Lack of music

I have somehow lost my music. This sounds strange, no, I mean it. Nothing quite seems to tickle my fancy when I go to upload, and the stuff I do manage to find is dull and inappropriate. Tonight I have a date with my pc.

Last night I had a date as well. I am not a bad person, I know this, but sometimes the thoughts in my mind make me think... well... maybe sometimes I get possessed by an unpleasant individual. I am feeling more and more like a man. But I realized something. When you get hurt and lose the capacity to fall for somebody, its not a conscious choice. You just can't do it anymore. Its like that part of you shuts off (hopefully temporarily) and leaves you callous. And although I don't want to be that way, I must admit its somewhat comforting to think that I won't be falling in love any time soon. It would be nice to get through a year at Oxford and not be hurt. It gets in the way of things.

Tomorrow night I've got a quasi-high school reunion dinner of sorts, I'm actually quite looking forward to it and hoping that people will show up. Since I doubt anything worth reporting will happen between now and then, I will sign off. Life is dull when you're in some sort of relationship.

Indie Radio Sunday

It has been a while since I last posted... and I can only blame myself. Again, Vancouver proves that it has little to offer, and all I can dredge from the bottom of my mind is lost when I step off the bus. Somehow that commute has given me those moments of peace and quiet that I have been lacking. In terms of time calculation, not to be too specific about all of this, I spend perhaps half an hour daily alone. Totally alone. I count those minutes on the bus because my fellow commuters are not anything more than scenery. It has been a nice way to extend my alone time, something I had grown far too accustomed to having in excess.

I saw him every day this week, which inevitably meant that I drank too much and did too little. Ah well. Having broached our somewhat abortive physical relationship, we proceeded to engage in some 'shenanigans' in inappropriate places and get into varying amounts of trouble. Friday night we were hated by our hostess and I got sloppy drunk, stumbling and falling my way home. Last night was even better, getting kudos and marginally congratulated for dirty deeds and bailing out to Richmond at the end of the evening. I don't like Richmond.

So now my appetite is back with a vengeance. I half-heartedly pack and think about cleaning my room. Next weekend will be the crunch. I am beginning to think now that I don't have as much stuff as I first thought.

If I had a dollar...

If I had a dollar for every time I find myself using this line in my own head, let alone for every time I said it outloud, I would be a wealthy woman. Non-taxable wealth. As my slut shirt became, yet again, a truth rather than a joke. I should have listened to my mother, Julia and myself. My fingers are remarkably cut up, and painful. That is unrelated.

I begin to think about packing, about laundry and technicalities. I begin to think about escaping, about a new life. About change and new opportunities, and the length of a year. Montreal. Old friends. Being a nomad. The weekend. Future weekends. As the countdown begins in earnest.

So I welcome it, the anticipation. My news ends here.

The screaming moists...

Don't know why, but my current mental state reminds me of that episode of Futurama where they get tugged beneath the ocean. Leela becomes convinced that Fry has sucumbed to 'ocean madness', and goes on a miniature tirade about it. "Its ocean madness alright. Sailors call it aqua dementia, the deep down crazies, the wet willies, the screaming moists..." I've got that... except not underwater... or in any way related to water. Okay look, just let it go.

My back hurts. In other news... well what did I expect, after breaking things off I cannot expect to be on a priority list. However, the two nights in a row supposedly-out-hanging-then-quasi-bailing is a little much. Isn't it? I'm sure its not.

And I am checking my email, its hump day and dammit I want that dream to come true. Received several emails in the past twelve hours, all lovely and pleasing to the eye, but none the ones I want. Ridiculous really. And suddenly I have nothing to say. I'm tired and cranky and already on my second cup of coffee. Less than four weeks to Oxford, just over two weeks until Montreal (can I just say WOOT), I'm becoming increasingly restless. All those 'what-ifs' are starting to come together, my lease having arrived yesterday and bags starting to be packed. So the nomad shifts locales, on to a new life, a fresh start.

Some words

"And I love this place; the enormous sky,
and the faces, hands that I'm haunted by,
so why can't I forgive these buildings,
these frameworks labeled "Home"?"

- The Weakerthans, This Is A Fire Door Never Leave Open

Weakerthan what?

I slept badly last night, my body dive-bombed by insects and my mind addled by drugs. I have been smoking more than usual, saving up for next year when it will be a dead habit. Thankfully, I must say, since I won't binge-eat while stoned. My morning was trans-Atlantic phone calls and preparation, as I sliced my thumb open cutting onions, and wandered up to the bus stop applying pressure. External pressure was a change, the sensation of losing sensation as I forcibly ended the flow of oxygen. Left and Leaving is my latest morning soundtrack.

And it is another Monday at the orifice, coffee, tea, email. Taking time, missing things, my body begging for sleep. Shhh, shhhh body, I'll take you home soon. My weekend culminated in too many thoughts, my memories of this city finally overwhelming me. The strange familiarity of these streets. I drove home on Saturday, past the school,and slowed to glance inside. As if somehow the darkness could prove to me that I was really gone. I told Numoy that I sometimes wondered if the last four years of my life were all a dream, a figment of my over-active imagination. The only time that I know they were real is when I grasp for old emotion. It is so far gone. And as memories of those halls, the smell, the teal laminate floor tiles. Early mornings finishing my math homework and taking off early afternoons. Old friends I will never see again, others I keep meaning to find. How old am I? And suddenly I felt so old, so far away, and wondered, "if I feel this way now, how will I feel at forty? Fifty?" Time is a strange thing. I pulled into the garage and turned off the engine, and listened to the song on the radio wear itself thin. An old tune, reminiscent of another life.

Impromptu long weekend

So I ended up taking Friday off, to traipse up the Sea to Sky and spend the evening in my underwear as a result of a Kings game gone wonderfully awry. Instead of spending Friday earning money, I slept off a hangover, took good-natured abuse with a good-natured "fuck-off" and careened back downtown for six.

Last night proved to be bizarre, and the twisting and turning of those events left me feeling pleased and somewhat uncomfortable. We arrived uncomfortably, weaving through foliage into a quiet scene. Satisfied with cups of beer, I let names float past me and settled into the evening. My first surprise. She looked so familiar, turns out that I had changed more than she had, or perhaps my memory for faces was better. It had, after all, been ten years. So we chatted and exchanged some names, some tales. She left me feeling old, feeling grown.

Let me first say this, that for all intents and purposes we are not dating, together or in any way involved with each other... except when we are. Regardless, I am not comfortable with Public Displays. And after I put the brakes on, things seem to have slowed. I can't explain why I suddenly felt that I needed to end things, but I did. So. Even though I am there with him, I am not attached, and despite us holding hands, I am not with him. There.

So the next arrivals... well, my old friend who, in his words, I "hung out with for two weeks and never spoke to again" back when I was about fifteen years old. Fourteen. Regardless, it was a long time ago. His companion I had met, he didn't remember me either. I remembered him. Later I admitted that my recollection had a lot to do with having thought he was cute when we'd met. Regardless, we spent the evening talking and eventually I obtained a (hopefully not misspelled) email address. Fine. But I couldn't shake this guilt feeling. And that made me angry. Because we are such a small world out here in the confines of the west side, and the last thing I need is to know people who know people who know me... if you get my drift. And yet there I was, feeling guilty for a non-attachment because I was flirting with someone. It gets worse.

So I get the spins, and decide I want to leave. He offers me a ride. So off we go, but in the car he says "what's next" and before I can say 'I'm-loaded' we are off to pick up weed. I get turned on by the equipment and get a whirlwind tour. We both wish to be alone. Its palpable. I feel guilty and at the very least strange, not wanting this to get out of hand and for god's sake not wanting him to find out that there is tension. But being spinny I was sure that I was out of control, sure that it was visible to anyone with eyes.

And of course, I shouldn't have smoked, but I did. And then lay down with my feet next to him. Somehow he was holding my feet. Not in a creepy way, in a cute, sweet sort of way. And I prayed that nobody noticed he was doing it. Then I fell asleep watching DanceMix 93 videos. And they made fun of me. There was a blanket involved and my hand being held somehow from over top. The whole evening was bizarre in a nice way.

Then I had my guilt to deal with. Which was interesting. I've come full circle, and that sortof makes me happy. Its good to know that I am finally out of the proverbial woods and back into... well, if not into something good, something better.

In whose image

Recently I have been struggling with this. Its embarrassing, its silly and probably unfounded. Its selfish and petty and vain. Its a whole lot of bad things, to be honest, and I am not proud of it. I hate the way I look. I hate how much I weigh and I hate my body, I hate my face and my hands. Its exhausting and frustrating and I can't help but blame it on being here. I never felt this way in Montreal. Hopefully I will cease to feel this way in Oxford. I am not going to spend my day ranting about this, but its on my mind to the point of obsessive, and its not healthy.

My morning bus rides have become a treat. Walking to the stop along empty streets, past the empty school and cutting across dew-drenched fields. Sitting over rolling wheels and rocking to the gentle hum of the engine, my eyes slowly opening. By the time I reach my office I am awake. This contrasted nicely with the stress and anger resulting from the commute (not to mention the cost given current gas prices).

Which brings me to my morning rant: You know what really grinds my gears? Morons who think that cutting consumer gas prices would be a good idea. You morons, they are just going to rise again, you actually think this is temporary? Dumbass, this isn't going to go away in a few months. Cutting the taxes is some stopgap measure against a hopeless decline. Fact the facts asshole: You will have to change or pay the price. I won't get into the price. I have an idea though, how about we give a break to the bus system? Or better yet, funnel some of those taxes directly into public transit development. Light rail. The people who are already changing, who are already adapting. The North American obsession/love affair with cars that was born fifty years ago is going to have to die, and right now it is thrashing and moaning on the floor. Put it out of its misery! For once try to think about things in the long term, I know this is hard for small minded humans. Try really hard. Start accepting change, that things have to change. The technology exists, but it isn't economical until oil becomes so costly that we have no choice. Choose change, stop whining and get on the bus. Maybe once you start enjoying your commute you won't feel so inclined towards selfishness and whining. And that's what really grinds my gears.

Time lag

Time is acting oddly, expanding and contracting as the next phase creeps slowly towards me and simultaneously overtakes me from behind. I feel this ephemeral summer slipping away, and a part of myself wishes it would never end; the predictable unpleasantness of the nine-to-five, the sullen and sometimes cold side of myself that emerges each evening, waking up at strange hours wondering where I am, my back stiff, overheated from a strange and fleeting dream. At the same time, the next step cannot approach fast enough. I cannot wait for an end to this bizarre limbo, the heat of Vancouver in summer, my reluctance to bother creating a lasting niche for myself and waves of a feeling akin to disgust with the transient nature of it all.

As a consequence, I feel that nothing happens worth posting, but realize that I haven't written since Thursday and kick myself, typing away to spite Vancouver. So since Thursday...

Spent Friday at a placement, which was great if a little nerve-wracking. My coworker was chatty and friendly and in the midst of a somewhat obsessive pseudo-relationship, so spent most of my time dissecting it. I appreciated the frank and honest girl talk, and found myself wishing her and I were friends. Knowledge that this was fleeting and that I was too far gone from this place kept me from pushing that envelope. Friday evening began as a giant bust, and continued as such until very late, almost too late to be salvageable. My rage subsided as I rode on the bus, thinking at the very least I would get a good sleep that evening. Luckily, that sort of thing wasn't in the cards. My desire for a wild night would be fulfilled. I must say, as much as we don't keep in touch or really hang out or even talk, he is a good friend. Anyone who insists, funnel in hand, that if you are going to do something wrong (ie: funnel beer) you had better do it right (ie: multiple beers in said funnel). The end result involved pointless nudity and a nearby park. Then he and I watched a strange cartoon about pirates, far too drunk. I will likely not see him or speak to him for another four years.

My weekend seems so short now, looking back. Ran errands and tried to get my life under control. Smoked too much pot and ate too much as a result. Spend Sunday with a food hangover. One suitcase almost full, I have no idea how I will get all my things over there, let alone get anything back… and there is so much to think about that I can’t actually think about until I am there, which is frustrating because I am a control/planning freak.

On an aside, I am mildly concerned now that my trip-eroo to Montreal might not go over as I had hoped, that I might end up more upset than anything by returning to somewhere that I left on such a high note. I also made the mistake of getting hopes up about it, and now I think I am bound to be let down. I still can’t wait to go, if nothing else, my flight out there will surely start time flying again, and mark the beginning of the next phase.

Blast from the past

Not unlike the proverbial baseball bat to the head that is reserved for Jo and Jo alone, I received a blast from the past today that has given me one more thing to look forward to this fall. As if I needed anything else to look forward to!

I had sent him an email at the beginning of the summer, just a heads-up, how-are-yah, I'm-going-to-be-on-your-side-of-the-pond type of thing. Very casual. But never received a reply and kind thought "ah well, it was a year ago that I met him very briefly, so no point in flogging a dead horse." Today he popped online, so I thought to just see what was going on, might as well, nothing to lose. Turns out he never got my email.

So we chatted briefly, the usual hey-how's-it-going. Of course Oxford came out, and turned out that he was living relatively nearby. He informed me that he was not going to come and visit me no matter how much I screamed and begged. I told him I didn't beg, it wasn't my style. Then he offered that he was single. Then he inquired about myself. Hmm. My admission that the past twelve months had been an educational, entertaining fiasco was met with questions. I turned them away, the workplace MSN conversation is far too distracted and half-assed for those sorts of things... Not to mention too sober. Tell you what, I said, you come to visit me in the fall and we'll sit down over a few pints and I will tell all, in exchange for you telling all. So its a date, of sorts.

I am pretty thrilled with this. Even without potential nookie, and to be honest I don't know if I even want to go down that road, he is smart, funny and great to hang around with. With a new life spreading out before me (and with no friends and few acquaintances), it is really comforting to know someone like him is a relatively short drive away.

Like the tides

I thought I was waning, turns out I wasn't, or perhaps I am just deluding myself one way or another. Its all perfectly fine, that's the joy of the expiry date.

Everything else hums along, my aunt arrived today and by tomorrow the house will be full of noise and people. I am trying to hold on to sanity. New on the agenda is summer reading, which just arrived. I have found five titles available in the city, and purchased one. Even with interesting titles, academic-style books are questionable. The book currently in my posession seems to read like a political theory text, which makes me want to cry in new and interesting ways. If I can't get through a chapter without falling asleep I will return it.

This evening is sure to be much of the same, I will buy more books from UBC and hope that some of them are entertaining enough to get through. I have about 20 hours of airplane time (and if we add airport time in as well, we're looking at more like 30 hours) so I will need to be entertained. I was so tempted to buy Douglas Coupland, but managed to restrain myself. I should not be allowed into bookstores with credit cards.

The semi-boy left today for almost a week, so I will finally get some good sleep (ha!) and maybe get started on this reading. Welcome to the academic jungle.

Beautiful BC

Its been a rare long time since my last post, and that's not usually like me, so I'm a bit upset with myself. But then again, I haven't been sleeping or doing much of anything. The 9-5 is, as predicted, eating my soul. Fixed on this computer I now have reason to be facing it, but little reason to be typing away. I will just hope not to get busted. Right now I am exhausted, having stayed up far too late last night, bolstered by 22 hours of sleep this weekend.

The long drive reminded me how amazing this part of the world is. Endless trees and mountains painted in sun-drenched blues, greens and grays. The everpresent strip of highway winding its way through it all. I have lost my poetic reaction but know that it moved me to tears. It doesn't take much these days to do that.

Am really starting to mentally move, now that I'm into my last month here. Two months until term starts, I have four and a half weeks of work left (oh god my bank account!) and even less time until I really have to start doing things. Right now I'm already juggling several lists and the beginnings of a suitcase.

I haven't said anything about much. Girls weekend was relaxing. I am starting to doubt my enthusiasm, but figure four weeks is too short of a time to care. There has been no change and I appear to be the only one worried.

Bad office coffee and other working tales

Making coffee at the office is always hit or miss. The machines are old and well-loved, the coffee is usually semi-stale or worse and you can never tell how either of these factors will influence the taste of your end product. Being at the bottom of this very small and very equal ladder, I usually make coffee in the mornings, usually because I want to have some as well. Its been a 'big cup of coffee' few days around here. Mostly because I am not sleeping, but that's an unimportant tangent. Regardless, what I wouldn't give right now for a really good coffee. Actually, I wouldn't give much, considering I could have just bought one on the way in... but still, right now I am wishing I had. But I know tomorrow I will walk up here and make coffee, altering the ratio somewhat in the hopes of gaining a perfect cup.

My new shredder isn't as nice as my old one. Seems like a small fact, but when you are feeding the damn thing like its your new pet, it matters. This one is stubborn and fickle and although it is fancier (has a slot for credit cards and cds!) it is not as kind. I think it maybe thinks it is too good for this office, for shredding of documents that are hardly confidential, but I try to tell it "shh, shh little shredder, its okay, you are still making a contribution here". Now I just wish someone would tell me that. The banality of tertiary work grates, a symptom of my desire for greater things perhaps? Or just a dislike of the 9-5 in general.

This morning we were placed in charge of cleaning out the fridge and defrosting it. So out all the dirty food went, down in the elevator to the coffee shop downstairs, the owner took one look at me and said "you know where it is". Up the elevator with two buckets of ice (will probably have to go down for more later) and emptied anything salvageable into the sink. Kathryn and I wrestled the four foot monstrosity (damn back heavy fridges) out the boardroom door and around to the fire escape window, and our little overheating fridge is now sitting nicely on the fire escape, defrosting away, and probably creating a huge fire hazard in the process.

My non-date went well yesterday, and although I didn't sleep much, I can't blame him. I think it is because of a drop in air pressure. Can't prove that it happened or anything, but I tend to sleep badly when pressure is changing. Regardless, I don't recall the last time I was so intent on seeing someone all the time... and in having to hide it from my mother I have to avoid talking about him at all costs.

And at this point, seeing as how its more than an hour into my work day and I haven't done any real work (except for about 10 minutes of shredding) I should get down to business. Send me emails! The boardroom is lonely.

One more month!

Yes I realized a long while ago that the title of the blog was no longer accurate. Now that it has been running for almost a year (gasp!) I must concede that it no longer fulfills its promise at all. I do have another in the works, but for the sake of continuity will save that for my final days of preparation for Oxford, and leave my last posts here for my Montreal trip. Seems very fitting actually.

I helped Katie paint her bathroom last night, as she has a new roommate and that calls for change all around. My goofy smile was a (mostly) vain attempt to keep my words from overwhelming her. I had no desire to mindlessly chat about him but that proved to be out of my control. Even now I am looking at the clock, knowing that as of the end of my lunch break I have two and a half hours before I leave work, then bus time and the walk home, which should take me to 5:30 or so, followed by time-killing, maybe eating if my body will allow it (it has been very uncooperative lately when it comes to food) and then I get to see him. I can't play the silly games and wait, I will probably call him too soon. His email this morning was sweet, ended by bordering on too much, and left me feeling confused, but since chatting with him on msn today I have swung back around. Fingers crossed to keep it this way.

Work plugs on, boss being out again today left me with some email time. Got a nice email from Cynthia, of all people, who is back in Montreal. It really made me happy to know that her and I managed to put chicks before proverbial dicks, and I am going to try to catch up with her for coffee in Montreal at the very least. Also heard from Ashley to round out my french camp morning, which also made me super happy because I had misplaced her email address. Sent a long letter to Numoy as well. I have been doing pretty well on the email front, but it seems that they keep coming. Only as soon as I get some french camp letters out of the way, I am realizing how long it has been since I wrote anyone from Montreal. The work of keeping in touch is never done. My new mental list has been formed, I have to start cutting and pasting into a semblance of uniqueness!

Empty inbox, full life... some feminist musings

So my non-starter weekend was amazing. Hit the Pride Parade yesterday afternoon in the glorious sunshine and had lunch with some old friends. My lazy evening turned towards night, and we ended up at the beach. This city is so beautiful. After some particularly pathetic frisbee playing on my part, we snaked across the city to find beer and bbq.

At this point, I will interject with saying that my inbox is totally empty, a bummer since I spent last week pointedly writing emails to everyone. If I wasn't so sure it was impossible, I'd be convinced that my email wasn't working! But that is beside the point, because I suddenly have what appears to be a man in the picture. And I have a goofy smile. I cannot remember the last time I had one of these, because with JJ, it kind of developed slowly, and couldn't be allowed to get out of hand. Not that this is any better, considering I am leaving town almost for good in less than two months. But that is not the point. I think I could actually really like this guy.

Its a good thing too, because I need all the help I can get in keeping myself happy. And out of the house. My parents hate me so much that the tension is palpable, and I really don't feel like spending the rest of the summer locked in my room.

Feminist musings... first I have to admit that I was watching an episode of Dawson's Creek today. So. The admonishment so often given to so-called 'loose' women is that they should 'respect' themselves, and terminate their unacceptable behaviour. We have all heard this, we being women, that any self-respecting girl will remain chaste and innocent until the 'right' man comes along, a man who treats us kindly and respects our chastity and would never expect anything more than our company. We are even given the impression that 'loose' women somehow lack self-respect/self-confidence/strength of character etc etc. So I'm listening to Jenn's grandmother giving her a tirade about her way with men and telling her to have some self-respect, and I'm thinking, "Hang on a tick." Okay, I will allow that some women use sex/male attention to bolster their self-confidence. These women do not necessarily disrespect themselves, but they are not engaging in 'loose' behaviour for the sake of sex itself, rather, they do so to increase their feelings of self-worth. This could, perhaps, be seen as a situation in which self-respect would be preferable to the exchange of one's body for some sort of emotional/mental gratification.

But. But. But isn't this a little narrow minded? Doesn't this smack of a gross generalization, to think that all women who 'sleep around', women who are 'loose', 'sluts', whatever you want to call them, are somehow disrespecting themselves? Would you ever say that to a man who engaged in similar activities? Certainly not. The very thought is laughable. Is it so hard then, for us to believe that some women simply enjoy sex? That their promiscuity has nothing to do with their feelings regarding themselves (or lack thereof), but rather stems from a simple desire for pleasure? I am not condoning hedonism, but at the same time, I cannot accept the judgment forced upon women.

Germaine Greer writes, "Her promiscuity, resulting from her constant sexual desire, tenderness and interest in people, will not usually be differentiated from compulsive promiscuity or inability to say no, although it is fundamentally different." Upon reading this for the first time, I felt a taste of liberation. Here, in my 21st century, western, affluent, incredibly free and liberated life, I felt a weight lift off of me that I didn't realize existed. You can't lump women into two categories. There is no black and white 'Madonna-whore' distinction. For lack of a more elegant phrase, whores come in all varieties. Just as Madonnas have their reasons, so do whores.

Looks like feminism still has a long way to go, as characters on popular television shows are promoting what are, in my humble opinion, antiquated moral values. Teaching young women that if they enjoy sex, if they seek it out, if they act in a way that society labels promiscuous, they must fight with themselves constantly to come to terms with their actions. They must feel guilt and self-loathing, they will hear that voice inside of themselves telling them to have a little self-respect. I know, until recently I heard it. I am twenty-one years old, and only now am escaping from that voice. Liberation? Maybe. Label me as you will. But I no longer fight with myself for my hedonism. There is nothing shameful, wrong or disrespectful about it.