A weird story just unfolded in front of my eyes although it was neither strange nor happening before my eyes. It was a dream however nearly lucid, I was aware it was a dream; it was impossible for it not to be. It was full of adventures that I had never wanted to venture on. It flipped from here to there and faded with the interruption of a non-dream voice. It was going somewhere, things were being figured out, it made sense in a way that only a dream you are in complete control of can. I awoke overheated and saddened, compelled to write about a subject forever lost. The dream is over and today is back, yet it is different now. It mattered, meant something and now it is time to move on. Today is the end of an era.; everyday, minute, moment is the end of an era however today is more so. When these lids come to their final resting place this evening and open again in the morrow the lazy days, the skipping showers, the unshaven afternoons, the naps, snoozes and putting things off, the summer mentality will be no more. Tomorrow is full of limitless potential and easy breezy is over-due August afternoons will have come to an end.
Tomorrow, and tomorrow comes again and where we go may never seem to end, the endless nature of our lives can lull, overwhelm and STOP us in our tracks until we are not even moving. The world is spinning, other lives are zooming through, in and out of our reality and yet we stay stagnated in a moments thought. They have ebbed and flowed, came and went, and every so often a claim is made, a promise, pledge and wishful thinking makes us believe that it may just happen. Good people, good intentions, good goals will guide us. And we wait... we embrace the waiting, the next to come is grand and worth the patience, worth the saving, the pinching the skimping. This I have done, and done before, what makes this time different; I do.
Today I changed--tomorrow I prove it.
Sunday, April 15, 2012
Sunday, April 8, 2012
Happy Easter
The day began as most days do--I woke up, the first one awake in a house of three including my father, his girlfriend/fiancée Donna and myself. They had drank more than I the night before and I took the peaceful moments to survey the house and get a glass of water--it is important to hydrate. Returning to my room to entertain myself with a TV show, NHL 2012 video game and a workout I suspected nothing a miss and contemplated what the rare Sunday off might entail. The Thursday prior Mike had suggest playing beach Volleyball but was a surprise no show the evening prior's festivities. Peter Had the day before talked of biking around town--I combined these two, thinking we could bike to the beach and play Volleyball while Peter with his bad shoulder heckles in the sunshine.Erin was in town, as was her newly civil-unioned husband Nathan and we had decided an evening of wholesome boardgames would be a pleasant way to spend the evening--plus she had the camera I was hoping to take with me to Chicago a few weeks later. Stephanie was up from Toronto and we always did our best to meet up when in the same city, although she was spending a day at the spa which left her in a relaxation coma and had family commitments. My own family was split across the country with my father and younger brother, whom had stopped speaking to each other five years earlier, were the only two in town--my attempts to make plans with Mark my younger brother by two years had failed on account of other peoples commitments and our in-effort to work around it. My father and Donna his wife to be were planning an Easter affair for the following Saturday which I had yet to find a plus one for and were having a romantic dinner together which I would purposefully avoid.
There I sat, watched, played and exercised thinking of the day that could be and the day that would likely be--I was doing well at the video game hockey, which comes in handy living in Canada.5-1 New Jersey beat Boston, my 'Be A Pro' scored a hat trick and added an assist to reach 152 points in 52 games and I ventured out from the brightly lit bedroom to find a trail of novelty plastic gummy bunny filled Easter eggs leading from my door down a winding flight of stairs to the kitchen where a chocolate soccer player awaited me. It was a sweet gesture from my kind father that flooded me with childhood warm memories of our house on Vic place, in the small village of Brentwood bay nestled between the provincial capital Victoria and ferry terminal city of Sidney on Vancouver Island, British Columbia.
This house, its' powder blue stucco, three foot crawl space, cemented in Basketball hop, two tiered backyard patio and corner of the yard hand made wooden shed is where I lived between January 1990 and January 2002. The place where my innocent naive childish wonder years took place. The patio I had my first kiss to Lisa Foster on, although she was just dating me to get close to my best friend Sebastian. The corner bedroom windows I would look out on summer nights and watch the highest Butchard Gardens fireworks explode over treetops before they grew too tall in later years and where I would genuinely wish upon a star with the silly 'star light, star bright, first star I see tonight, I wish I may I wish I might have this wish I wish tonight...' rhyme and believed they would come true. The room I got my first television in, it was black and white and lacked cable but if I turned the dial to channel 0 I could, by the odd kind of magic that only existed before the internet, watch and hear exactly what was on my older brother Chris' 16' dial colour television--this came in especially handy during PBS Red Dwarf marathons.
All of these memories and more came flooding back, except slightly tainted. They were treasures of the happened before of my life which can and should not be repeated, however sweet and sincere the intentions of my father were these days are gone--I read too much into a good hearted man's his best intentions and the day took a decidedly different turn. The playful oddity that was this pleasant surprise spelled the beginnings of a disappointment riddled day.
The second most terrifying thing about text messaging is the time between send and receive. Once a message is sent it floats its' way off through wireless space with your words to another and you are left to sit, stand, carry on your day and await the unexpected eventual reply--from my experience this almost always occurs too soon by those you are less interested in the reply of and when you truly dearly yearn, wish and desire an answer it takes an eternity. During this purgatorial existence we are haplessly left to suffer at our own devices--our self-doubt, the second thoughts and the questioning all begin to play a greater role in our consciousness. Little by little they gnaw away at confidence, swagger and moxy. Then the terrifying part happens, the reply. After we are raw and exposed we have to deal with the full force of our own devices--we get an answer. Excitement and curiosity battle with doubt and imagination runs wild--the inner turmoil of the struggle leaves us battered, bruised and prepared for the worst, which never happens.
On that Easter the second most terrifying thing began to happen, text messages went out to no reply--minutes never bother me but hours and days to reply I take as a personal slight. At first it was simply those whom I had made tentative plans with had not messaged me to confirm, but I shrugged this off as early on a family oriented day, although Peter and Mike had few family members in the city, and as such I decided to test the waters by breaking cellphone silence. First replying to genuine wishes of happiness with the same and then to those I had hoped to spend time with that day. With the messages sent away my main concern was occupying myself and avoiding the terror that can accompany this type of message.
I headed outside to sit and write part of my daily birthday present to Laura--26 she turns this year and I decide that my flying to spend it with her was not enough in spite of what she claims; I am selfishly going to see her because my days are better near her. For her 26th I am writing her in a journal for 26 days and getting people around me over the course of these days to send her birthday wishes(at times I can be adorable.) After sitting in the sun writing my gorgeous Chicagoan dream girl I head to the basement to watch the Toronto Blue Jays game with my Dad who is walking his daily 5km's on the treadmill and await the messages that will lead to the filling of my day. The main issue I have is what I could be doing with the day were the replies prompt--I could plan or otherwise productively occupy my time. Instead I awaited the probably apologetic next day excuses and rescheduling, which is disheartening in every sense of the word aside from literally as I still had a heart.
As the golden 15C early spring oddity of a day progresses and the Jays game comes to a close I concede that it is better to do a solo bike ride and scribble in the soon to be setting sunshine than waste a day at home in sweat pants--the one exception to this being if spent with your amazing other in which case it is perfectly acceptable to do 'nothing' together and still go to bed feeling a satisfied sense of achievement. I bike to a secluded spot to sip Johnny Walker Black out of a flask, write until at peace in the fading sun.
Happy Easter.
There I sat, watched, played and exercised thinking of the day that could be and the day that would likely be--I was doing well at the video game hockey, which comes in handy living in Canada.5-1 New Jersey beat Boston, my 'Be A Pro' scored a hat trick and added an assist to reach 152 points in 52 games and I ventured out from the brightly lit bedroom to find a trail of novelty plastic gummy bunny filled Easter eggs leading from my door down a winding flight of stairs to the kitchen where a chocolate soccer player awaited me. It was a sweet gesture from my kind father that flooded me with childhood warm memories of our house on Vic place, in the small village of Brentwood bay nestled between the provincial capital Victoria and ferry terminal city of Sidney on Vancouver Island, British Columbia.
This house, its' powder blue stucco, three foot crawl space, cemented in Basketball hop, two tiered backyard patio and corner of the yard hand made wooden shed is where I lived between January 1990 and January 2002. The place where my innocent naive childish wonder years took place. The patio I had my first kiss to Lisa Foster on, although she was just dating me to get close to my best friend Sebastian. The corner bedroom windows I would look out on summer nights and watch the highest Butchard Gardens fireworks explode over treetops before they grew too tall in later years and where I would genuinely wish upon a star with the silly 'star light, star bright, first star I see tonight, I wish I may I wish I might have this wish I wish tonight...' rhyme and believed they would come true. The room I got my first television in, it was black and white and lacked cable but if I turned the dial to channel 0 I could, by the odd kind of magic that only existed before the internet, watch and hear exactly what was on my older brother Chris' 16' dial colour television--this came in especially handy during PBS Red Dwarf marathons.
All of these memories and more came flooding back, except slightly tainted. They were treasures of the happened before of my life which can and should not be repeated, however sweet and sincere the intentions of my father were these days are gone--I read too much into a good hearted man's his best intentions and the day took a decidedly different turn. The playful oddity that was this pleasant surprise spelled the beginnings of a disappointment riddled day.
The second most terrifying thing about text messaging is the time between send and receive. Once a message is sent it floats its' way off through wireless space with your words to another and you are left to sit, stand, carry on your day and await the unexpected eventual reply--from my experience this almost always occurs too soon by those you are less interested in the reply of and when you truly dearly yearn, wish and desire an answer it takes an eternity. During this purgatorial existence we are haplessly left to suffer at our own devices--our self-doubt, the second thoughts and the questioning all begin to play a greater role in our consciousness. Little by little they gnaw away at confidence, swagger and moxy. Then the terrifying part happens, the reply. After we are raw and exposed we have to deal with the full force of our own devices--we get an answer. Excitement and curiosity battle with doubt and imagination runs wild--the inner turmoil of the struggle leaves us battered, bruised and prepared for the worst, which never happens.
On that Easter the second most terrifying thing began to happen, text messages went out to no reply--minutes never bother me but hours and days to reply I take as a personal slight. At first it was simply those whom I had made tentative plans with had not messaged me to confirm, but I shrugged this off as early on a family oriented day, although Peter and Mike had few family members in the city, and as such I decided to test the waters by breaking cellphone silence. First replying to genuine wishes of happiness with the same and then to those I had hoped to spend time with that day. With the messages sent away my main concern was occupying myself and avoiding the terror that can accompany this type of message.
I headed outside to sit and write part of my daily birthday present to Laura--26 she turns this year and I decide that my flying to spend it with her was not enough in spite of what she claims; I am selfishly going to see her because my days are better near her. For her 26th I am writing her in a journal for 26 days and getting people around me over the course of these days to send her birthday wishes(at times I can be adorable.) After sitting in the sun writing my gorgeous Chicagoan dream girl I head to the basement to watch the Toronto Blue Jays game with my Dad who is walking his daily 5km's on the treadmill and await the messages that will lead to the filling of my day. The main issue I have is what I could be doing with the day were the replies prompt--I could plan or otherwise productively occupy my time. Instead I awaited the probably apologetic next day excuses and rescheduling, which is disheartening in every sense of the word aside from literally as I still had a heart.
As the golden 15C early spring oddity of a day progresses and the Jays game comes to a close I concede that it is better to do a solo bike ride and scribble in the soon to be setting sunshine than waste a day at home in sweat pants--the one exception to this being if spent with your amazing other in which case it is perfectly acceptable to do 'nothing' together and still go to bed feeling a satisfied sense of achievement. I bike to a secluded spot to sip Johnny Walker Black out of a flask, write until at peace in the fading sun.
Happy Easter.
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Awkward...
Awkward moments are what I wish upon myself. And you for that matter, whomever cares to read these lines; I hope you all the best and the random happen stances that take you out of your comfort zone. It is far too easy to live a life: that makes sense, that feels good, that just kind of happens. There is nothing wrong with these lives mind you, and I am uber jealous with the added grammatical tools--however that is not how I choose to live or could live and I believe the same is for you as you here read along. Maybe I should start at the beginning however that beginnings with what a big bang, the universe and light--nah, lets move on to present day. Cheers.
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
First impresions
Trying to relieve past happy memories is fraught with danger as one
risks shattering warm agos.
I spent twenty-four hours yesterday awake, less half a hour on a
plane. Those hours, filled with head winded delayed flights, a missed
connection, old stomping grounds, moved friends, family feasts, card
and board games and of course late night chats--they were all well worth the
exhausting of the following day...
An invitation turned down, and honest upsetting answers;I fear I no
longer fit into a former life--I know I do not. Good intentions have
led to accidentally strained relationships and wondering if it all was a
good idea--it was but they do not always work out That can be the hardest part to accept...
risks shattering warm agos.
I spent twenty-four hours yesterday awake, less half a hour on a
plane. Those hours, filled with head winded delayed flights, a missed
connection, old stomping grounds, moved friends, family feasts, card
and board games and of course late night chats--they were all well worth the
exhausting of the following day...
An invitation turned down, and honest upsetting answers;I fear I no
longer fit into a former life--I know I do not. Good intentions have
led to accidentally strained relationships and wondering if it all was a
good idea--it was but they do not always work out That can be the hardest part to accept...
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Plane rides
Now boarding those who need assistance or feel like prematurely
queuing up to the check-in desk. Every flight without fail this happens and I am confused by this; why do people rush to sit down and wait for the rest of the passengers in a cramped airplane? Rushing solves nothing and life is
too short to sped through it. Then again I am the oldest I have ever
been, and clueless to the future--better get in line, my flight is
about to take off.
queuing up to the check-in desk. Every flight without fail this happens and I am confused by this; why do people rush to sit down and wait for the rest of the passengers in a cramped airplane? Rushing solves nothing and life is
too short to sped through it. Then again I am the oldest I have ever
been, and clueless to the future--better get in line, my flight is
about to take off.
Monday, February 6, 2012
An adventure
In the beginning you never know what you are getting into. Yes we all
have ideas, vague conceptions of what: could, would or should happen,
but they are foolish theories. Besides if you are too caught up in the
what you want or the might be you may miss out on all the good
stuff--the in-between...
have ideas, vague conceptions of what: could, would or should happen,
but they are foolish theories. Besides if you are too caught up in the
what you want or the might be you may miss out on all the good
stuff--the in-between...
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Vacation is over
The problem with today is that I am feeling slightly under the weather. Were I actually sick it would be easy to sit around and do nothing however I am hardly, and certainly not showing signs of any ailment. It is just a general lackadaisical mentality that has taken over the day, and now the evening. At first I was productive, waking up early for brunch with a dearly departing from the city friend but that came to an early end. Today is the last day of my vacation, and I should feel rested. Although I am thinking it is probably a better sign that at the end of a sixteen day holiday I am feeling more exhausted than when it all began. There are things I could and would like to be doing but knowing what is ahead of me in the coming: days, weeks and months I simply cannot justify risking truly becoming ill in favour of a few games and I feel bad for making this decision. People understand, but only for an undetermined amount of time. Tomorrow the real world starts, back with two days of classes followed by a work week that flows seamlessly into another two days of classes. Rinse and repeat this schedule until April with Volleyball teams and Badminton nights sprinkled in the evening just to add some physical activity without actually having to dedicate myself to working out in one of those three letter worded places. I should have taken the long way home.
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