A little to the left

Keep me
So court me
Past the afternoon

If Mormons
Can convert
After one’s passing

Then continue
To heal my body
From morning till noon

You were a night
In armour fit for a king
Aware of his mood

Sweep me on
My toes again
And read my tears

A lover’s touch
Settles nothing
Until a lover knows

Woof

Inspire me. Go on – fetch. Find me something to admire and I’ll rub under your chin until you drool. NOT THAT WAY. It’s a one way street. Fool.

Those who run aren’t as cowardly as you think. They are forced to appreciate the finer things like warming near an open fire or scrutinizing the mail.

Oh don’t worry. His bark is worse than his bite. This blood? Is from that one time his bite happened to be worse. This tear? Is from…Where did you say you were from?

Where did the fear go? Starring back isn’t usually the answer. Who will bow down first? Not this time.

Please go on.

November is over and I'm so so glad. It was a really busy November. Let us never speak of that analysing blog project ever ever again.

I was playing the New Pornographer record a certain K gave me and it rocks my socks. I especially enjoy Side A.

Also, if you send me a picture of you when you were a kid wearing some sort of head covering that would be great (like my little white hood!). I could post them and people could vote for their favourites and the winners would get many pats on their backs and all that. Make sure the subject of the email is "A Certain Hooded Picture."

Oh what fun.

What are you waiting for?

Come tell me that you love me. Under the spell of the midnight moon I will blush but you won’t be able to see. I hope to death that you remember what I look like under my mask. What if, one day, I take it off and you scream. I would die. Help me look beautiful to me. I don’t look into your eyes, hoping you can’t see the real me. My thoughts burst at the seam but if I can’t see you then you can’t see me. Right? That only worked when I was three. Forgive my subtle tongue and blabbing discontents. I feel I grieve too much for me. Who knew such an open ended family could teach a child to be so closed. Come back another day – operating hours are nine to five. Pictures make it easy – no need for a chat – frozen in time looking luxurious and cool. A gentle whisper rolls from her lips – but need not reply.

I wish you could hear the music playing. It’s delicately mixing with your voice.

Ho hum.

You rock my socks...

"Did I just talk for 10 minutes about my feet insulators?" he asked.

"Yeah I think you did," I replied. "It's OK though it was a good story."

Who knew Styrofoam cups and a knife could create something so helpful.

"What fresh hell is this," my mother hissed over to us.

She was referring to the relatively crazy woman who choose to sit beside her at the David Suzuki speech last night. My mom attracts the crazies. The woman kept asking for pens and talked about her personal life accomplishments.

I couldn't stop laughing. “Where did you come up with a line like that?” I asked.

"It was in a Dilbert cartoon," she slyly replied.

Before the unfortunate sitting down of that woman my mom was telling my dad and I another one of her yoga stories.

“So he was telling us to be aware of our aches and pains and our bodies and our organs and then suddenly a little voice in my head popped up and said ‘hellooo liver.”

As we walked home in the warm darkness we discussed our favourite bits of the night.

"My favourite quote from tonight is 'I am the environment and so are you. I am air and so are you. If I am air and you are air then I am you' oh and 'what fresh hell is this.'"

How can something so little be so fierce?

uuuuummmmmmmm...

LA lalalalalalalalaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa la teeee daaaa. LA LA LA LA lalalalalalalalalala lateda. Lalalala.

(composed by Meghan)

The End.

this and that

This....

I love the tone that's in your laugh
Gasping for an extra breath
Waiting for the time to pass
I believe in days ahead
Don't spend another night alone
Cross and wishing you were dead.

Mary, you shouldn't let 'em make you mad
You hold the best you can
And Mary, after all the pain is gone
I'm always gonna live to be your man.

I've had it easy now you see
When I'm down you're always there
Standing by to comfort me
Someday we'll go round the world
I'll make the journey so sublime
I know you're not a travelin' girl.

Mary, you shouldn't let 'em make you mad
You hold the best you can
And Mary, after all the pain is gone

I'm always gonna live to be your man.
Cause I'd give everything I have
Forget all the things that bring me joy
If you could have one day
Pure and simple happiness
Until that moment comes
I'll be here where I've always been
I'm gonna be your friend
Until the day I die.

Mary, you shouldn't let 'em make you mad
You hold the best you can
And Mary, after all the pain is gone
I'm always gonna live to be your man.

(hold on....)




And That...

hopeless
hopeless
hopeless
hopeless
hopeless
hopeless
hopeless
hopeless
hopeless
hopeless

fuck
fuck
fuck
fuck
fuck
fuck
fuck
fuck
fuck
fuck
fuck
fuck
fuck
fuck

I'm fine
fuck
I'm fine
fuck
I'm fine

FUCK.

I'M FINE.

rachel made me do it...

This Is My Life, Rated
Life:	5.5
Mind:	5
Body:	5.9
Spirit:	7.7
Friends/Family:	3
Love:	4.6
Finance:	7.1
Take the Rate My Life Quiz

Drunk high sleepy people say lame things they think are deep…

I just came back from watching a movie I can’t remember. I can’t remember the title. It was as soon as the credits started rolling. No, I felt it before then – I think you know the feeling – when your stomach lurches and your insides grown. When the hot good guy embraces that almost ordinary girl (who could almost kind of resemble you which is a good thing because that means him, or someone just like him, could almost kind of go after you too) he holds on to her and its perfect. The music is perfect, the angle is perfect but really it’s that “happily ever after,” “don’t say a word I understand you completely,” “we’re hot and we’re together,” “we share amazing kisses and long meaningful gazes as we smile with a knowledge of each other behind our lips” that makes the love in the story so desirable.

People leave theatres in fuzzy dazes. As I leave the theatre I think about how I want love like that – frozen and perfect – forever and ever. By the time I have thrown out my pop container full of ice and veer toward the bathroom I get a little grumbly.

“That will never happen. Who thought of happily ever afters anyway?”

I think, in life there has never been a love story like I just saw. No one can read minds that well or give that meaningful love gaze that perfectly shows that they’ve just discovered something – no, they’ve just discovered everything – about the other person. “From then on” doesn’t matter. That very moment, that can’t easily be put into words, shows those two are perfectly in love and will be happy and beautiful forever – just for that moment because that’s the only moment we know because the screen is about to fade to black and the credits are about to roll.

I don’t even understand who came up with “happily ever after.” Who thought of the first “everything went perfectly” love story? How can a person imagine something so completely unattainable? I want perfect tingly love because I’ve been feed that story thousands of times. If I had never been told a love story would I still have the ability to yearn for true perfect beautiful understanding love?

Some philosopher argued God must exist because humans aren’t perfect and if an imperfect being has imagined something so perfect and almightily, that thing must exist.

It seems loveless sad people have the ability to contemplate the notion of true love. So if human beings have made story after story about “happily ever after” true love has to exist, according to some dead guy I can’t even remember the name of.

I’m boooooooorrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeedddddddd

Grrr

honestly

I don’t want to fall in love with words anymore.

I want to fall in love with you.

You’re like bait tied on by string from a stick in front of my nose.

But the stick is long so I can’t even see you.

I sense though. Do you even believe in sense anymore? Now that you are taking that class that makes you question fortune tellers and mind readers?

Absence makes the heart grow stronger. I want you because I can’t have you.

gimme gimme gimme gimme.

I like orange and green Halls

Turns out I can’t eat chicken noodle soup in bed without it dribbling down my chin.

I am sick. I ducked into back alleys and store isles downtown all day to day to blow my nose and conceal my whimpers. sniffle.

I was mailing a letter to a certain someone today and there was this jerk face in front of me in the very long line up sighing and groaning and complaining about having to wait.

I was all “listen buddy I’m suffering from the bubonic plague behind you and yet here I stand silently in line. So unless you’re going to die in the next 24 hours shut the hell up, you weirdo.”

Okay I didn’t say that but sheesh. Then he bought stamps – the ones you lick – and the employee girl hadn’t put any water in the stamp moisterer thingy. So weirdo, was all “this is ridiculous there isn’t any water in here. You better get some water. I’m not licking these things.”

And then the girl was all "I don’t have any water and I can’t leave the store to get water *glare glare*" and then I told her I had water, from my water bottle, and then I dumped it in and then he ranted at her a little more and then he said thank you to me and I grunted a quite “you're welcome.” Then apparently I didn’t say your welcome loud enough because he was all “hey lady I said THANK YOU.”

And I was all “Listen dumb ass I’m not being all chirpy to you after you verbally attacked that minimum wage paid employee so stop making an issue over everything and get over your self.” Actually, I glared at him and said “you're welcome” just little bit louder.

That’s why I’m throwing things around my home again

Today I participated in the Run for the Cure. I ran the 5 km in 33 minutes. I didn’t stop running ever – even when I felt like walking a couple of times.

I think I’m going to get rid of my dreads, die my hair a rich brown colour and get a wavy perm.

Yes you heard me.

I am writing a children’s book for a group project at school. Four of us are going to base our stories on a certain kid suffering from some media induced or media related “ailment.” I get Internet Kid. I’ve named her Ady. She suffers from all sorts of Internet addiction symptoms – like making typing movements with her fingers as she sleeps, getting agitated when she’s not on the internet, ordering things off eBay (ok ok not everyone who does that is addicted) and she doesn’t go to birthday parties...because she’s busy on eBay.

Well this post sure was informative, wasn’t it? I won’t do it again I promise.

Today a police man visited...but, more about that later

How very happily we live,
we who have nothing.
We will feed on rapture
like the Radiant gods.

-Dhammapada, 15, translated by Thanissaro Bhikkhu.

dance mix '95

Today a homeless man laughed while shouting, "Hey Meghan! Put a smile one your face, it's Friday."

I sheepishly looked at him and whispered, "I'll try."

are you still skirting around your room in your underwear?

A likely question. I am, in fact, not still skirting around my room in my underwear. It turns out I love the work "skirting."

I'm on day two of my new "health kick." I now eat everything Health Canada tells me too. Turns out the health plan is for the rich. I can in no way afford to eat 10 fruits/vegetables a day. Do you know how much something like that would cost?! That's 70 vegetables in a week and they all have to be different so I get all the crazy nutrients from everything.

I forgot to buy broccoli. Apparently broccoli is like a saint.

Speaking of "like" - Do you think one could blame the simile for annoying teenage speech patterns?

Teachers should only profess the brilliance of metaphors and see if teenagers respond positively.

2005: "I'm like so tired"
2015: "I'm so tired"

eh? eh?

ok. bye.

Love always, Your mom

"Wonderful chai latte tea, spicy and great and wonderful desserts, full of "young fry" and what sounded like a bunch of Russians or Bulgarians. They were all hugging each other and speaking in loud military like voices! You would like it there..."

Dear Mr. Dressup,

You make me want to express my self artistically – in every way I can – because I know you’ll understand.

I wonder if one day I’ll just go overboard.

yesterday fil identified with a minority at A&W

Yoshi fell in a pit and Rachel said "oh fuck."

"Oh for fuck sakes" -- Yoshi ran away a lot.

My portable Fisher Price record player played Psychedelic Shack by The Temptations all night.

I looked up "super Nintendo super Mario secrets" and we tried to decipher what the hell the super Mario nerds were trying to tell us.

If you press R L X Y and UP Mario will do a "funny dance" after he saves the princess.

As it turns out, that funny dance is less a funny dance and more of a possessed head nod.

Rachel, inspired by the whole thing, made the possessed head nod her own by adding a little Egyptian walk to it.

She's trying to pass the last level again so she can compare the Mario dance-walks. By the looks of it, it is important for her to yell "Italian Power," "quick as a whip quick as a whip" and "oh fucking shit" through out the game to win...

I'm not sure if it's working.

you are

Once upon a time there was a princess named Fran.
She laughed whenever there was a person within hearing distance.
Oh and how she laughed.
But, when she found herself alone she cried and cried.
And, oh, how she cried.
The wolves living in a cave nearby heard every one of her tears fall though.
For, Fran had forgotten about the animals.
Fran was a certain kind of Christian who thought animals didn't have souls.
So, if you cry in front of them its like you're crying in front of nothing at all.
One day a certain wolf in that near by cave got a little tired of all her lonely crying.
He choose to jump through Fran's bedroom window and pin her to the ground.
With his wolf drool dripping on her Vera Wang gown.
He growled, "I am. Therefore, I hear."

I wanna go home

Take me by the hand and tell me you would take me anywhere.
And don't you worry there's still time.
You, you say you don't see any part of me to love in all this mess.

They thought my telephoto lens was a bazooka

Jazzmanio in a new hat

What is it to be in love?
Actions full of mushy poetry and gifts of red spicy hearts…

I only know the silly kind of love that’s corny and full of fake not even Hallmark sympathy.

In the movies they don’t need practise loving.
False advertising.

Some brains don't come with that special feature. Extra head space included but no love on/off switch.

I wish it would just hit me like lightning would and then introduce itself like a light bulb in a thought bubble.

Forgive me.

Look me in the heart and tell me that you won't go

I have a fridge full of food and an empty room.

If two people live far away and one of them is no good at the phone where does the good go?

I'm lonely the second after I decide that I need to be alone.

Don't talk to me about simple things.

As you're lying there drifting off to sleep

I'm going to write about Karl. Because he says I probably don't want him to read my blog because of all the nasty stuff I've said about him in the past. I plan to prove him right.

I don't like the thought that boys weight less than me. So, according to Karl, it turns out that we both weigh nothing. Now I can't be all girly and whimper about my thighs being too fat...

We walked past these gangsta cars playing crap....actually it was kind of catchy crap. They were parked right outside the doors of Tim Horton’s. Yeah you guys rock. Way to hang out in a parking lot and blast your fab music in front of trailor-trash-coffee-ville. So we walked into Tim's and I was immediately blinded by the florescent lights and the harsh decor bits of the coffee shop.

"Oh god it’s the same girl who served us last time,” I whispered to Karl. "It's like we're regulars here. This is embarrassing."

He gave me an agreeing nod and we walked 1/4 confidently and 3/4 sheepishly to the front and ordered our stuff.

----
Last time I ordered two bottles of spring water and some peppermint tea.

"Spring water? Do we serve that?" the server said and looked at the menu above her head. "Oh yeah, I guess we do. No one has called it spring water before."

After I felt snobby for ordering spring water and after she told me her theory about boyfriends and how they should pay for everything - resulting in lower crime rates and an overall better world - we left.
----

We both ordered and then walked back to his car and he played the music that I said, over the phone, sounded like a dying cat, but only over the phone - it sounded good in person. After that I marked the fogged up windows with my hands and feet and talked about the weather.

I was walking with the ghost

This is the top of a picture I took. The other half is of some friends sitting on a couch at Jamie's house

This is something I wrote a long time ago:

I drained my thoughts through the floor
The neighbours watched below
Seeing soggy half baked memories
Sink around their toes

Finally my head gleaming clean
Lighter too with the new start of things
I stood floating above my drained dreams
Empty and forgotten

The damp hard wood floor against my lips
Looking down through the cracks to see what I’d missed
The mother had already forgotten
The child cried in the mist.

I tend to run out of inspiration nearing the ends of them. "The child cried in the mist" - What the hell is that all about. It's a fake rhyme with "missed" that's what it is.

There are men in my house painting the ceilings. Stacy is one of them and the other is Dan. They're generally nice. I feel like I should offer them tea and cookies or something. But then I remember that I'M NOT an old lady with cookies to spare. They have draped plastic sheets from the top of the walls down to the floor in the kitchen. So the cupboards and countertop are hidden. I had to crawl on top of the counter and shuffle around in search of the fruit near the sink while at the same time hoping Stacy wouldn't walk in and say "what the fuck?!" At any rate the story ends happily because I got my pare and Stacey was no where to be seen.

I can't say that I'll love you forever

I want a taco

RIGHT. NOW.

You promised not to laugh.

His name is Jeff. I drew him myself. He's a dragon...but, you probably already knew that due to the drawing's amazing life like qualities.

Yeah, so, I'm avoiding writing an essay comparing Rousseau's idea of law with Kiplings. I personally think Rousseau was a little silly. Not Jeff though.

That's great - just great - I'm going crazy from writing a stupid essay. Alright I'll give Jeff to the first writer who writes me an essay.

Adam knew Eve

"Definitions of fuck on the Web:

- slang terms for sexual intercourse
- roll in the hay: have sexual intercourse with; "This student sleeps with everyone in her dorm"; "Adam knew Eve"; "Were you ever intimate with this man?" wordnet.princeton.edu/perl/webwn

- Fuck, a word connected to sexual intercourse, is among the strongest and most controversial vulgarisms in the modern English language. en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fuck

- Fuck is an American indie rock band, formed in San Francisco in 1994. They have recorded for a number of labels including Matador Records and Homesleep Records of Italy. en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fuck_(band)"

Who me?

And so it begins.

Did you know that Kepler, of all people, mathematically proved that planets don’t rotate in circles but that they rotate in ellipses? I personally thought it was Galileo – silly me. Something even a little more puzzling is that this Microsoft Word spell check knows who Galileo is but not Kepler when it was Kepler who made quite the discovery. If we still thought planets rotated in circles, which we obviously wouldn’t, – but if we did – we would be very confused. Our calendars would also be confused.

I was standing in a gas paying line up. Finally, I passed my debit card to the boy wearing a kid’s cowboy hat and said I was the wood paneled mini van. “Wood paneled mini van” wasn’t the number he was hoping for. So, as he was about to raise his eyebrow in a puzzled way his fellow coworker shouts “she’s 12.” The fat poorly dressed woman behind me and in front of him, the coworker, cackles. “Oh no dear, I’d say she looks about 14.”
And then I say “Fuck you. I’m 22. I’m old damn it. Old.” I didn’t actually say that. Damn I promised myself I wouldn’t lie or embellish the truth this post – that was the last time I swear.

I watched him hold his little bag of pumpkin seeds and then sample a few from the bag. I also watched him dump the bag of seeds back into the bulk container bin. The thing is I really wanted some pumpkin seeds. I attempted to calculate the probability of me scooping up the seeds that had recently been touched by his saliva covered finger tips. As I was mid scoop he told me he thought the seeds tasted bitter. He went on to say I should double check by simply sticking my hand in and tasting some of the controversial seed. By that time I was on to him. He knew I saw him steal a taste. He was slyly making me into a pumpkin seed thief. “Oh no you don’t,” I thought. “I’m not becoming a member of your old man ‘sampling’ gang. You just want to eliminate the chance of me telling on you.” It took three forceful “no’s” sandwiched in between flowery words before he gave up. Not today old man, not today.

Today, I also got watermelon and cut it into tiny cubes.

oh for crying out loud

What’s wrong with you?
Do I need a few tattoos and a reputation?
Is “fling” not in my vocabulary?
Does my dress scream commitment?

These words are just a flirt fart
My shoes will walk all over you
And I only hold hands with the now

You can touch me
But take me off that pedestal

Wimp

My feet are cold,
and my spine has fallen.
I see a cat,
running with my tongue.
Feathers are growing,
from my goose bumps.
A chicken has risen.

She was there after all

Last night was fun. We danced and they complimented me on my shirt. I wasn't expecting there to be so many people.

I saw Harvey the other day - actually it was on Sunday. At the airport. He was wearing blue jeans, an ibm fleece and his hair looked like it hadn't been washed for a few days. Because of his unusual dress I had to look twice to confirm my sighting.

Wherever he walked, with the woman, I kept staring and he kept looking back. I decided that maybe I shouldn't stare at him anymore because I was probably making him nervous. He probably thought I'd go up and tell him he was greedy or thoughtless.

I don't see anything wrong with the man. But that is only because I know very little about him. If someone I dictated didn’t know about me I would be worried.

I bet he gets tired of being told why he's wrong. To damn bad that's what comes with the job. He has family to applaud him and hug him.

I bet it took a little bit of getting used to - being greatly glared at by a large number of people. If I took a position like his I would stare dumb founded, at who ever would look back, with tears in my eyes and then yell "why can't we all just get along?"

But that's why I'm not the president of a university.

This is the summer of protest

Rich people and children chew squares of pure milk chocolate. The chocolate lovers who do not fall into either of those categories let the chocolate melt in their mouth and desperately persuade their own tongue to keep the sweet morsel away from their surrounding teeth.

Or so my theory goes.

A photo shoot will take place on Saturday night. Although, he likes light, shapes and reflections and I’ve decided I like people. Perhaps I can persuade him to find the living or maybe we can compromise.

There was a time when I liked work. Actually, it was last week. This week I’m searching for something different but it won’t happen because I go to school.

Damn the man.

Damn the everyday man.

The other day I woke up with a red diamond shape on the top of my foot. We had many theories. The one that stuck: an alien came in the middle of the night while I was sleeping. It mistook my foot for a succulent brain. It was slightly taken aback when It discovered my foot was not actually my brain. Not having enough time to actually find my actual brain It put a tracking devise in my foot and called it an evening.

It was my mom’s theory actually. I got a bit squeamish when she finished her alien theory.

“You’ll be sorry when I’m crazy!” I shouted. “I’ll keep referring to the tracking devise in my foot all because you planted that idea into my head.”

“You’re much too logical to go crazy,” was her reply.

Do you think so?

One

If you could change one thing about yourself or your surroundings to make your life just a little more manageable what would that one thing be?

Boxes. I’d get rid of all my damn boxes.

What sort of boxes?

All sorts. Big card board ones and cell phone boxes. Any kind of box.

What are in the boxes?

I don’t know. They’re probably empty.

Oh I see…

That’s what gets me; I’m crowding my apartment with empty useless boxes. I’ll never use them but I keep them because I think they’re important.

Wait a second. What do you mean ‘oh I see?’ You’re not going to start talking about how my empty boxes symbolize my empty lonely body or something are you? Cause I don’t like that shit.

What would you like to talk about?

Can I ask you a question?

Of course.

Lately, I’ve been reading about certain disorders.

What sort of disorders?

Ones like schizophrenia and obsessive compulsive disorder – that sort of thing. Anyway, a lot of the articles talk about a person doing weird things that seem to be normal but then those not so normal things build up over time to be something crazy. Like this one guy I read about was a little weird as a kid but then one day, he was in his late twenties, he just came home and started going all wacko and repeating things and pacing around the living room.

Do you think you have a disorder?

Na.

Anyway, so yesterday I was about to go to bed and I walked into my living room and a sock had fallen from the drying rack I have set up near my couch. I looked at it, acknowledged that I should hang it back up but then instead of just bending over I glared at it, turned away and went in to my bed room where I was heading to before I noticed the sock.

Wait, do you think I have a disorder?

Birds do it

I have a post card named “A Love Letter.” There are hearts forming hypothetical words in the format of a letter. Every time I find myself staring at it I’m trying to edit the letter in my head to make it grammatically correct.

You know, writing things “artsy like” are just lame attempts to make your life sound mystical.

To translate the first paragraph into something more real: I sit and stare at my wall a lot.

I have a life I swear. I just don’t want to try to compress my article to fit the 200 word limit right now. How can a person smoosh a person’s life into 200 words? Well, obviously I will if I want to get paid.

The Tank Girl CD is the best CD ever. OK that’s a lie. Although number 5 does rock my socks off! That’s right – my socks. The beginning is my favorite. I play along with my rockin’ air guitar like never before. In reality I guess I kind of look like I’m strumming my rockin’ banjo. Never the less it’s called Shove by L7.

Sunshine!

I feel like I need to say something absurdly upbeat to counter act my not-so-happy last entry.

I got nothing.

I can tell you random facts though.

I’m considering becoming a vegetarian solely because I hate the smell of meat. I smell like bacon as I type this lovely entry and it’s driving me crazy. It’s not so bad now but when I leave my little house and go out into the real world where the majority of it doesn’t smell like bacon I’ll stick out (OK I’ll feel like I’m sticking out) like a sore thumb. bla

I like flowers, cute fluffy animals, my new fish Spencer and my cell phone ring. There I did it.

Can we try again?

Two things I was forced to realise today:
I’m boring
And naive as hell

Something else I learned:
If what you have to say won’t improve the silence than don’t say it.
But when you have something that will improve it, for God’s sake, speak loudly.

I feel like that Australian girl in Grease: I’m all giggly and eager to please. But I need a black-leather-and-red-lipstick-with-attitude makeover, STAT. Unfortunately I don’t have Grease Girl’s looks. DAMN I HATE HOW THE WORLD IS OUT TO GET ME. It is you know. I’m not just making this up.

My one mostly agreed upon attribute is that I’m cute. FUCK CUTE. What does "cute" even mean. “Pretty” and “smart” all are things one can measure, test and point out. But “cute” is…is…well I’m not sure what “cute” is and that’s the entire point.

Another thing I learned today. I’m way to content being in my own little world. I can happily be silent around people forever. Sometimes and in some ways that can be a good thing. But really, I don’t have it in me to say random crap that hopefully will win me points with the person or people. But damn it I wish I did.

Example:

Silence

Other person says something clever/funny

Me: ha ha. That’s funny.

Me displays she is a “‘yes’ man” and perhaps too agreeable

Me: (thinks) damn it say something clever and or entertaining.

ME HAS COMPLETE BLANK OUT

Me than gives up and retreats back into the world of Her Head



Oh God so painful and pathetic. I need to be able to spout out random knowledge and/or past entertaining/enlightening/funny personal events.

I think the problem is I’m a very crazy combination of laid back and stressed out. Caffeine pills might be the answer.

I just… I wish I could form coherent sentences and make sense…just once in awhile.

That reminds me. I think I am like those people addicted to porn. So addicted they can’t have sex with real people anymore.

I can’t speak to real people anymore. I think in my head. I write down then back space and then send. I do this more than I actually speak face-to-face.

I can’t talk in real life. I’d rather have a deep discussion over the Internet or maybe over the phone than trying to awkwardly make eye contact and say the right thing with out the aid of the “backspace” key.

A few weeks ago I was leaving a message on an important person’s answering machine and at the end of my horrible rambling message (no backspace key) I almost said my name at the end the message as if I was ending an email. Luckily I stopped mid name but really…what the hell? I now speak like I write emails.

But here I am still writing my feelings out with the help of a stupid machine. The Internet and Blogs make a person feel like they’re connecting with other people. They are sharing information to potentially thousands of people.

But in the end YOU’RE ALONE.

You’re sitting in a small dark room. You are ignoring the world around you. You are listening to the soothing hum of a machine that’s got your tongue.

Introverts are brainwashed into thinking they’re becoming extraverts with the help of a machine that claims to be connecting you to the world. But really users are forcing themselves deeper into a silent riddled nightmare.

There were good times and bad times...

I'll always remember you.

Remembrance died. She is buried near one of my mom’s plants. I don't quite understand how she died but she did. I found her laying on top of her filter on Friday night. Poor thing. Then she finally stopped attempting to live Saturday afternoon.

In other news... My worth is increasing.

It was only last week when I found a sticker on my shirt that read $1.95. Now today, on the leg of my pants, I found one that read $36.99.

I think these price stickers are a sign...from someone...about something...

That’s all I have to report right now. I’ll keep you updated.

Can you hear me now? Good.

No wait. No good. I don’t want to hear you because you’re obviously not hearing me. I’m giving subtle clues for you to give me more than a one word response but all you have to say is ‘good.’ Frankly I don’t need your approval to go on, but you seem to need mine to move on to the next mountain top or train platform. One day I’m not going to be able to hear you and you’re going to freeze like a computer without a command – speechless.

I just want to fly away.
But I lost my wings two Halloweens ago.

State: Sleepy with a bit of crazy-rambly on the side (as you might have noticed...sorry about that).

all of that time you thought I was sad/I was trying to remember your name

This lovely picture was not taken by me. It was taken by a certain someone named Carl.

I want a roaring fire, a good book and a significant other. Today calls for all of those things. Rainy sleepy days like these always do.

Dear Santa:
I am writing you early this year because I just want to tell you that I’m still here. My lack of letters doesn’t mean I don’t care. I’ve discovered that I am one of those goats. Where ever I am the grass always looks greener on the other side. It gets tiring. I figure I need to see it all before I make my final decision. I have a repetitive personality at times, I think. I have to have all of one thing over and over and over again, instead of allotting myself healthy doses. I go from loving something like never before and then straight to feeling indifferent about it.

Santa do you think I’m vain?

Maybe I just have too much time to think. Or, maybe I just give myself too much time to think.

The phone rang just now and a calm cocky automated voice asked me if I was single and over 18. I pressed ‘0’ for yes. The response was a shrill beep and silence.

Well I should go. It was nice finally having the time to write to you Santa. Oh, I wouldn’t mind getting a roaring fire, a good book and a significant other. But I’m sure the weather and my mood will change tomorrow. So don’t worry about it. I’ll keep you posted.

Love.

I'm gonna run away and never wonder why

Where is my fucking ANGRY CD?!
I only have one angry CD the rest are whining emo crap or Black Eyed Peas
I’m really trying to make Black Eyed Peas my new angry CD but it’s not working.
What does it say about a person who only has one angry CD and a fist full of sad CDs?
I DON’T KNOW but that is NOT the point right now. THE POINT is that I’m angry and stressed out and I have no CD to match my mood. I have one angry CD and I can NOT find it. NO I do not want suggestions of angry CDs or for you to tell me about angry CDs that you own. I WANT MY FREAKING ANGRY CD NOW, please.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

Hold up.
I found it. There, are you happy HEAD ACHE?
Please turn off now.

but when I reached to touch your hand

“God that was strange to see you again
Introduced by a friend of a friend
Smiled and said ‘yes I think we've met before’
In that instant it started to pour.”
- Stars: Your ex-lover is dead

Oh how happiness turns in to dread and dread turns in to love and love turns in to nothingness and nothingness turns in to loving your fish.

I’m not sure if they are doing very well. I cleaned their water – a task much over due. With a paper-towel or two dabbing the inside of their pool left the side gleaming. Yet, after a closer inspection the water was murky with white goo. Such is life when you clean your tank with a paper-towel or two. So I said ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘please don’t die’ and quickly turned on the filter. The rest is up to God and that un-kept machine. Does he care about my fish I wonder? I named them after words he apparently appreciates. Joy and Remembrance where are you?

If I were your woman

Am I in love now? How about now?...now?
Remember that one time longish ago when you said I sounded like I was in love? Well am I in love now?
How about now?

Okay that was fun.
I had a good Easter weekend. I hope everyone else did. Wow I’m talking to people like I think there are people actually out *there.* I think this is a first – me wishing you all well and stuff.

So I went to Medicine Hat with my family. That was good. I ate way more than I should have and I gained around 6 pounds – the size of a small child you say!? (in horror)
Why yes!, I reply - The size of a small child.

Oh I wrote down things I thought were funny at the time during my Medicine Hat spiritual journey. Let me see if I can find them.
Okay they weren’t that good. Moving on…
I went to visit my Aunt Martha and she…oh tatu came on…I still love them (kind of) even though they came so quickly and left so quickly and are big fakes.

Anyway, my Aunt was in tears because she starts to cry every time she thinks about Jesus on the cross - apparently. I ate a lot. Met some British people. All in all it was a pretty good few days. I’m sure I left out some important bits but that is all I can remember right now.

they wont see your face but you’ll want them too until they do

Can one actually like a person that they’ve only met online? Really it’s the other person’s writing they’re falling in love with. Your words are completely different than your actions, thoughts, reactions and mannerisms. Although, if your writing is dull and shallow then you’re probably dull and shallow. But I’m not sure if it works the other way – but it could. S/he could be amazing: full of wit and adventure. And what do they think of you? How many online friends do they have? Are you the one and only or are you one in many? And if you are the only one then is that person desperate, alone and creepy? But, what if you dismiss all your other friends for this one online amazement? Does that make you desperate or just desperately in love?

I’ve got the I-don’t-know-how-to-fix-the-damn-thing blues.

Do we all have a lot of secrets? Or, do some people lead normal yet boring lives where everything is just always out in the open? Are there some people that just, somehow, acquire a lot of things that other people don’t know about? Maybe the more secrets you have, the more scared you are. Scared about how you live your life, scared about your thoughts, scared about your surroundings.

Angelina where are you!? oh there you are

This is a picture I took…

I just came back from my two week practicum. During that time I wrote bits down when I wanted to and here they are.

March 8, 2005
I forced myself away from my desk and went outside today at lunch. I forget how nice the outside is sometimes. As soon as the first bit of wind hit my face I let out a breath of relief. Yes, the wind oddly enough had a vague odour of manure and fresh cigarette smoke. But, no matter what, cool refreshing air is so much better than that dry recycled stuff and florescent lights.

March 10, 2005
And it’s not a cry that you hear at night it’s not someone who has seen the light it’s a cold and broken halleluiah. Today I discovered I really, really like K.D. Lang.

March 11, 2005
“This is career limiting,” she whines while holding a pie dangerously close to her boss's face.

Those darn engineers. At least I think it’s the engineers that pie people for money. At any rate the Alumni woman was getting back at her boss, the high up executive relations guy, and so the engineers suggested that she pie him in the face instead of them. It was really funny…but she was a little hesitant.

March 14, 2005
“The Liberals are coming to town and it’s snowing. That’s what happens when the Liberals come to town,” I’m not sure who said that but I heard it being said…at the office…today.

I saw the Prime Minister today in real life. I couldn’t stop smiling. OK that’s a lie I could stop smiling but it was exciting.

Romantic snow?

This is a picture I took. I don't usually just display pictures but I'm too lazy to take it away or write anything under it so...so THERE.

in the end

Dear Orange:

Why are you covered in wax?

After pealing one of your kind today I looked down at my hands to find my skin vandalized. Covered in what looked like small translucent fish scales.

Why must you be camouflaged? Why must you concern yourself with looking newer, fresher, younger, and more luscious – but on fake terms?

Everything is masked and I’m sick of it. I promise if the option is put out there I will happily eat a dull lopsided, but succulent, orange – I promise.

Please, just give me the opportunity to accept something real; Void of sparkling skin, firm outsides and that colour I now realise doesn’t really exist.

Is it about being judged? Because I will not judge you Orange.

I find it hard not to critique an orange that is hiding behind something it is not; Instead, I look harder for imperfections.

Fake is a turnoff – luscious honest insides are not.

I look forward to your truthful reply.

Love always,

M.

I think I’m in love with my massage therapist

“You are so beautiful to me…”

“Oh yeah that’s just great,” I think as the song continues to flow in to the women’s changing room from the pool.

I swiftly march back to the locker where she’s putting on a shirt and asks me “what?”

Anyway, Valentines Day is no big deal. I don’t really understand why people get all “I’m all ALONE and on this specific day I realise I am all alone even more than I will tomorrow.”

It’s just a day. You’ll be alone just as much tomorrow as you will be today…or, you know, not alone depending on the person. So why stress about it more for certain days?

Okay, well, I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince here. I’m sure all my “oh so loyal readers” are not only loyal but well adjusted people not really affected by this silly day.

Anyway…Happy Valentines Day

So hypothetically speaking...

For someone to be really good at something and I mean really good they have to be really bad at something else - or better yet really bad at a whole lot of something else’s.
Some people are okay at lots of things - a lot of little things. But, because they're okay at most things it means they're not horrible at many things which in turn means they're not really good at anything either.
Some people throw themselves into weird bizarre situations they're not comfortable with or good at - and the kicker is they force themselves through it for weird reasons. Reasons like, it shouldn’t be hard, other people don’t find this challenging, it’ll get easier, the last few hours weren’t really *that* bad, rewards will come - or other silly excuses.
It all depends what all the “something else’s” you are really bad at are and what the one thing you are good at is – if you happen to not be one of those people who are okay at everything.
Usually not being able to ride a sheep dog, water hedges upside down or focus on the space between the breath is not that big of a deal – it won’t ruin most people’s lives. A person not good at those things might be really good at appearing to be confident and at ease which is a trait desired by most.
But what if there was a person who was really really good at focusing on the space between the breath and in turn really bad at confidently selling bits of things to consumers and bad at a lot of other things too.
It’s just not fair that’s all. A person shouldn’t be punished for being really really bad at a lot of *normal* things because that person is really really good at something else. Because at least they are really good as something because being really good at something is rare - most of us zombies are just okay at most things.
Do you ever just step out of the moment just for a second or two and say “okay, yeah, this has to stop.” But what you want to stop are large chunks of your life and it seems completely crazy and unreasonable to want to cut out something that isn’t just part of your life but *is* your life. Your trained little mind doesn’t know what it would use to fill those voids because there wouldn’t be voids there would be just a lot of collapsing. (Apparently though, the vagina, when not in use, is collapsed…take it over leave it I don’t mind.)
So you just keep on trucking intending on stopping when someone suggests a filler for your “could-be” void but that never happens because no one’s ever desired, thought of, or fathomed that there ever would be a void to fill.

maybe I am maybe I'm not

I was working on Saturday, as per usual, and at around 3:00 p.m. an attractive woman peaked her head around the corner and said something about looking for me and wanting to see me near sesames. I told her I was allergic but maybe some salad would be nice - just no sesames. She agreed and I walked out and told Erin that I was going out to look for some greens. Erin didn’t even look at me, of course, for she was wrapped up in a man. I couldn’t see him but his voice seemed smooth enough that it might have engulfed me if it wasn’t for my new found friend and our mission. I don’t like phones anyway.

We walked out from the store and the people with their little tent were juggling bright orange balls advertising a new company. They seemed happy – a little too happy. “I wonder how much they’re getting paid?” my new friend asked. I was about to say “not enough” when the power went out just for a second or two but it was dark long enough for one of the company girls to be jarred out of her happy state and scream. At first a smile larger than life with orange balls rotating then suddenly changing to wide eyes, balls dropping and a shrill scream.

I don’t think we were under attack. I think she did.

Then the lights came on their pop music suddenly started up again and she sprang up like an almost forgotten puppet with a smile that looked like it hurt.

Pulling my eyes away from that girl I looked for that other girl, what was her name? – the sesame one. Anyway she was gone. No where close sells salads anyway.


Procrastinating like I’ve never procrastinated before…

Lines from blogs that make me smile…or just blogs that I read and the lines that come from them...

I feel as hot as an icecube in the fucking north pole. I don't think she heard me. Probably because I didn't say that out loud. Of course, this isn't possible since I live on the eighth floor and I don't know anybody that tall. He had disconnected the computer from all of the peripherals and threw it in the firepit in the back yard, where he proceeded to beat it to bits with a sledge hammer. Still broke still fucking sane. Snap your fingers you smelly beatniks.

I don't need to make sense.

Hello! I havn't posted in a very long time. So here I am.
Ummmmm.
Alright what has happened in the last bit?
I'm going to yoga 3 times a week for 1.5 hours each time. My mom says she has an owl friend who tries to communicate with her in the park. The owl's gone now and all she can look up to is the moon. I went to a hockey game and found out that about half the crowd is underage - wearing tight low blue jeans and huge hoop earrings. Weird. and the other half - full of old people that could easily be from some crumbling ancient town in the middle of Saskatchewan. My head hurts today - I discovered this in yoga when I tried to lift it, my head, off my mat and it felt funny. My bed is black now - hiding the bright old lady flower sheets. I like the sheets though they make my bed look alive and well. I tried on running shoes and Oliver walked by and he said they looked OK. I got to realise my big head was big again by not fitting into a black hat and I almost could fly, like an angle, but not quite. My dry clothes are clumping in the dryer and I really just want to forget about them because knowing about excessively wrinkly clothes is like having no clothes at all. Does that make me sound vain? I haven’t watched any TV today. My fish were loud this morning. They woke me up early splishing and splashing. My mom thinks it is because they were cold. I think it's because they're loud bastard fish. I still like them though. I played scrabble and I won if it WERE backwards day and I bought blueberry body butter and contemplated things. OK that's all I've got.
Bye for now,

OH FREAKING DEAR

So this one time.
I DELETED a recording AGAIN.
HOW THE FUCK DO I DO THAT?!
The guy's talk just isn't on my recorder.

James said if I would have lived in the 1920's they would have thought I was retarded.
I'm not even sure what the hell he meant by that but it made me need to gasp for air and then want to kick him really hard.

people suck. recorders suck. especially digital ones. not digital people...they're ok...usually....unless they turn into real people...then they probably suck.

alright off I go. I'll go down in history as the girl who might have been a journalist but couldn't be a journalist because she had no quotes.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHH
YAAAAAARRRRRRRR
GRRRRRRRRRRRRRR

sniffle

oh no you didn't

Lets try to make sense of me through the pictures I love.
You know what they say a picture says one thousand words.

new years eve doesn't agree with me

She stood in the middle of the field. Standing. Looking somewhere. At me? Just standing.
Slowly I rolled looking over hopeful for a reason. She can't just be standing frozen in the middle of a snow covered field.
Desperately I search the field. I stare at her. I stare around her.
Still rolling slowly I try not to slide into that parked car.
There! A white dog just as still as his owner. Looking at me too. Or in front of me?
In front of me.
Another dog. Thank God.
Rolling by slower than before. I hope she sees I'm paying attention now.
The grey dog is starring, still, motionless, not even a twitch.
Following his stare a pigeon standing under a tree her feet still on the birdseed covered snow. Staring back. Frozen.
I keep on rolling loose site of them in the rear and time starts again.
Weird.