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But now I'm just simply smitten. Over nothing. Go figure.
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I feel awful about how it had to end. About how it wasn't equal on both sides, something had to tip him off. And I had to lose something. Sorry. But now I'm just simply smitten. Over nothing. Go figure. |
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 Two nights/faces/arrangements/agreements Two goodnight kisses. I suppose this is how it's done now. But only sometimes. Pinky promise? Pinky promise. Those basic human connections are so lovely and hot-blooded, how could anyone stay away? Why would anyone purposefully stay away? Even if there is a forecast of hurt in the air. Because its me. And I'll likely take it too far and want too much, against better judgement. "I'm beginning to believe that one of the last frontiers left for radical gestures is the imagination" -David Wojnarowicz, 1989 (of conceptual art but applicable for many areas. love it) And that's well enough, I've got plenty of space in there. For the wild guesses and the high hopes and the spectacular canvases that I will create once I have the time and the fabulous skill. And the romance. And the escapes. And the dreams. And that's how it's going to be. Mostly stuck in the clouds with some voluntary body checks. Until something grand happens and knocks me head over heels. |
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Boredom has taught me a thing or two: -I likely won't finish the Louvre reading in time for class discussion tomorrow -No matter how many times I check my messages there's not going to be a reply to a simple question -I'm really awful at Solitaire and rely heavily on the UNDO button -No matter how many times I check my phone there won't be a text that I failed to hear -Slutty girls make it look too easy. It's not easy to be easy. Office Winter Gala tonight and I'm taking a friend who's been really bummed out lately. I figure he needs to get over the shitty girlfriend and the job. What better way than with a free chicken dinner and drunk coworkers as a source of amusement? |
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Shit. I should be writing this personal essay that sells me to the ASIP committee. But I just can't do it... To Whom It May Concern: I believe that my participation in the Alberta Smithsonian Internship Program will greatly benefit me in my future endeavours. I will be able to apply the knowledge gained during my post secondary education in a museum environment of my choice while working with renowned specialists in the field. My keen interest in cultural issues, coupled with my Ukrainian and Russian fluency, is certain to be an asset in such a multi-cultural establishment. Did I mention that I have a great smile and can crack a joke or two? How about I attach a picture of my rack for your viewing pleasure? Dear committee member. Go fuck yourself. I have lost all interest in pursuing this. My prof won't write me a reference until she gets the essay. If she doesn't get the essay there is no reference letter, logic follows. I just can't seem to bring myself to put forth all of these amazing qualities I'm supposed to have with the knowledge that I don't fully qualify for all the requirements and that my chances are slim to none at best. Or maybe it's because I'm just lazy and won't even bother trying. Or it's just one of those mini personal crisises. (really what is the plural of crisis?) I guess I'll lie to my mom and say I applied and that'll be the end of it. Maybe this gloomy computer lab is at fault here but I keep on sneaking off to think of all the other things I would much rather do. And would probably be much better at doing. Something with personal interaction and physical labour and high levels of stress and demands for creativity and group joy at finally getting the job done and concrete results and a moderate to high level of contentment at the end of the day when you know that you might have helped somebody out just by being there. They don't tell you it'll get this hard. It's all about the glamour of a large sprawling campus and the bright likeminded individuals that are ever so eager to befriend you over a pint. They don't tell you that once you're in it up to the neck, your head will start spinning with all the possibilities and you'll realize that you are interested in more than one thing and how could you ever make up your mind? Why would anybody ask you to do such an awful thing? But by then you're up to the neck in it, your movements are sluggish, your arms and legs are numb with the effort to stay afloat. And I start sinking. And dreaming of flying over the ocean again. Elsewhere. An elsewhere populated by those other people that offer other options and other ways out. |
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Didn't have to ask again. Quick and dirty seals the deal time and time again. *** You want to be a part of a great generation of somethings, but it seems you are a kind of Eve, fiddling with your leafy underpants, lonely and nauseated, willing to pluck at anything for vitamins and reassurance. Really, you feel as though you are too curious for your own good, as though you are starting something up. *** My words won't do for this feeling so Elyse Gasco has been called upon. I had to stop after I read that above. It was just too perfect. The perfect fit. What am I doing? There must be something more certain out there. Something more at the least. There's so much that I want. Too much. And I'll go about getting it in all the wrong ways, hoping that they'll turn into the right ways and that the correct outcomes will follow. Eventually. What's crucial here is not to get too attached. I'll put out that cautionary note but I don't think I'll be very good at following my own advice. I can feel it slipping already. Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back. |
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At the wine and cheese party yesterday I spent half the night strutting around in 6'' goth-hooker heels and the other half checking my phone. Sidestepped board games and ate sourdough. Gave it all away in Monopoly. Jumped on Sonya's bed, saw a rabbit vibrator and laughed our asses off at the awkward situation. Nothing like finding out about a stranger's dirty habits to make you feel comfortable at a fancy dress party. Broke my promise to myself and drank sour cheap wine once more, with better consequences this time. Tried setting things up for a funner turn of events but instead ended up playing dirty Scrabble with Jan and Sonya, spelling out c-u-n-t through a wine haze and waiting. And waiting. And smoking. Somehow we convinced ourselves that it would be a brilliant idea to break out the cigarettes. The New Year's resolution being to start up a smoking habit. Same 'mistake' as in Montreal. {Remember?} So we practiced seductive smoke blowing techniques until I finally gave up and caught a cab home. The cab pulls up to me. At which point the phone chirps that you've decided to finally have the time of night for me. Perfect timing, fuck. I'm tired, my mouth tastes of smoke and wine, I have work tommorrow. No thanks. Take a hike and work for it. Now I can't ask again. |
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Sunday at the office is just so damn mindnumbingly duuuuull. Couldn't even take down the Christmas tree for something to do, we decided to keep it up until after the Ukrainian Christmas since half the town is of some blurry Ukrainian background. Just now, a quirky Scottish man came in and chatted us up at the counter. He then inexplicably felt the need to sing us the first verse of a Welsh hymn he practices with his choir group. It was truly magical. Almost made this dull day worth it. Now I'm just ticking away the seconds until I cash out and perhaps go out for a drink with Alyssa to catch up on some things. Should be good. It's nice when people pull through on their promises. |
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I've spontaneously, mysteriously, and surprisingly hit the rag wayyy early this month. Today at work was not fun. But there's nothing that speaks louder of the primarily female office population than the emergency box of tampons by the first aid kit and flashlights in case of blackout. It's a red ambush. Any events that I could have hoped for to happen this weekend now can't. Even if they were very unlikely to have happened in the first place. Boo. But I guess a reassurance that all's well is always welcome. Given the situation. Fucking call already. Or don't. But enough! Or I'll keep falling in a little deeper. My dreams can't take all these appearances that you make. And neither can I. I need to sleep. Fucking rough voiced stranger. Why'd you have to be cute? {I guess I'm just a sucker for a pretty face} Why'd I have to be so bored with myself? Why does so little seem like a bad idea lately? |
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Ever daydreamed about a voice? Working at what is practically a call centre, that's the majority of customers I get. Disembodied demanding customers. Voices. Once in a while there will be somebody who is quite nice and polite. But mostly its the voice (the sound of it) that does it for me. This one, this stumbly awkward humorous one from yesterday. I pulled all the strings for him and now he's coming in some time tonight. It's like a game. See if the person matches up with the voice. Usually I'm not too far off. And this Charlie... I hope it matches up. I'm just bored, so I'm making mountains out of anthills. Or however that goes. A nervous knot in my stomach. I am doomed to forever be curious and hopeful about the 'what ifs'. |
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I have a funny feeling in my stomach. It's been there since I woke up in that bed. It's not nausea. It's not hunger. Is it dread? Nope, don't think so. I refuse to feel guilt or shame. That won't fix anything. It's puzzling nevertheless. I hope I'm getting sick. That'll give some answers to this dull tiresome ache in my bones. Am I treading into the deep end here? I could just stand on the sidelines and watch myself get further involved. That's what has been happening lately. And it's sooo easy. Nothing should be this easy. I think I've stopped thinking. I go through the motions, acknowledge the thoughts but still go through with it. Against better judgement. But it's just for fun, isn't it? That's what it was like. A hazy feeling, completely sober as I watch things play out. Everybody's doing it. Come ooooooon. Fuck. No more dwelling. |