Monday, February 26, 2007

Back in 5 minutes, maybe 10. Could be 15.

Owing to current events, I will be taking yet another very short break away from the blog. I seem to be missing a little "je ne sais quoi" at the moment, whether that be the inability to finish any of the blog posts I have started, whether that be the current period of reflection whilst I try to decide what next with my career and with my life, whether that be the project at work which is taking all my energy little by little or whether that be a combination of all but somehow I can't seem to stay here at the moment. There are so many amazing events and adventures happening, but somehow I can't seem to seperate them and give them each value.
I am trying.

Sometimes I feel as if I am just there, almost to that point where it starts to make sense. I keep passing milestones and markers, and I am gaining ground. I just feel stagnant at the moment, uninspired and burnt out.

A few weeks back, I sat on a bench looking across English Bay with a cup of coffee. In that moment, I felt life was perfect. And such it was, but I am a perfectionist and I need to continue to perfect that perfectness. I see the irony, and I am trying.

I hope to be back soon.


PS: In my absence, I will most likely be drinking (and researching) a fair amount of wine, experimenting in the kitchen (not in that way) and thinking up new ways to utilize olive oil in everything, nursing a bruised coccyx from a slight tumble and promptly getting back up the mountain to clear my head, running the seawall in preparation for the Sun Run, catching up on my favourite blogs (see side bar, I've neglected alot of them lately), perusing beautiful pictures from flickr, volunteering, organzing an amazing adventure that will take me to a country I have never travelled to, reading the archives from this brilliantly written blog, (I haven't laughed out loud this much in a long time) and spending much needed time with my beautiful friends.

PS II - Did anyone else think "The Departed" was over acted? Unbelievable? A blatant stab at black comedy? Jack Nicholson's facial expressions should have been nominated for best supporting actor at the very least.

Thursday, February 15, 2007

sometimes it feels so good to come home

...even if you feel displaced.

Thursday, February 08, 2007

Buy a word. Support the arts

I'm a little overwhelmed, work seems to have taken over my life and I'm not entirely sure I am liking it.
I haven't had a chance to pop in and say hello to anyone, enjoy a cup of tea and a gab so I apologise. I miss you all.

In the meantime, I urge you to do this.

Go on.

You know you want to.

Tuesday, February 06, 2007

the man who

"And then you pour the coffee in like this..." he demonstrates mockingly, his blue eyes laughing. "And voila. Coffee."

He steps back and takes a bow, winks.

"Don't listen to him," the owner comes around the corner, her bangles flashing as she slaps him playfully. "He is a tease."

I am awkward and stiff in my starched shirt and sensible shoes, dismissing the characters in front of me with all the self conscious indifference my 17 year old self can indulge. It is my first day, a Friday night 3 weeks into my graduating year and I am torn with the eagerness of impressing my new boss and the house party already in full swing.

"I'm Paul" he says. "Anything you want to know, just let me know." He resembles a blonde Buddy Holly, tall and slim in his tuxedo shirt and vest. Cocky as I am, I am unprepared for his flirtatious banter, his confidence, his smile. He keeps me on edge, clumsy and unsure of my body and my actions.

Not long after that year passes, he will hold my hand on the shores of a frozen lake, pull a blanket over us and tell me he loves me. He will be responsible for my first orgasm and hold my fragile heart in his hands. He will buy me that print that will need to be reframed and reglassed every time I move until finally I decide to leave it hanging in the house in Kentish Town. He will spend hours choosing the perfect dress he gives me for Christmas which will be worn over and over, and then finally to the funeral of a friend in my 19th year. He will make me soup when I am ill, try to teach me to drive standard on his white Volkswagen, brush the hair out of my eyes, trace my name under his on the pier at White Rock with a pen knife (if you look closely, it is still there). He will bake me a chocolate cake on Valentine's Day, hold my hand against his beating heart and show me how to love.

And then one day he will leave me without explanation; and I, unprepared and naive will act with little dignity, with anger, fear and desperation. I will find solace in my friends' laughter, in cheap beer, drunkeness and cigarettes. And then when I am tired of fighting, of sadness, of that bitter self destruction that keeps my blood warm, he will find his way back into my damaged heart. He will stand outside my window one Christmas Eve exchanging his gift for one small kiss. In return I will be careless with my love, handing him piece by piece of myself. I will love him as if I am using up all the love I will ever have, so that I will never be whole again.

And then suddenly he will leave again; it is less than 9 months after walking away when he will call me with the news that he just got married; perhaps it is only irony that his wedding day was my 21st birthday.

Whatever it was, it is a cruel lesson. It takes almost a decade to see past the hurt for what it was, to see the value in all that I gained in it. That what replaces the hurt is something more beautiful, more powerful, stronger and intense. Yet still I carry him in my heart like a cancer.

He makes another appearance in my life, suddenly last week. Seeking legal advice from a family friend, he speaks of me as if we are old friends. He is opening a bakery in White Rock, he explains, smiling.

Perhaps, now, the signs are all there. That it is now time to exorcise old ghosts and let what I have gained rule, and not the loss of my unsullied heart.

Friday, February 02, 2007

rejection is a dirty ass heartbreaking mo fo


I said it.


But the question to ask is, after the 9 millionth interview and subsequent (well... 4th) rejection, should you still try to get a job with that amazing company you want to work for so much it makes your heart tingle? Or should you just give up?

I'm stubborn. And determined. And stubbornly determined to work there.

Rejection is a dirty ass heartbreaking snidey cheating side wheeling snarky pillock mo fo.

I'm going to kick its ass.