I found a book I am in love with, perfectly describing everything I want out of a relationship, everything I am, and everything I want out of love, every way I want to fall in love.
-- There is, in the early period of love, a measure of sheer relief at being able, at last, to reveal so much of what needed to be kept hidden for the sake of propriety. We can admit to not being as respectable or as sober, as even-keeled or as ‘normal’, as society believes. We can be childish, imaginative, wild, hopeful, cynical, fragile and multiple – all of this our lover can understand and accept us for.
They are back in the playful spirit of childhood. They bounce on the bed. They swap piggyback rides. They gossip. After attending a party, they inevitably end up finding fault with all the other guests, their loyalty to each other deepened by their ever-increasing disloyalty towards everyone else.
Sunday, March 26, 2017
A Confessional
I read, “Unless it’s mad, passionate, extraordinary love, it’s a waste of your time. There are too many mediocre things in life; love shouldn’t be one of them.” I watch the finale of How I Met Your Mother again. In the third to last episode, Ted, the show’s protagonist says, “Because love is the best thing we do.” I cry for an hour and a half and I am still sitting in bed with a stuffed red nose.
Because love is the best thing we do. Because love should not be another mediocre part of our lives.
I am half sitting, half laying in bed. I am naked and I have a cup of my favourite peach chamomile tea with honey. I am trying not to cry again. I am not sure why I feel so emotional tonight, but I might cry again.
I went on a date today and it didn’t go so well. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t well. It wasn’t good or passionate or even intriguing. It was so boring and dull. Across from me sat someone who was nice, who was smart and sensible, not unattractive. I will never see him again. I didn’t think he was funny. I didn’t think he was interesting, or fun, or wild. I always thought to myself I needed my men to be reckless. He inspired nothing. There was nothing wrong or different about him, or the situation. He was well and good, but he inspired nothing. It was mediocrity.
The last couple of weeks, I’ve been revisiting older pieces of writing. Vivid writing about old memories, so vivid that the memories soothed by time now come back forcefully. I am thinking about the boy I so innocently liked in my first year. I am thinking about the way we hung out and talked about music and movies and politics. I am thinking about the hours and hours and hours we spent together but never kissed. I am thinking about the way our friends and acquittances always wondered about whether or not we were dating. I am thinking of sweet Dalton and sweet me. I am thinking about Richard, the last guy I really dated - almost two years ago. I am thinking about laying in his bed, over the bar crowds and the screaming party. I am thinking about the way he used to talk to me, the way he used to look at me. I am thinking about the way he once traced my body. I am thinking about the way I thought about how nothing was quite right, but I didn’t want to give up on the comfort of having someone, of being with someone. The hope of someone. And then I think about Phil. I think about Phil and the fucking nightmare of a mess he left me.
My heart is heavy. I am 23 and it feels like I’ve been dragged through the mud too many times. I am 23 and my body deteriorates far more quickly than my age suggests. I am 23 and my heart is shattered, too jagged and confused to know anymore. I am 23 and I’ve never been in a serious relationship. I am 23 and I am still so hopeful but I don’t know how to get the pitter-patter feeling anymore. I don’t know how to feel excited about someone anymore. I am 23 and wondering how to resuscitate myself.
Tonight in between crying and here, I try to find an older couple who used to photograph themselves. They’re gone. Recently, I have a conversation with someone whose photography I have long admired. So much has changed. So many people have left. So many relationships have changed. So many circumstances have changed. Life has changed. The world around us has changed.
I am struggling. I am doing better. I have a bit of a sense of direction again. I am going back to school in the fall, for a path that is a bit clearer than it has been in years. I have a few good friends who are supportive and encouraging and present. I have stopped fucking in an effort to forget or replace. But what has began to feel more solid and smooth, has stripped away the passion I once felt. I have left behind a lot of friends because I didn’t want to explain myself one more time. I have almost stopped dating completely. I don’t feel the same passion or drive towards the arts. I have become complacent and grow more and more tired. I grow less and less inspired by life, and the people and movement around me. I want to resuscitate myself but I do not know how.
I want love. I want good. I want passion and drive and spirit and adventure. I want something that makes me feel alive. I am 23 and I feel like I am wasting away.
Because love is the best thing we do. Because love should not be another mediocre part of our lives.
I am half sitting, half laying in bed. I am naked and I have a cup of my favourite peach chamomile tea with honey. I am trying not to cry again. I am not sure why I feel so emotional tonight, but I might cry again.
I went on a date today and it didn’t go so well. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t well. It wasn’t good or passionate or even intriguing. It was so boring and dull. Across from me sat someone who was nice, who was smart and sensible, not unattractive. I will never see him again. I didn’t think he was funny. I didn’t think he was interesting, or fun, or wild. I always thought to myself I needed my men to be reckless. He inspired nothing. There was nothing wrong or different about him, or the situation. He was well and good, but he inspired nothing. It was mediocrity.
The last couple of weeks, I’ve been revisiting older pieces of writing. Vivid writing about old memories, so vivid that the memories soothed by time now come back forcefully. I am thinking about the boy I so innocently liked in my first year. I am thinking about the way we hung out and talked about music and movies and politics. I am thinking about the hours and hours and hours we spent together but never kissed. I am thinking about the way our friends and acquittances always wondered about whether or not we were dating. I am thinking of sweet Dalton and sweet me. I am thinking about Richard, the last guy I really dated - almost two years ago. I am thinking about laying in his bed, over the bar crowds and the screaming party. I am thinking about the way he used to talk to me, the way he used to look at me. I am thinking about the way he once traced my body. I am thinking about the way I thought about how nothing was quite right, but I didn’t want to give up on the comfort of having someone, of being with someone. The hope of someone. And then I think about Phil. I think about Phil and the fucking nightmare of a mess he left me.
My heart is heavy. I am 23 and it feels like I’ve been dragged through the mud too many times. I am 23 and my body deteriorates far more quickly than my age suggests. I am 23 and my heart is shattered, too jagged and confused to know anymore. I am 23 and I’ve never been in a serious relationship. I am 23 and I am still so hopeful but I don’t know how to get the pitter-patter feeling anymore. I don’t know how to feel excited about someone anymore. I am 23 and wondering how to resuscitate myself.
Tonight in between crying and here, I try to find an older couple who used to photograph themselves. They’re gone. Recently, I have a conversation with someone whose photography I have long admired. So much has changed. So many people have left. So many relationships have changed. So many circumstances have changed. Life has changed. The world around us has changed.
I am struggling. I am doing better. I have a bit of a sense of direction again. I am going back to school in the fall, for a path that is a bit clearer than it has been in years. I have a few good friends who are supportive and encouraging and present. I have stopped fucking in an effort to forget or replace. But what has began to feel more solid and smooth, has stripped away the passion I once felt. I have left behind a lot of friends because I didn’t want to explain myself one more time. I have almost stopped dating completely. I don’t feel the same passion or drive towards the arts. I have become complacent and grow more and more tired. I grow less and less inspired by life, and the people and movement around me. I want to resuscitate myself but I do not know how.
I want love. I want good. I want passion and drive and spirit and adventure. I want something that makes me feel alive. I am 23 and I feel like I am wasting away.
Sunday, March 19, 2017
A List of Books I Need to Read
- The Great Gatsby, Fitzgerald
- At the Existentialist Cafe, Sarah Bakewell
- The Virgin Suicides, Jeffrey Eugenides
- Nausea, Sartre
- Beyond Good and Evil, Nietzsche
- Underground, Haruki Murakami
- BE HERE NOW
- Sense and Sensibility, Jane Austen
Saturday, March 4, 2017
From The People In The Trees
p. 30 - Travellers heading west to California would stop in Peet for an egg salad sandwich and a celery soda from the general store near the station before reembarking. The townspeople thrived from these impermanent relationships, which were in their own way pure: the exchange of money for goods, a pleasant farewell, the assurance that neither party would see the other again. After all, what are most relationships in life but exactly this, though stretched flabbily over years and generations?
From Hanya Yanagihara
From Hanya Yanagihara
Wednesday, March 1, 2017
February Favourites
Bullet Journalling - Bullet Journalling is a process developed by Ryder Carroll. It is a way of organizing tasks and events so it is easy and allows for efficiency. There is a rabbit hole of videos about it on YouTube. It ranges from being simple to complete works of art. People can put a lot of detail into them. Personally, I use a Leuchtturm 1917 notebook in the azure colour. It is the most popular journal used for bullet journalling, and I love it. For a while I was using small Muji journals and using some aspects of bullet journalling, but this notebook really helps.
My bullet journal is: important dates and appointments, goals, financial planning, travel plans, monthly spreadsheets, weekly timelines, daily tasks and pondering, rough sketches, small collages, recipes, and it just keeps growing. The benefit and the idea is that a bullet journal is a way of tracking and organizing your life so it is easy to place. It is also a process that you ultimately control, so you can pick up and leave off wherever you want.
Greenhouse juices - I think this is my new favourite place to pick up juices in Toronto. The TKO and the Giver are both so filling in a way that I have never found juices to be. Also, the shape and weight of the bottle makes it a great reusable water bottle.
Daniel Caesar - Above is a film photo of the man himself playing a free acoustic set at Trinity Bellwoods Park. He is blowing up at the moment, but knowing and seeing him around the city is unreal. Listen to Get You, Violet, and Won't Live Here. His sound is nothing short of beautiful.
Winter Stations 2017 - Last Thursday, it was a warm day. It felt like spring, or a cooler summer day. At one point, I was walking around outside in a t-shirt, which is unheard of for February in Toronto. I had a knapsack packed with water, my camera and some food. I walked along the Beaches to see the Winter Stations. The Stations themselves were beautiful and so intricate. More than that though, this experience of being by myself, strolling along the beach... I loved it. It was all so, so nice and wonderful.
Backstreet Boys - Just the classic stuff from the '90s. I blame my best friend Ellen who mentioned the group while we were out for brunch. I've been on a BSB kick since.
Getting accepted into all the programs I applied for.
My bullet journal is: important dates and appointments, goals, financial planning, travel plans, monthly spreadsheets, weekly timelines, daily tasks and pondering, rough sketches, small collages, recipes, and it just keeps growing. The benefit and the idea is that a bullet journal is a way of tracking and organizing your life so it is easy to place. It is also a process that you ultimately control, so you can pick up and leave off wherever you want.
Greenhouse juices - I think this is my new favourite place to pick up juices in Toronto. The TKO and the Giver are both so filling in a way that I have never found juices to be. Also, the shape and weight of the bottle makes it a great reusable water bottle.
Daniel Caesar - Above is a film photo of the man himself playing a free acoustic set at Trinity Bellwoods Park. He is blowing up at the moment, but knowing and seeing him around the city is unreal. Listen to Get You, Violet, and Won't Live Here. His sound is nothing short of beautiful.
Winter Stations 2017 - Last Thursday, it was a warm day. It felt like spring, or a cooler summer day. At one point, I was walking around outside in a t-shirt, which is unheard of for February in Toronto. I had a knapsack packed with water, my camera and some food. I walked along the Beaches to see the Winter Stations. The Stations themselves were beautiful and so intricate. More than that though, this experience of being by myself, strolling along the beach... I loved it. It was all so, so nice and wonderful.
Backstreet Boys - Just the classic stuff from the '90s. I blame my best friend Ellen who mentioned the group while we were out for brunch. I've been on a BSB kick since.
Getting accepted into all the programs I applied for.
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