gone. I will get up tomorrow and all will be better. And I will accomplish my goals and all will be good.

There are strange things done in the land of the midnight sun... that would make your blood run cold.

11:05 p.m.

I realized recently that I feel constantly under attack. That what dreams of dinosaurs, snipers, murderers, bombers, sharks, plagues, and all the other things happening to me. I couldn't understand why I should feel so menaced and it just hit me. I feel under attack. It's why I feel defensive about everything. It's why I justify, even if only in my head, everything I say and do. Why it is so important for me to explain myself. If I explain they will understand and they can't attack me for it. It's why I justified the statement that I justify everything.

No wonder I feel anxious and over sensitive. I expect attack at every turn from people who would never hurt me.


I went to the gym last week. It felt good. I'm going to try and go again this week, maybe make it to a class. Get in the game.

12:48 a.m.

You have to get in the game if you're going to win.

I feel like the unconscious patterns of culture are conspiring to tell me I'm just not living my life. I suppose the more reasonable explanation is that my brain is recognizing those themes in popular culture and reminding me that I feel that way, but it feels more like fate giving me a push the other way.

No idea how well my attempt to push myself is going to go, but if you don't try you might as well just give up now.

Despite all evidence to the contrary, I still feel like an inordinate number of street lights go out around me.

09:25 p.m.

Not a whole lot to say, but feel like I should have something.

Spent the night considering things about myself that I hadn't in a while. Won't be getting enough sleep. Wondering if I'm stretching myself too thin.

Worried about Maggie. Wish I could help her. Recognize that I probably can't and worry more that I might be making it worse. That my efforts to help her make her feel less valued, less capable of valuing herself.

Rachel worries I don't let myself be open to enough experiences. She's right, but is it wrong to look at them and go they're probably a waste of time and why should I bother? The things I want to do are more grown up.

Made a Christmas list today... asked for a cryptex. I probably won't get one, but I love treasure hunts so much. I realized if I won the lottery or magically came into a lot of money, other than giving it away and travelling, most of my money would go towards making amazing treasure hunts.

Finally got a hold of Treasure Hunters. Now I just need the Search and I'm set.

03:08 a.m.

You realize, imaginary, nonexistent reader, the ridiculousness of these entries. I am so vague - because of that minute chance that someone I know would actually spend enough time to hunt this down (this blog that no one knows I have) - that I don't even know if I would remember what I was referring to in a years time. Possibly I will, but there's a distinct chance that I won't.

Oh that terror that I will lose control, that loss that I secretly long for. It comes and goes how often I think about it, but I secretly hope for bad things to happen to me, just so I have a good reason to stop being so in control of things. I know, just by writing this I'm recognizing that I don't need to be and that I could maybe make the chance if I wanted to, but talk to the leopard about his stripes and then we'll see. Of course, part of me doesn't even want to change, but boy is it exhausting.

I try and figure out what the advantages and disadvantages are. Could I maintain all of those things that I think are important - attention to detail, blah blah blah - yet not be preoccupied by every little detail? I would love to not notice when Maggie comes home at night. It probably wouldn't matter if she didn't turn on a single light, if she walked on air and through the walls, I'd still wake up. Something about needing to know when or that she's home. Once upon a time I was no such a light sleeper. And who needs to notice all the stuff that I do so that I can wonder if it's a passive aggressive message. She's just not that subtle, so I would really like to stop wondering.

I would like to not fear someone liking me or my liking someone else. That loss of control nearly paralyzes me and I know it. I know I don't feel like I've met anyone yet, but do I avoid it? Do I secretly know that it terrifies me, even if it would overjoy me to find someone... someone right.

Too hard to say, too hard to know. Still, a little less in control, a little more spontaneous, passionate, gregarious, playful. All of these things would be lovely. Can you make yourself do this? Is the mere fact that I would be forcing myself to be these things make it moot? Maybe if I just stopped thinking about everything before I did it I would be better off.

Going to buy me a ladder I can't climb.

10:23 p.m.

Have no fear, the mellow drama is over.

11:37 p.m.

I can't think straight.

Every time I think I've got a good handle on things something fucks me up. Oddly, it's almost not how fucked up I'm feeling that I need to fret about. No, weirdly, it might be that some part of me even knows it's coming and I never manage to clue in.

I have thought for a while that the akadin was my real journal. That the reason I'm so unsuccessful at maintaining this, any of the physical journals I have, the ones I've started on my computer, is because ultimately, I manage to distill my thoughts into fiction and that is why I can neither stop nor fully separate myself from it.

I usually find it interesting, maybe mildly amusing, how it parallels parts of my life, but I figure generally that as things happen I just write them in. Now I feel like it's starting to predict my life. My mind won't stop thinking about someone, about things I said and where things might go. It's been set up to happen in the akadin for weeks, months depending on how you look at it.

I don't know. Maybe it's serendipity. Maybe I'm just trying really hard not to believe in fate and the sun is laughing at me. I just wish I could be happier with things the way they are.

Going to find me a volcano that is all mine.

12:54 p.m.

Last night wasn't bad. I dreamt about something mostly happy(can't really remember what of course), though at one part I was standing on a dock which was a little bit submerged and there were very large fish/small sharks threatening to eat my feet. I remember thinking, while the dream was going on, that this wasn't so bad, nothing really menacing, just those sharks. Sigh. Who knows.

It's early, but I'm probably going to bed soon. I feel so tired all of a sudden, which is odd, since I slept until almost 10:30 today. Blah. I hate being in school. I think it's the worst for my mental health. I miss it (sort of) when I'm gone, but I think I miss the idea of school. I just don't enjoy the learning. The pressure of performance has become too much. Never feeling smart enough.

09:45 p.m.

I can't tell if it's better to dream of death or dream of menace. I'd like to go back to not having either theme in my dreams. No longer dreams of dinosaurs out to kill me... nevermind, maybe they haven't changed. They were always about menace, the end result was always death and now it's a little more subtle - not always death, sometimes rape, dismemberment, etc.

Two nights ago I dreamt of zombies. It wasn't quite that simple, but I was with friends, we were moving through ruined cities and the country-side and steadily, people were being picked off and others were becoming rabid (so yeah, essentially zombies).

Last night's dream isn't nearly so clear, but there was definitely some sort of sexually predatory element in there. Again, a lot of dark, menacing.

I hate it. I'm so sick of my dreams or my subconscious or whatever it is feeling like things are out to get me. Is this the balance I end up with? When I'm awake I think the world is a pretty decent place and asleep I believe it's a horrible nightmare. I said it last time and I'll say it again. I'd just like to dream of Connor. Do I have to start believing the world is out to get me before I can escape to pleasant things in my dreams?

01:11 p.m.

Not sure the point of writing here. I have nothing to say, just the inspiration to fill in this box. No closer to anything today than I was six months ago, except maybe being more okay with it.

Maybe I shouldn't be so happy about being okay with it. Not go gently into that goodnight etc. Have I just bought my own propaganda so well or am I telling the truth? If you believe what you're saying are you still lying?

I need to go to sleep. I'd like to dream of Connor, please.

11:44 p.m.

Paul and Linda are going to break up. Maybe I'm wrong, who knows, maybe they'll both realize that they like each other way too much to let little things get in their way, but right now I'm trying to prepare myself for the worst. I don't know how to deal with this, six months ago we were planning their wedding.

01:48 a.m.

I feel like people are conspiring against me. Not in a paranoid "the world is out to get me" kind of way. Just, without sort of intending a lot of people are succeeding in destroying my hard won equilibrium. Paul and Linda are... well, I can't actually describe what they're doing. I guess they're not even breaking up exactly, but Paul's moving out so they can both figure themselves out before they get married.

I'm all for people figuring themselves out, but I don't do well with change and I don't really understand it. I do. All their reasons make good sense. I'm just scared.

The other things don't really matter. It's all in my head. I dreamt about Connor two nights ago. I want to find him. I want him to exist somehow, because I really want to be happy. I am happy enough with myself. I'm finally getting better. But I want to find out if I can love someone or if I've just turned that part of me off somehow.

I don't think it's wrong of me to want to find someone I'm interested in. But I don't know if there's something wrong with me because I haven't. I have never been in love. I haven't even had a crush on someone in years. And I'm afraid if I don't start exercising whatever part of my being that is, that I might have just buried it away for good.

I don't understand the point of sex if you're not that into the person. I know Quagmire is sick to death of hearing it that response from me, but I don't see the point of getting off with someone else when I can do it myself in a time frame suited to me. Besides, when I'm bored, I don't have to pretend to be interested and there's no mandatory hanging out. And it's even sillier, because I'd rather hang out with him than the other, but... it's not worth articulating.

I'd like to do more than dream about Connor.

04:56 p.m.

I've been thinking about writing a story. But I'm afraid that I'm not a good enough writer to pull it off. I used to feel more confident in my writing, but now it all seems so tired and recycled.

I also feel lonely. I'm afraid to be with someone, I think. But I think a lot of it is just that I'm afraid that I won't find someone. That somehow it's better not to start because then when it never starts it won't be a let down. But I am lonely. And I want to feel brilliant and inspired. I want to go somewhere crazy or do something amazing. I want to take long trips and really feel alive. Or at least know for sure that I am.

I'm still sleepwalking. I have been for years. I need to find something to get excited about and let myself get excited about it.

12:50 a.m.

Ah New Year's. Drink champagne. Count down the hour. Toast your friends and the year gone by. Make resolutions. And fail to follow through with those resolutions within the next two or three weeks.

This is reality for nearly everyone who is going to make a resolution tonight. Resolutions fail, most of them within days of getting started. So, why on earth am I sitting here, preparing to make my resolutions for the year? To by quite honest I don't know. I've made resolutions not only every new year, but also at lent, before my birthday, on my birthday, at the beginning of summer, at the beginning of school, randomly because I'm just so sick of x,y,z. And I weigh more than I ever have and at least at the moment my apartment is a disaster.

But. As with every time, I believe I can do it and I don't want to let myself down. I have been struggling with the fact that throughout my life I have felt like the person being dumped on, the person not worthy of time, attention, or love. And somewhere along the way, I think I even started to believe it. It's time for that to change.

Resolutions 2009:
1. Exercise for 30 minutes every day.
2. Put things back in their place.
3. Eat more fruits and veggies.

I think these are attainable and specific. They are relatively small, but I think accumulatively they will have a positive impact on my life.

02:46 a.m.

Before the week is out I will have run for thirty minutes straight. I should not feel like such a sloth. Yet, I do. I have had a lot of junk. I have been eating poorly. I have not been eating regular meals. It's all pretty dumb, I know, yet somehow, I can't be bothered to provide myself with the very basic necessities of life... unless the come in the form of chocolate, then I'm all over that shit.

As always, I need to do something about this. But I'm going to try and stop myself from doing what I always do, which is go all crazy overboard for about a week and then do nothing for another three months. Right now Linda and I are regularly going jogging three times a week (when the planets align - now that I have a gym membership again, hopefully this won't be a problem). On top of this I would just like to add one more day of 30 minutes of exercise. That's it, nothing fancier than that.

I'm trying really hard to take it slow. I want to make this a habit. I want to be a fitter, healthier person. It's not just about being able to buy clothes and feeling sexy, in fact at this point that's pretty low on the list, I just want to know that I'm a healthy person. I already feel tons better. Sprinting up stairs and things like that mean I'm feeling pretty damn good about myself, but it's not perfect and it's not enough.

A big part of my problem, as mentioned, is my eating. I need to sit down and figure out where I'm going to start fitting a whole lot more vegetables into my life, because right now I'm very certain that I'm getting more chocolate than vegetables on a regular basis.

I need to find some sort of reminder system. Something that changes every so often, things that are new and will shake me up, but that are regular enough to keep me on the bandwagon.

05:02 p.m.

I'm mostly writing to fill time and because maybe if I do this more regularly I'll well, do this more regularly. It's been three days and I think I've decided to give up on eHarmony. A large part of it is because of all the reasons I thought it was silly three days ago, but the fact is, I can't talk to anyone without paying any money and I don't think I'm going to feel inspired to talk to anyone from what they've written in their profile.

Honestly, how well can you get to know someone by looking at seven or eight fairly general questions? I don't know, maybe it's silly of me. I think I would be more inclined to stick with it if I was positive that I would get some sort of message if someone was interested. The way it's set up I can't be sure if I would. Still, what're the odds that someone will send me a message anyway. I suppose maybe the odds of finding the 'right' person for me. Bother. This is silly.

I have my final exam tomorrow and I'm handing in my last paper and then I'm free! Free for a whole four weeks! One whole month. It'll be heaven. I'm half sick of this program already. I've never been so unimpressed with a program before in my life. Oh well, maybe next term when we get into the arrangement and description it will be better.

07:06 p.m.

I joined eHarmony last night. I know why I did, but at the same time I think it's ridiculous. Part of the reason it is ridiculous is because I quite simply don't want the responsibility of initiating contact with someone. If I start things off and then quickly decide I don't actually like that person, then I feel like a jerk for ending it. Then again, that's how I feel about just about everything, so I should probably just get over it.

On an unrelated note. I learned in far more detail about how google works and as a result this page will probably never appear on google. I could make it appear, my usual web habits could cause it to appear, but at the moment at least I'm not going to.

It's perverse really. I want people to read this, friends, family, anyone. It would save me having to actually be open with people, they could read it all in this blog and ask me directly about all the things that I wonder at constantly. But, the odds of them finding me, even if I did link this up, are probably small. And the other half of me would be mortified to discover that people were reading it.

I try and remind myself that none of them are about to disown me for feeling the way I do about things. I am getting a little better at talking about things that freak me out and are on my mind. Somehow, it feels so unnatural bringing it up though.

What's the number one thing I would tell people if I could? Off and on for the last... two and a half years I have cut myself in an effort to make a pain that I could focus on. I haven't done it in quite a while and I hope I've found healthier outlets so that I never will again, but I never told anyone while I was doing it and I'm convinced that even the people closest to me have no idea who I really am. I'm probably delusional about that... I hope I am.

02:09 p.m.

I keep starting this and stopping again. Recording random attempts at projects that I think will make me feel accomplished and productive. They're all just empty attempts to fill a gap in my life I can't figure out how to fill.

What I really would like, is to be able to let go. Not many people have hurt me in my life. Probably two to be really exact. And the second one has far more to do with my misunderstanding of intentions than any intent of harm. For this reason especially, I just want to let go. I want to move on.

No one will find me here.

04:57 p.m.