90% metaphor with a leanness of meaning

the women within without

2006-10-29T21:37:00.000-05:00

for weeks now, i've tried to figure you out. after 25 years i like to think i've become rather adept at figuring people out, especially women. but when i look at you i can only describe my reaction as a combination of wonderment, envy, confusion and pity. i can't quite decide -- do i feel sorry for you or do i wish i was more like you?

i see a lot of myself in you -- at least, myself as i used to be before i grew my slight edge of cynicism; before i decided that "putting myself out there" was the only sure-fire method of self-preservation. in so many ways you are the innocence that i used to embody; you are the joyful naivete of the girl i once was

i fluctuate between wanting to hold you tight in protectivity and wanting to learn from you. do you represent the woman i wish i could be, or the one i'm so relieved to have left behind?

you blush when women are supposed to blush; i say the things that make men uncomfortable. for you, certain subjects remain off limits; nothing is taboo with me. by keeping private matters private, you are an enigma, a mystery; by trying to be "liberated", my immodesty leaves little to the imagination

the endless dilemma for feminists is how women can embrace our sexuality and define it in our own terms, without submitting to socially- (read: men) imposed conceptions of women's sexuality. feminism says women who wish to be liberated should be comfortable in their sexuality, but yet when we dress "sexy" or talk "sexy" or engage in meaningless sexual play, feminism tells us that we are shamefully subjecting ourselves to the roles men have created and defined. all of this leaves a feminist like myself in a state of utter confusion

particularly in the face of a woman like you

is your version of sexuality so progressive that it needs no exposure, or are you so resistant to socially-defined constructs of female sexuality that you cannot define your own? either way, i find myself drawn to you as someone so very different than me. yoiu are younger than me and yet in some ways i feel that you are an "old soul" from whom i have much to learn

i care not about others' judgments and yet you are one of the few people in whose presence i try to check myself or feel embarassed when i dont. i dont see you as frail or fragile; i admire your strength for being your own woman at a time when women's lib seems to mean being more like men

i admire you for being proper because you say its proper

i admire you for being the woman i couldnt

dont ask me to put words to all the silences i wrote

2006-10-23T22:01:00.000-04:00

why do i write? do i feel i can understand myself better through written word?

the question, so innocent sounding, caused me a moment's pause. something seemingly self-evident required a verbal explanation and, ironically, on the topic of writing i couldnt find the words to express myself

writing has always been the method to my madness; the moments of tranquility in my days of disquiet. but over the past few months, ive found myself without the urge to write. has it been lack of time, lack of inspiration and lack of metaphor? or maybe an inner refusal to hold up the penetrating mirror that forces me to answer "how have you been?"

my profession requires me to write dozens and even hundreds of pages a week. though i love my work, the writing is rather unfulfiling in its technicality. on most days, my fullest expression of self-creativity is my choice of unmatched socks in the morning, the couple of songs i play on my guitar when i get home from work and the few rows of stitches i knit on my double-ribbed scarf before bed (a work in progress that i hope to complete before its too warm again to need it). it is the rare day at work when i read a piece of writing with a poignant sense of metaphor

is it surprising, then, that i was rendered speechless when asked why i write. after all, it would be a dishonest answer to say that i have been writing lately. and writing, like painting and roller blading and piano, becomes better and easier and more poetic the more you do it

i'm not a something-to-write-home-about writer -- the big picture often escapes my attention while i'm focused on the details. yes, the "big picture" has changed remarkably in the past couple of months. but there has also been no shortage of memorable, curious details. details like the subtle way the leaves had all disappeared from the trees when i woke up one morning. details like the cheery "good morning" i get every day from the homeless man at the corner of queen and kent. details like the indescribable way a new city starts to feel like home just because of the incredible people you meet

one of my favourite writers, anais nin, once said "the role of a writer is not to say what we all can say, but what we are unable to say". in these past few months, when i havent found my own words, the beautiful writers who pen my thoughts, feelings and fears, have allowed me to not forget myself. if it is through writing that i can better know myself, then, when i can't write it is at least through writers that i am able not to forget

its up to you, new york, new york

2006-05-29T21:29:00.000-04:00

our trip to the big apple: the best of the best...

lunch at the carnegie deli -- yes, the sandwiches REALLY are that BIG... and do in fact cause massive digestive problems. but ohhh the pickles were yum!

times square, night tour -- pretty much feels like the centre of the universe and the buzz in the air is palpable

the manhattan night skyline, across the river, from Brooklyn

the church where Samantha met "friar fuck"

oh how i LOVED the "pleasure chest" -- except that, frankly, some of the merchandise frightened me

these four sexy gals in the city on carrie's front steps

some scenes from central park

the immigrant statue at battery park

"not only are you black, you are black africans. to the world, you are nothing"

2006-05-11T09:19:00.000-04:00

i dont usually engage in political commentary on my blog (i usually save my political criticisms for loud and lengthy discussions with the other clerks). but i'm finding it harder and harder to stay silent in the face of more hypocrisy and blatant stupidity from the harper government

defence minister gordon o'connor has stated that canada can't deploy further troops in darfur while maintaining its current commitment in afghanistan

i have to ask what that says about our national priorities. in the face of mounting casualties in afghanistan and an elusive enemy, more and more canadians should be asking what exactly are we fighting for there? or is it simply a mission that allows the government to pander to the americans while not pissing off this country as much as the invasion of iraq would have

personally, i can't understand why the government would sacrifice sending troops to darfur in order to make a full personnel commitment to afghanistan. pull the troops out of afghanistan and send them to darfur

i guess it's not enough that the situation in darfur is tantamount to a genocide (and the genocide convention, to which canada is a party, requires action to be taken in response to any genocide). it's not enough that an estimated 180,000 people have been killed and another 2.4 million displaced. canada already has 2,300 troops serving in afghanistan. surely our army can't commit more than 100 to darfur. after all, that's africa. they are black and poor and canada has no vested interest in ensuring that the darfur crisis is halted before there is any more carnage

i deeply fear its rwanda all over again....

short but sweet

2006-05-09T19:34:00.000-04:00

ive been remarkably, sickeningly busy recently and so i havent posted much. today's post will be short but i promise to write more soon

four things today reminded me how much i love this spring/early summer time of year:

-- the fragrant scents of lilac blossoms and freshly cut grass

-- eating lunch outside

-- the feel of warm sunlight on my bare shoulders for the first time of the season

-- starbucks frappucinos

on another note, watching sex & the city on cityTV tonight left me wondering: how come its fine for tv shows to say "bitch" on tv, but "orgasm" has to get bleeped?!

in the spring becomes the rose

2006-04-26T19:06:00.000-04:00

on my walk home from work tonight, i felt strangely energised. i say strangely because i have been battling a cold, i didn't sleep well last night, and i'd had a long day at work. yet the sun was shining and there was a distinctive bounce in my step. i think it has something to do with the fact that its the end of april

for the past five years, this time has meant one thing -- the end of end-of-year exams and the start of a new set of activities for the summer months. for four of those years, the end of april also meant moving

this has been my first year of full-time work but my biological clock seems to still be stuck on "student". i feel that post-exam exuberance, as if there were no longer anything else to worry or stress about, and i deserve a wild night out. after my last exam each year, i would invariably clean my apartment, go on an irresponsible shopping spree, and have a long, late night of drunken debauchery

i miss being a student. for five years of post-secondary education, all of my energies were focused on getting out into the "real world" and actually making a salary rather than debt-spending. but a mere 8 months into that "real life" and i'm craving being a student again

thinking back, it's hard to believe how quickly those five years flew by. i can vividly remember the day i arrived at saugeen as a green, naive frosh from scarborough. though my life before university involved sex, drugs and alcohol, the next few years were truly a "coming of age" for me. being away from home, i had to learn quickly who i was and what i stood for, or else risk becoming lost in a sea of anonymity and apathy. i made some bad decisions, i admit, but nothing so bad that it had a lasting negative impact on my life. part of me wonders if i partied too much, or not enough. if i studied too much, or not enough. did i truly make the most of my time at university? its hard to say, since i only traveled the path that i chose. between papers, exams, nights at the rideout, drinking games, working, falling in and out of love, trips home, stobies and studying, life happened and most of the time, i didn't even realise it

the feel of spring in the air and the recent talk with M have me yearning those days of university, when i could make entirely selfish decisions and be exempted from social responsibility in many ways. i have also found myself questioning where i am now and where i'm going. prior to graduation, the sky was the limit. i was bound and determined to "make a difference", to "be somebody", and assorted other cliches. and while i've only been out of school for a year, i wonder if i have stayed true to those ideals. i hope i have and i continue to dream that way. i find myself resisting the thinking that school is done, now is the rest of your life -- get married, buy a house, have babies, and retire. i'm not ready for that yet and i think the extra energy in my footsteps today was the restlessness that i inevitably experience when i've been engaged in one thing for too long and no longer feel challenged. i'm ready for a change, ready for the may mix-up

the problem is that this year, may does not bring with it the dramatic, tangible changes of my university years. come may 1st, i will still walk to the same workplace every morning and come home to the same apartment at night. i wont be changing cities or jobs. i will have to consciously make changes in subtler ways. first off, i went to a new salon on saturday and changed my hair (though the new style was not as drastic as i wished). i have decided to start new classes and join a dragon boat team. i plan to volunteer at summer festivals. and of course, there is the trip to new york city

i hope that all of that is enough change to appease me until the end of august, when i will make a much larger transplant to a new job, new apartment and new city. in one of my favourite ani songs, she writes "i don't know what it is about me, i just can't keep still". that's how i feel so often, but particularly at this time of the year. i am excited, infused with inspiration, and in love with the world. as summer approaches i want to be on the move, meeting new people, taking on new challenges and learning each step of the way

and, i'm more sure than ever that i will apply to grad school this fall. only after being away from school do i realise how much i really enjoyed it

blog-envy

2006-04-25T12:54:00.000-04:00

i'm in a bad mood

i'm getting sick and my office is cold. i dont feel like doing my work. im just generally grumpy, bitchy and testy

the day is crawling. i dont want to go out for coffee, since its too chilly out and me, thinking its *blink* spring, wore a spring jacket today. i just want the day to pass so i can go home and climb into bed with my kittens and a book. how will i make it until 5:00?

on moments like this, i thank god for blogs (and with my new government-issue computer with the flat-panel monitor and optical mouse, reading blogs is especially appealing in its high-definition splendour). i have spent the last few delightful minutes catching up on friends' and friends-of-friends' blogs. what a delicious little treat it is to read of others' rantings, ravings, musings and neutrotic obsessions

the unpleasant side-effect of my blog appetite, is the inevitable blog-envy. of course i'm envious of those with fancy icons that have much more punch than my standard blogspot-template, those with pictures and those with the html savvy to make their page truly a visual masterpiece (especially on my new ThinkVision flat-panel monitor). but my envy goes beyond the high-gloss finish of a more impressive blog. what i really admire is the content. as i read a particularly witty blog post, i can't help but be jealous that Ms. X discussed amusing topic Y before i did, or that Mr. Z's particularly un-notable post received more comments than mine. in the competitive world of blogs, where coolness is determined by number of hits, number of comments and number/length of posts, i fear i'm being left behind. i am so envious of certain blogs out there that despite readily acknowledging how entertaining i find them, i wont ever tell you what they are for fear you'll stop reading mine and start reading other, more entertaining, blogs

hence this rather meaningless post. woohoo... just killed another 3 minutes of this uncustomarily miserable day

second chances

2006-04-22T19:00:00.002-04:00

can you revisit the past? can you re-read the story but change the ending? in matters of the heart, is it possible to wipe clean the easle and give a second chance?

M walked back into my life this week, after a bad date, a good hair day and my first latte of the morning

if i can trust M's reasons why-after-all-these-years, then he came at just the right time. if i cant, he couldnt have picked a worse day

unwillingly ive found myself thinking back to the times we spent together. in hindsight, i cant put my finger on what went wrong. maybe nothing went wrong. we were just in different places -- mentally and emotionally, if not physically. but my god, it was a lot of fun. yet, despite the fun, reminiscing has me hoping that M really has changed. on the phone the other night it sounded as though he has

thinking back on who i was at that time, i know that im a different person now. so why do i have so much trouble believing that he has grown? if M were to appear in my life now, as a complete stranger, all the pieces would fit. not just as a good-on-paper guy but as a soul i could nestle into. so why does our past rise in front of me in an obscure warning?

in a way, our history is a good thing. it is refreshing to not have to start from square one, as i do on most first dates. and it would make for a great story -- meeting in first year university, the trip to england, the colander, reuniting after four years. his life is in order, he seems to be dependable, loyal, ambitious, forthright and genuinely happy. so why cant i shake the gnawing feeling that things would be exactly the same the second time around

maybe a fleeting romance is better left as a moment in the past that i can retrieve from my memory on a lonely day, think of fondly, and then store away again. until he re-appeared in my life, i didnt think of M much, but when i did the remembering was pleasant. now, with the prospect of giving it a second chance, i find myself dwelling on the few not-so-pleasant parts of our time together

maybe it is possible to change the ending -- to discover that the tragedy was actually meant to be a love story with a fairytale ending. now that M is in my life again, maybe we can learn from our mistakes and leave behind who we used to be. right now, all i know for sure is that im looking forward to finding out

gelato vs. ice cream

2006-04-13T10:19:00.000-04:00

trust wikipedia to put the debate to rest....

Gelato:
an Italian frozen dessert made from milk (or also soy milk) and sugar, combined with other flavourings. The gelato ingredients (after an optional pasteurisation) are super-cooled while stirring to break up ice crystals as they form. Like high end ice cream, gelato generally has less than 35% air - resulting in a dense and extremely flavourful product.
Gelato has become a generic Italian word for ice cream, though true gelato contains no cream. The same word is commonly used in English speaking countries to refer to "ice cream" that is prepared in the Italian way. Gelato comes from the Italian word gelare, meaning "to freeze."

Ice Cream:
a frozen dessert made from dairy products such as cream (or substituted ingredients), combined with flavourings and sweeteners. This mixture is cooled while stirring to prevent large ice crystals from forming. Although the term "ice cream" is sometimes used to mean frozen desserts and snacks in general, it is usually reserved for frozen desserts and snacks made with a high percentage of milk fat. Frozen custard, ice milk, sorbet and other similar products are often also called ice cream. Governments often regulate the use of these terms based on quantities of ingredients.

----------------------------

and so it is

2006-04-10T22:44:00.000-04:00

i want to be profound but i just havent got the energy
two funerals in a month. i hate funerals.
mary passed away on saturday. her first grandchild was born the previous monday -- three weeks early
mary held her on monday for two hours
on tuesday mary took a turn for the worse
sometimes i'm amazed at the way things work out for the best -- even in the worst circumstances
it makes me almost believe in a god

when i look at my daffodils, i think of mary

shedding my skin

2006-04-06T23:22:00.000-04:00

the word fuck swirls on my tongue
i like the way it tastes... salty and sweet
at the same time

my lips curl around fuck like a forbidden lollipop

i only swear when im horny or drunk or inspired
so which one is it

tonight

id say im horny but when youre a straight university educated soon to enter middle class young woman of 24

the things i saw and heard tonight arent supposed to make you horny

maybe you made me this way?
made me want to say fuck.... or maybe just do it
.... or maybe just fuck you
.... or maybe just say it

you couldnt understand my life

the gnawing teeth of misunderstood bite at me in an almost erotic way
my nipples get hard at the thought of the anger and the hurt
and in my masochistic way i go back

trying to evolve, she says

if evolution is the beauty the courage the sisterhood i saw tonight then i dont ever want to go back
and yet it seems

with my face pressed against the glass im outside looking in

always never inside

dont know why i ever thought i wasnt good enough to open my legs to you and then laugh deliciously as i snap them closed while you shrink back

does it shock you when i cry because i say fuck and dick
or does it shock you when i say fuck because i cry

i look at your china doll and stand with mud on my face eyeliner running chipped fingernails
shes always so polite
its easy to be polite
when you stand for nothing

and can stand anything

and if i speak up for something someone somewhere might turn and stare
a bit

but in this world we all try to make a difference
to matter

and i can take up more space by talking loud and using words
that get the point across

and every now and then
its fuck

and sometimes its love

sometimes its beauty

and sometimes the difference comes in the silence

whats it like being someones reason for saying fuck

swallowing colours of the sounds i hear

2006-04-03T15:43:00.000-04:00

they say we have five senses. we hear, smell, feel, see and taste. but im not sure i agree that there are only five. i think we sense in many other ways, though we may not always realise it

on saturday night i went to the toronto symphony orchestra with a few friends. i was awe-struck. the “new creations festival” showcased contemporary compositions of rare concertos. there was a left-hand piano concerto, a double bass concerto and a percussion concerto

the latter rendered me (ME!) speechless

the performers name is evelyn glennie. if youve seen or heard her play before im sure youll appreciate my difficulty in finding the words to describe her performance. ms glennie, officer of the british empire, is the first person in music history to have a successful full-time career as a solo percussionist. ms glennie owns over 1800 percussion instruments, has won 2 grammies, has recorded twenty-two cds and has collaborated with the likes of bjork, bela fleck, bobby mcferrin and sting. she sings, teaches, composes and designs jewellry. and she is profoundly deaf

i know what youre thinking -- i thought it too. how can a person who cannot hear be such a gifted and accomplished musician? the first thing i will say is that had i not known before she began playing that she is profoundly deaf, i never would have discovered it based on what i heard. of all the performances saturday night, hers moved me most. she connected to me with her music. i could see and i could feel her passion. i was truly enchanted

i had to learn more about ms glennie. i spent some time last night reading about her life, career and music. on her website is a very insightful and aptly-named "hearing essay", which explains:

"Evelyn hopes that the audience will be stimulated by what she has to say (through the language of music) and will therefore leave the concert hall feeling entertained. If the audience is instead only wondering how a deaf musician can play percussion then Evelyn has failed as a musician. For this reason Evelyn's deafness is not mentioned in any of the information supplied by Evelyn's office to the press or concert promoters. Unfortunately, Evelyn's deafness makes good headlines."

ms glennie therefore posted the "hearing essay" on her website to debunk some of the myths about deafness so that people can move past her hearing impairment and focus on her music. she explains that "sound" is simply vibrating air that the ear picks up and converts to electric signals, which are then interpreted by the brain. but we feel vibrations too. although for some reason in the english language we distinguish between hearing a sound and feeling a vibration, in fact they are the same thing. ms glennie "hears" her music by sensing different vibrations in different parts of her body. for this reason, she performs barefoot

i said earlier that ms glennie is "profoundly deaf". this means that she is not totally deaf. she has some hearing but the quality is reduced to the point where the spoken word cannot be distinguished from sound alone. with no other sound, ms glennie can usually hear someone speaking but she cannot detect words. the volume is reduced and the quality of the sound is very poor

the essay goes on to explain that sight is also an important element that goes along with hearing sounds and feeling vibrations:

"If Evelyn sees a drum head or cymbal vibrate or even sees the leaves of a tree moving in the wind then subconsciously her brain creates a corresponding sound. A common and ill informed question from interviewers is 'How can you be a musician when you can't hear what you are doing?' The answer is of course that Evelyn couldn't be a musician if she were not able to hear. Another often asked question is 'How do you hear what you are playing?' The logical answer to this is; how does anyone hear?. An electrical signal is generated in the ear and various bits of other information from our other senses all get sent to the brain which then processes the data to create a sound picture. The various processes involved in hearing a sound are very complex but we all do it subconsciously so we group all these processes together and call it simply listening. The same is true for Evelyn, some of the processes or original information may be different but to hear sound all she does is to listen."

to hear sound all she does is to listen

armed with an inspiring essay and a new goddess in my life (to be added to the likes of tori and ani), i thought a lot about the senses last night. evelyn sees and feels in order to hear. i am constantly guided by my senses. without really realising it before, i have now come to notice that i continuously seek to indulge my senses. my home is rarely without music and the wafting scents of incense or candles. my fingers are drawn to explore inviting textures. i am passionate about richly flavoured food. when i see something i find beautiful, i just want to look and look and look until the image is etched in my memory

and i feel most alive when all of my senses are being stimulated to their utmost height at the same time

but i think there is something more. when i hear a beautiful piece of music, i can close my eyes and see certain colours and images. i feel certain textures. when i look at the daffodils sitting in a vase on my counter, i not only see the vibrant yellow and smell their perfume, but i also taste spring and new life. and the touch of another person's skin against mine plays its own kind of music

the neurological condition of synaesthesia occurs when there is a mixing of the senses such that one might hear colours, taste sounds or see tactile sensations. it is a naturally occurring condition but can also be brought on by hallucinogenic drugs like lsd. i wonder though if all sensual (or sensory?) people arent synaesthetic to some degree even if it doesnt reach the point of diagnosis

there is so little we truly understand about our senses. if you and i listen to the same melody, how can we be sure that we really hear the same thing? when we look at the same red shirt, do we see different shades of crimson?

touch is very important to me. i have 'blogged about this in the past. on saturday night, through hearing and watching the symphony my senses were indeed on a "high" and so was i. yet for me, true sensory culmination is the point of touch. physical contact unites all of my senses to a point of total, personal bliss. my companion did not stay over that night. i always prefer to fall asleep with a trusted friend beside me. the warmth, the touch of another body puts me into a perfect sleep. even in my slumber i am aware that the other person is there and i feel safe. and my senses, on overload from the evening of music, were crying out for that touch. when my companion left, as much as i enjoyed the night i felt it was incomplete. all my other senses had been tuned and there was a lingering moment of touch. but like a symphony that abruptly ends before reaching its crescendo; like a vision that disappears before ever coming fully into focus; like the smell of freshly baked bread that trails in the wind and vanishes before you find its source...

it passed much too quickly

when my senses are left unsatisfied, i feel less alive and less myself. no, thats not right. my senses dont want to be just satisfied, they want to be utterly immersed in beauty

in writing this post, i have been trying to decide whether i am "sensual" or "sensory". "sensual" sounds very dark and alluring but "sensory" sounds very mechanical and sterile. i looked up the definition of "sensual" and was surprised to find that it means the following:

(1) relating to or consisting in the gratification of the senses or the indulgence of appetite: fleshy
(2) devoted to or preoccupied with the senses or appetites b : VOLUPTUOUS c : deficient in moral, spiritual, or intellectual interests : WORLDLY; especially : IRRELIGIOUS or CARNAL

now, im not a religious person, but the times when my senses are most heightened are the times that i encounter what i can consider to be the closest thing to a religious experience. if our Creator (whoever she is) gave us our senses and i feel most truly alive when my senses are drowned, why does being "sensual" have such a negative connotation? why does being "devoted to the senses" make one also "deficient in spiritual interests"? it seems to me that we are paying the most respect to nature and life when we are truly experiencing a moment of complete sensory indulgence. a piece of art, music or food that moves me is an incredibly powerful spiritual experience

i believe our senses are so much more than the tools we use to navigate through life. yes, they help us find nourishment, detect dangers and procreate (which of course can happen without full use of all the senses but its so much more fun when the sights, sounds and smells are good!). our senses are how we source real life and discover the people and things around us -- and through them, ourselves

to hear sound we have only to listen

of leather, toys and blueberry pie

2006-03-27T19:02:00.000-05:00

when i go shopping, im not usually attracted to the clothes worn by the mannequins in the front windows of the stores. the outfits are so available. the retailers put them out there for everyone to see and i get so turned off by the visibility. for a shopper like me -- one who truly enjoys the hunt for the perfectly coordinated, and unique, ensemble -- the love affair is with a look that no one has put together before. the rush i get when shopping comes from digging in the racks for that almost-hidden perfect piece. the clothes in the shop windows are so undesirable in their easiness

sometimes i think i might actually like the clothes in the front windows, but i dont allow myself to admit it

why is it that i want to do everything the hard way? why am i so turned off by the available and easy? and why dont i get nearly as excited about what i can readily have as i do about what i cant have?

it happened again tonight -- the moment i heard i couldnt have something that i didnt realise i cared about, i knew i wanted it and had to have it. but what if i got it? then what? without a doubt id grow bored toss it in the corner like the pogo ball i begged for for months when i was 8 years old. my parents finally gave it to me as a birthday present. i played with it for one weekend and then it fell into a dark recess of the garage until my dad finally threw it in the trash the year i started university

(i still feel guilty about that -- i told my mum recently that i feel guilty about a long of things. she suggested that maybe i need to go to church. i laughed out loud -- as if going to church makes me feel less, not more guilty about my life!)

when i am ambivalent about wanting something -- desiring it until i have it and then discarding it -- i think its not because i want it at all. i dont. but theres something about the process of getting it that im really after. where is the challenge if i buy the clothes in the front window? i can be much more proud of a skillful shopping trip if i scouted the last butter-yellow leather blazer on the small rack in danier

i dont want dessert until the moment its too late to order it and then all i can think about for the rest of the day is that blueberry pie

but my ambivalence about so many things has the benefit of allowing me to know when i truly want something. somethings i know instantly i want -- have -- to have. when i find that butter-yellow jacket i takes prize place in my closet and i wear it on only the most deserving occasions. if i order the tira misu without even thinking twice, i can be sure i will find it to be the most scrumptuous, divine, to-die-for tira misu ive had in ages. i recently cooked a seafood marinara with king crabs legs and shrimp. the seafood sat in my freezer, teasing me, for a few weeks until i had the time, and the pleasurable company, to cook it. in the words of S, i thoutht the meal was "orgasmic"

so really, i dont think that i only want what i cant have or that i only want something because i cant have it. occasionally i feel that way and in those moments its helpful to remind myself of what exactly i would be getting if i could have it and of that fact that it really isnt the thing that i desire but just the knowing that i got it

its more that i have a higher appreciation for things that are harder to get. some things are worth waiting for, some things are worth working for, some things are worth persevering for. instead of getting hung up on what we cant have, we're better off devoting our energy to attaining what we really want. no doubt the attraction will last much much longer

i discovered today

2006-03-26T15:46:00.001-05:00

girls like me arent hard to find
we grow like roses on the vine
we wear our hearts on our sleeves
you probably know a girl like me

we live alone and in our heads
we eat standing up or in our beds
guilt and fear merge easily
in the quiet souls of girls like me

and loneliness is like a cold,
common and no cure we’re told
we take to bed per chance to dream
in the blue light of the TV screen.

girls like me like summer light
and cold beer on a summer night
and boys who arent afraid of what they see
inside the eyes of girls like me

and hopefulness is like a drug
it makes a girl believe in love
and if somehow you love us back
you think theres something wrong with that

girls like me arent hard to trust
your deepest secrets safe with us
and when its time to set you free
you can always count on girls like me

its good to know a girl like me
you used to love a girl like me

i had a dream

2006-03-20T23:04:00.000-05:00

i spent a long time with myself. i stood in front of the mirror naked. i couldnt hide behind clothes or stilettos or creams or powders. i stood there scrutinizing. it seemed like forever until the voice that constantly tries to scream ("your breasts are too small, your complexion is uneven, your eyebrows need grooming, your fingernails are brittle") finally faded away

it was just me with me

i let my hair down and shook it until it was a mess. i laughed a little at the jiggle in my thighs

i called myself beautiful to see if i believed it from my own lips. it didnt sound right at first. how can i be beautiful if he didnt want to touch me

i tried the word "pretty" next but that didnt sound right either. ive always associated prettiness with fragility, weakness, girliness

i looked myself directly in the eyes. i examined the corners of my mouth and how they turn down just like my father's. i traced the bump in my nose -- same as my mum's. my finger went to the scar in my left eyebrow and then my eyes glanced at the one on my left ring finger. god -- im so far from perfect but all of these things are as much a part of me as the experiences i taste on a daily basis. i cant change them. i cant hate them and still love myself

finally, i said beautiful again and asked myself why i couldnt believe it without validation from a male voice, from the gaze belonging to an aroused man (and really, they never say beautiful anyway -- "hot" or "sexy" maybe but never beautiful. and beauty has nothing to do with those)

i stood there, looking at myself in all that i am. and i stopped apologizing. and i started crying. and i started accepting and appreciating. and i started loving. and in the calm and the loving, i discovered beauty. i saw beauty. and no man, no one, can take that away

thank you, anais

2006-03-20T22:30:00.000-05:00

And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.

---

I, with a deeper instinct, choose a man who compels my strength, who makes enormous demands on me, who does not doubt my courage or my toughness, who does not believe me naive or innocent, who has the courage to treat me like a woman.

---

I disregard the proportions, the measures, the tempo of the ordinary world. I refuse to live in the ordinary world as ordinary women. To enter ordinary relationships. I want ecstasy. I am a neurotic -- in the sense that I live in my world. I will not adjust myself to the world. I am adjusted to myself.

---

I do not want to be the leader. I refuse to be the leader. I want to live darkly and richly in my femaleness. I want a man lying over me, always over me. His will, his pleasure, his desire, his life, his work, his sexuality the touchstone, the command, my pivot. I don’t mind working, holding my ground intellectually, artistically; but as a woman, oh, God, as a woman I want to be dominated. I don’t mind being told to stand on my own feet, not to cling, be all that I am capable of doing, but I am going to be pursued, fucked, possessed by the will of a male at his time, his bidding.

overlap

2006-03-15T19:00:00.000-05:00

so youre an umbrella ... im a sunny day

youre a tall cold drink ... and im just not thirsty

youre a blanket ... but i really want a pillow

youre the cab ride home ... i only have bus fare

youre a fire extinguisher ... and im looking for a flame

youre a work of art ... i need a melody

you are great wonderful perfect
. but
youre just not what i need
not what i need
i dont need you cant use you dont want you

right now
now

hide and seek

2006-03-12T10:45:00.000-05:00

girl, next time he wants to know what your problem is
girl, next time he wants to know where the anger comes from
just tell him this time the problem is his
just tell him the anger just comes
it just comes

what really matters

2006-03-10T16:33:00.000-05:00

i visited mary at the hospital during my lunch hour. ive never spent the night in hospital but they still make me uncomfortable

this one actually had a warm feeling to it though. i imagine the garden will be beautiful in spring

she looked better than i expected. the same loud and carefree laughter, the same thick italian accent, the same knowing smile

im not sure why i expected her to be weaker. maybe its because when i visited my nonna in hospital -- the last person i visited in hospital -- she didnt have the strength to use the bathroom, feed herself or, near the end, talk. so it warmed my heart to see mary walk down the corridor with just the use of a walker and sit upright in a chair and eat her lunch

she even said the food was pretty good though she regrets that they dont give her options for each meal

was mary always so short? i cant remember now. my own regret is that i havent spent more time with her

her hair is growing back. she laughed and said it bothers her that its growing faster at the bottom than the top. she wants to cut it. i didnt bring scissors

the time goes by so quickly, she says. if theres something you want to do, dont say "i'll do it on that day" because maybe that day wont come. do when you can, while you can

she laughs at time her husband woke up in the middle of the night and decided to make a "snack" and ended up with a roasting pan full of rice. i tell her about my recipe for spanish rice. spanish rice?, she says, ive never heard of that but when -- if -- i get out of here im going to try that

my stomach tightens -- she doesnt know it but the "if" is pretty unlikely

forty-two years, she says, we've been married forty two years. the time goes so fast, so fast. be true to yourself because before you know it youre looking back on what youve done and you have to answer to yourself for it

it was a lovely visit. though i hate hospitals, i know theyre taking care of her. and somehow she knew i needed to hear those words and these things i carry with me: her laughter, her smile, that time goes quickly, to mine own self me true

detox: day 2

2006-03-07T15:06:00.000-05:00

its 3:08 pm. im enjoying my afternoon snack: sipping a cup of warm steamed veggie water

i woke up at7 am and, as per my instructions, drank two glasses of water, one with the juice of half a lemon squeezed into it

did i mention i hate water?

next i had to eat a fruit at room temperature. no problem, i love fruit. at the same time, i cooked 1/4 cup of brown rice and when it was ready i was permitted to sweeten it with a tablespoon of fruit juice. then i watched breakfast television

i never take time with breakfast during the week. i usually just down a bowl of cold cereal while doing my hair. the upside to this detox is that i get to watch BT. it was disappointingly unfunny

i have a slight headache now and i am having trouble staying awake despite my mandated 8.5 hours of sleep last night. i wonder if i can take a tylenol or if that is forbidden. probably forbidden

id kill for a cup of contraband coffee and a starbucks reduced fat marble cake

the 3/4 cup of steamed veggies i had for lunch was soooo long ago. but thankfully in just a few more hours i can have another 3/4 cup of steamed veggies for dinner

and then the highlight of my day: my cup of herbal tea

im grouchy and cranky

i hope -- nay, i'm certain -- i'll feel better tomorrow

detox: day 1

2006-03-06T22:30:00.000-05:00

after two weeks of little sleep and two fun -- but dietarily irresponsible -- weekends, i thought today that a detox might be a good idea

ive never detoxed. its one of those hoo-ey things that i tend not to believe in... along with chakras, god and fat free chocolate cake

but after some moderately in-depth research (read: google and wikipedia), i realised that my body was calling out for an internal cleanse

until i read what was involved

apparently, these detox diets are intense. you experience "detox symptoms" which should dissipate after a few days. they can range from three to forty days. there is the water detox, juice detox, blueberry detox, etc etc

all of them say no caffeine, no alcohol, no animal fats. finally, i settled on the mildest one i could find and was ready to go

until scott walked into my office at 4:00 to see if i wanted to make a starbucks run

the organic blueberry bar and sumatra blend were too tempting

ok, no problem, ill start at 5:00

so i arrived home around 6:30 and decided to cook my first "detox dinner". but first i had some cheese

ok, my detox starts at 7:30

dinner consisted of steamed potatoes, yams, carrots and broccoli, and boiled kale

mmmmmm

im under strict rules to have NOTHING after "dinner" except herbal tea

but my tummy was grumbling an hour ago so i cheated and had five raisins and a tiny handful of "quinoa puffs"... i figure those are ok because there are no additives, no preservatives, no fat, no salt, no sugar (...no taste...). chances are i just fucked up the whole thing

i had my herbal tea and now im still hungry. i cant eat anything until tomorrow morning. not sure how im going to sleep. but at least i can look forward to my 11:00am "snack" -- a glass of the water used to steam the veggies

its really just a test of will power. and im determined to win..... if i dont pass out first

-----

on another note, is a coincidence ever just a coincidence?? my natural inclination is to think that coincidences are always just coincidences... but a recent series of events has me wondering whether its not always my plan that matters and that maybe im not in control of things. i dont know but im curious to see how i all plays out....

two pretty ridiculous things to think about...

2006-03-02T18:50:00.000-05:00

(1)

"In 2005, the world will pass the trillion-dollar mark in the expenditure, annually, on arms. We're fighting for $50 billion annually for foreign aid for Africa: the military total outstrips human need by 20 to 1. Can someone please explain to me our contemporary balance of values?"
--Stephen Lewis, Race Against Time

(2)

as if i didnt already have enough reasons to hate doing laundry in my building, creepy guy from the 7th floor just used the "i havent seen you around here before" line. he then proceeded to joke about the black lace underwear i held in my hand while, in a state of flabbergast, i attempted to come up with a pointed reply. grrr. next week im doing laundry at mum and dads

when you google yourself (and thoughts on the weekend)

2006-02-27T15:40:00.001-05:00

you might be surprised by what comes up

at the outset of this post, i have a wee confession to make. i just "googled" myself. in my own defence, i did so because of a conversation i had on the phone last night about how many of us can't resist "googling" a new person that we've met (flashback to the episode of sex & the city where carrie is first introduced to the concept of "googling" the men she is dating). sure its a guilty pleasure, but we all do it and better to admit it now. also, due to the near certainty that someone else will google us at some point, i believe it is better to google ourselves first so that we are aware of any potentially embarassing or incriminating hits that the search may turn up. i hasten to clarify that no such hits show up when you search my name

anyway, as i was saying, i googled myself. i didnt realise how many people out there share my name but arent me (thats my defence if new Person X uncovers any of the aforementioned "embarassing or incriminating hits")

a few really are about me. nearly all of them are boring and insignificant

but today i came across a page that i didnt know existed and it made a smile trickle across my lips

a few years back i gave a submission to a popular collection of short stories. it was accepted and the book was published and at the time it was encouraging to see my name in print. the story was a personal reaction to the death of my big sister. i reluctantly admit that i am a perfectionist. a couple of years after the book was published, i read the story again and was critical of the word choice and grammatical structure of some of the sentences. i didnt find the writing to be particularly evocative or emotional and i essentially forgot about it, embarassed that i produced such a low-quality piece of writing

my google search today brought that submission back to mind. two different individuals, unknown to me and located somewhere in this vast world that ive probably never visited, called my story their "favourite" and mentioned it on their personal websites. one even retyped the entire story and then described what she thought it was about and why she liked it

its easy, in moments of self-pity or loneliness, to think we dont really make a difference. every now and then life hands us a little reminder that somewhere somehow we have touched someone -- even if we dont know it. while in the process of "googling" myself, i was touched that maybe somebody had read my story and been affected by it a little, even though i had dismissed and forgotten it

---

speaking of people who affect us, i have to comment briefly on my most delightful weekend (hows that for a segue??!)

i dont usually comment on the specific goings-on of my life but i had such an awesome weekend that i have to mention it briefly

friday night the ladies from law school got together to celebrate lan's birthday (which is approaching national-holiday status). we ate the "auto grille" on eglinton and the food was well worth the slight confusion we experience actually finding the place. dinner and conversation were amazing as always. (thank you, girls, for always telling me what i need to hear -- even when id rather not). my only regret is that our schedules dont allow us to do it more often

kerr acton blurr never stops being funny

saturday morning i left for a weekend with mireille in london. funny how the sky is perfectly clear all the way down the 401 and yet as soon as you see the first sign announcing an exit for london, the snow starts. we spent the afternoon looking at wedding dresses for mireille. so much fun. i think i might have had a tear or two -- she looked like a bride!! which is always amazing but its doubly incredible when its a friend ive known since grade 9 and have been through pretty much everything with (remember the apartment we designed??!). its so powerful to think of friends like that, who will always be there in the future in some way or another, no matter where you are or what you're doing

after a delicious meal of pad thai (which unfortunately came with chicken), we drove around the sitting making very stops for nutrient necessities (read: junk food) and to rent "the aristocrats". pretty freakin' funny but i think mireille and kim but have been a wee bit grossed out

and of course to balance the vulgarity of the movie, we had some excellent merlot (the classy gals that we are) followed by some vigorous dance routines in the living room. a wild night at 29 park was cut a little bit short by the fact that we had been drinking since 7 and not one of us remembered the cab ride home. ahh... london.... dancing... drinking myself into a state of memory loss.... it was almost like being in saugeen again

saturday morning, after a failed attempt at sleeping in and another failed attempt at eating a pomello, we made breakfast and watched (all) of season 2 of arrested development (i say again... too freakin' funny) while flipping through bridal magazines

the laughter and raucousness of the weekend was very cathartic (unfortunately the drive home behind a complete bozo in an suv on the 401 raised my stress levels somewhat). between friday night and sunday night the weekend was a perfect mix of sentimentality, laughter, food, sleep, exercise, intellectual challenge and conversation about fashion, men, work, world affairs, pop culture and bodily functions

all-in-all, the best kind of weekend. thanks ladies

why are the things i want always out of reach

2006-02-22T16:47:00.000-05:00

as previously acknowledged in my "collection of confessions" post, sometimes i wish i were taller

sometimes being short sucks

like today -- while attempting to reach on my tippy-toes for a book on a high-up shelf in the library, it fell on my head :o(

but sometimes, it isnt so bad

like on sunday at the grocery store when the cute guy saw me struggling to grab a box of whole wheat spaghetti on the top row of aisle 7 and smiled in all his cuteness and joked about me climbing into the cart for a "boost" and took down the box and handed it to me

*sigh*

i mind being short slightly less now

but my head still hurts

there you are. its been a while

2006-02-21T12:28:00.000-05:00

i never talk about you

most days i dont even think about you

but some days i do.... even now

when was the last time? maybe december. i seem to remember snow. or maybe just cold

i was cold. for a long time

its funny how we will twist things around; try to make them fit into a form a shape a concept we understand. i tried that for a while -- pressed it like a flower petal between the pages of i liked it or it was what i wanted or eventually it was my own fault

but sooner or later you realise it goes too far when pianos try to be guitars

i wouldnt say there are bad days. i wont give you that

but there are not-so-good moments

when i wonder why me why then why that way. then i listen to ani d and tori

i step in a mudpuddle and my rubber boot gets stuck. then i hear that delicious squelching sound as i fight to pull my foot out and it finally gives

its strange -- for someone so fleeting so transient in my life and youre always there -- like my shadow. i cant run from it or from you. strange too how its on the brightest sunniest days that we see our shadows

now that ive written this down and "named my fear", i wish it would disappear

i wouldnt care much to think of you again. but im sure i will.

and it will be cold

and maybe someday i will be warm enough that i wont hold onto it any more

it wont hurt but you might feel some discomfort

2006-02-19T21:16:00.000-05:00

[pre-post-script] this post came out a bit more disjointed than i intended. its sunday evening. im sitting looking out the window at the night. im listening to opera and i have candles lit. my peach-ginger herbal tea is half-finished. i have a lot of thoughts running through my mind and needed an outlet and it seems that ive "vomitted" them onto my keyboard. sorry if this doesnt hang together well or seems to make no sense. my intention is just to pose of questions and maybe start a dialogue with a few of you. it is uncomfortable to talk about racism frankly, and we need to not only discuss it but also ask why it makes us so uncomfortable in order to understand and overcome our fears

are you a person "of colour" or a person of "white-skin privilege"?

or do you find that question nearly impossible to answer without a series of follow-up qualifier questions necessary to move past the deceptively simple dichotomization of that question?

a friend recently forwarded me an email promoting an event in the lesbian community for women "of colour". those of "white-skin privilege" were welcome as the guest of a woman "of colour"

that one email relegated all lesbian women into two either-or categories

im not a lesbian but i would be shocked if any lesbian, even of white-skin, self-identified as "privileged". and what of hispanic or middle eastern or first nations canadian lesbians. surely they arent "of white-skin privilege" but do they qualify as "of colour"?

upon meeting someone new -- at a bar for example -- one of the first questions im asked is whats my background or whats my ethnicity. im always amused by the question, so shortly after meeting someone. i have a bit of a different look, especially if i leave my hair curly. im olive skinned with dark hair and dark eyes. i dont think people ask out of genuine curiosity. i think most often they ask because until they know my ethnic background, they arent sure they can "figure me out". and that makes them uncomfortable. and, ostensibly, knowing my ethnic background means they somehow have me pegged

for the record, my last name is portuguese. my dad is portu-guyanese. my great-granny was black. my mum's family are blue-eyed italians

i dont identify with a "white-skin privilege" community or a women "of colour" community

i think my mixed ethnicity has made my particularly intrigued by racial issues, because any attempt to make categories or draw lines excludes me. i dont think theres an active black-portu-guyano-italian community in toronto -- or any other city for that matter. whenever exclusive communities are created or dichotomies invented, there will inevitably be people who dont "fit" and are alienated

any time someone speaks of the "white community" or the "black community" rather than the human community, i feel left out

im not saying im opposed to those who self-identify with a particular ethnic or racial community. i fully recognise and support the empowerment that comes from belonging to such a community, particularly one that has faced historic disadvtanged and prejudice. but when a group of people are working towards the same objective, creating arbitrary categories within that group most often works to divide the group, stalling the progress towards the common goal

with all of this on my mind, i watched the movie "crash
tonight. if you havent seen it yet, i recommend it to you highly. and if you havent recognised the racism and racial stereotypes within yourself, it might make you uncomfortable. it is edgy. it is provocative. it is upsetting. in watching the movie, wer are forced to confront ourselves at our ugliest

im not usually one for figuring out "the" meaning of art. i cant talk about what the creators of "crash" wanted to say or intended to evoke. but i can speak of what i got from it and how i reacted

for me, the movie displayed the cylical power of racism. the stereotypes you live by will be the stereotypes you suffer. and it applies to ourselves as much as it does to other people. i was left wondering, do we love most or hate most those with whom we most strongly identify. maybe it depends on our degree of self-love or self-loathing

the movie also highlighted for me that in creating categories of sameness, we focus on the insignificant ways in which we are different, rather than the important ways in which our humanity connects us. the hardest thing for the characters to do seemed to be seeing the common humanity in those who look or talked different

it was also heartbreaking because at the moment of recognition that fundamentally we are the same, the fear of difference destroys. im speaking of the moment when the young officer and the hitchiker are in the car. the hitchhiker overcame his prejudice at the moment that the officer acted on his, to their mutual destruction

the movie also forces us to be honest. i wrote earlier about truth. the truth is that i dont think many of us, if we are being honest with ourselves, are completely innocent of having any prejudicial or stereotypical thoughts about others. theyre easy. they allow us to think we know others without taking the time to really see them -- we're all busy. one of the lines written in the background at the beginning of the movie reads "i will judge you". it hurts, but its true

i will judge you for being a women, a man, a child, a senior; for the job you do or the neighbourhood you live in; for the way you spend your down time and for your salary; for the colour of your eyes or your teeth or your skin; for the clothes you wear

and i hate me for it

i may not judge you for those reasons in obvious ways and it may not affect how much i love you or care about your well-being. but i think anyone who says they wouldnt judge is being dishonest. and it is only in acknowledging our own stereotypes that we have any hope of overcoming them

i started reading a book by randall kennedy called "nigger". i dont mean to offend by using that word, but it is the title of the book. the book explores "the strange career of a troublesome word". the person who said "sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me" must have never had a racial slur directed at him or her. as the book demonstrates, our speech is extremely powerful and yet is perhaps one of the most ignored -- or even accepted? -- manifestations of racism and prejudice

whats in a name? a lot more than we realise. those who know me know that i am frequently outspoken about "PC-ness" in vocabulary. i know that when someone casually throws around words like "retard" or "gay" he or she isnt intending to be hurtful. but i think it is naive to believe that the words we choose do no harm to other people as long as our "intentions are good". in criminal law, mens rea is a necessary element of each offence. life is more like a strict liability offfence -- the damage is done regardless of the do-ers intent

a few months ago my sister accused me of trying to "look a different ethnicity" because i remove the hair from my arms and straighten and hilight my hair. if i am being honest with myself, i need to ask why i hate my body hair and whose idea of beauty am i trying to live up to when i make efforts to change my look. i dont think im trying to "look a different ethnicity" but i am buying into an ideal that is culturally-based and defined by the powerful in society (maybe those of white-skin privilege, which would explain hairless arms and straight 'dos). and maybe if i am being honest with myself, i have a degree of self-loathing for the parts of me that dont fit with the constructs of mainstream society

when i was in highschool i used to think my last name was too "ethnic sounding". its embarassing for me to acknowledge that now. i embrace my west indian heritage as much as my italian and canadian heritage. i dont listen to rap or r & b. does that make me less than 1/8 black? i dont think so. i am trying to acknowledge and eradicate my own prejudices and my wish is that others do the same. in looking at me, my wish is that you see me and not categories. and i want us to have the discussions that make us uncomfortable. i think that once we name the fear it starts to disappear

thats just me

a bliss of another kind

2006-02-14T19:12:00.000-05:00

carrie-- "so flaws can be good?"

aidan-- "the flaws are the best part"

...

im not typically one to wax romantic and ive never really been a fan of valentines day, but i spent much today reading judgments in divorce cases and tonights episode of "sex and the city" involved carrie's heartbreaking decision to tell aidan about her affair with big and sitting here with a mug of cappucino and grand marnier and listening to the new beth orton, i couldnt help thinking of relationships

i read an article today that says love might help people live longer, healthier lives. a couple of weekends ago i was at my parents house with some relatives. a cousin had put together a video of old home movies from his first visit to italy at two years old to his wedding in 1975 and the baptism of his first child. for the first time, i was able to see the mannerisms and interactions of my parents as newlyweds and my grandparents before they were grandparents

so much has changed since that time and yet so little

my nonna passed away two years ago. we showed my nonno the video of nonna dancing at the wedding and tears came to his eyes. you could tell he was instantly remembering so many happy, beautiful moments they shared through their 51 years of marriage

i saw my parents, holding hands and obviously in romantic bliss just a few months after their wedding. they didnt know at the time that their love would be tested in the most difficult way - by the death of their first born. the meaning behind their shared looks has been fundamentally changed since their first year of marriage, but somehow its still love

reading the countless divorce stories today - of people bickering and intentionally hurting those they once loved - i found myself thinking of those who have been for me the most powerful examples of a successful, enduring, loving relationship

im not sure ive ever been in love and i cant say exactly what makes a relationship survive -- survive for fifty years and a journey across the ocean to a new life in a new country; survive the unnecessary and unexplainable death of an oldest daughter at eleven years old -- and in fact grow stronger through those trials

but i think at least some part of love is, as aidan says, seeing the flaws as "the best part"

while speaking to me and my colleagues a few weeks ago, a judge referred to us as the "bliss generation". the more i think about it, the more i find that a provocative and particularly apt euphemism for most twenty-somethings i know (including, begrudgingly, myself)

we are a restless bunch. to expect a lot from ourselves and to strive for the utmost achievement is certainly noble, but i wonder if a striving for utter perfection is useles or worse, dangerous

those who have a lot to offer are certainly entitled to be choosey in selecting a partner, but we will never find someone without any flaws. in our search for bliss, for something always better, i wonder if we run the risk of overlooking the best for us

i definitely have certain values that i look for in a partner on which i could never compromise while still being true to myself. but im realising that no one will have everything that im looking for, and as J says, through self-reflection and examination youve got to decide what things are ok to compromise on and what things arent

the "bliss generation" has difficulty accepting the flaws in the wood, much less embracing them as "the best part". but if we found that flawless piece, i wonder if we would become bored with the perfection; with the lack of character; with the absence of any indication that it has been exposed to the elements, that it has been weathered and battered by the storm, and that it has survived

so i really think the flaws are the best part. the flaws are what separate wood from imitation fibre board, and the flaws are what separate a human life lived in fear and emotion and joy and sorrow from one of standing by and watching things happen so as not to become scratched, scraped or scarred

there is no perfect person and there is no perfect relationship, but i think there is perfect love. perfect love might be what we face when we see another's flaws as "the best part". perfect love might be what allows two people to spend fifty years together and still ache for one more day. perfect love might be what gives two people the strength to overcome the death of a child when one couldnt do so alone

and for a bliss child -- with flaws of her own that she can come to see as her "best parts" -- perfect love is a pretty damn awesome thing to find

struggling with coolness and other thoughts of an old lady

2006-02-10T15:43:00.000-05:00

its friday afternoon. the digital clock at the bottom of my computer screen says 3:42 PM. the analog clock on the desk beside me says 3:49. i tend to set that clock fast in an effort to speed up these endless days. but then i usually just end up mentally subtracting seven minutes every time i look at it

this has been a long long week. those of you working for law firms will probably scoff at that statement. you work until 8 or 9 or 10 every night while i go to dance class at 6 pm on wednesday. but, as things go at my job, this has been a long and stressful week

between the new rotation (= two new bosses giving me work plus tying up lose ends for the old ones) and recruitment headaches and stuff going on every night after work, i feel like ive just about reached my limit. i struggle to keep my eyes open and im shaking from coffee overload

so now im stuck in a friday afternoon dilemma. a big part of me just wants to go home, have a nice quiet dinner, put on some dvds and curl up with the kitties on the couch. i can definitely stand to catch up on my sleep and tonight would be a great chance to re-ground myself after a chaotic week and maybe even do some laundry

but can i really do that? me, stay home on a friday night??

my sister, who has a regular column in a community newspaper, wrote an article recently about how she stayed home on new year's eve and was conflicted between doing what she really wanted and feeling pressured to be "cool" and go out partying

she and i are different in many ways, but i love reading her articles because every now and then she writes something that reminds me that we really are sisters

im feeling that way tonight. its friday night and my friends are going salsa dancing and i am never one to pass up a night on the town dancing and drinking and stirring up trouble

or am i?

i really dont feel like it tonight. but will i be "uncool" if i stay in by myself, in my early- (ok i admit... mid-) twenties, when im single and having a good hair day? why does that make me uncool? more importantly, why do i care?

when i read julias article, my internal reaction was oh youre so uncool. my next reaction was admiration and even envy -- she can admit to the world (or at least toronto) that she stayed in on new year's eve reading and yet i have so much ambivalence about spending a random friday night watching episodes of "the west wing" and playing my guitar and maybe having a couple glasses of chardonnay after a long week of work and social activities

my first year in university we went out drinking thursday, friday and saturday night every week. sunday was a day of recovery and then i was set for a productive week at school. now it seems like two nights out requires six nights' rest

am i getting old?

maybe its the fear of getting old that makes me so uncomfortable with the thought of staying in on a friday night. staying in friday night = i dont have the energy to party after a weeks work = im developing wrinkles and gray hair = im nearing retirement

clearly im jumping to a few conclusions. one friday night at home does not an old woman make

but does it make for a rather uncool twenty-four year old?

sometimes when we touch... we crash

2006-02-07T00:12:00.000-05:00

ok so ive been posting a lot to my 'blog lately... all work, all party and no sleep must be a muse-like formula spurring my creativity

i do a lot of self-reflection and i tend to think i have me figured out

but every now and then something just hits me. i hear something, feel something or see something that shows me a new little piece of myself (sidetrack here... the title of yesterdays post - "maybe there're pieces of me youve never seen" - might apply to me as much as to anyone else)

anyway... i was on the subway traveling to work today. the person next to me was standing too close for my comfort. it bothered me immensely. i dont like it when a strangers hand touches mine while im holding the pole on the subway and i wont sit on a seat with strangers on both sides of me

as i stepped off the train at osgoode station it occurred to me how much i hate to be touched by strangers, especially on public transit. i know sometimes it cant be helped. but i have a fairly large bubble of personal space -- if someone unknown to me touches me, i will invariably flinch in reflex

but i crave physical contact from people with whom i feel comfortable. i love to hug friends. i feel so safe with the arms of a trusted person around me. the one thing i hate about living alone is not having someone to snuggle under a blanket on a cold february night.

this sort of physical contact has nothing to do with sex

it is human warmth
it is platonic
and it is, i believe, as necessary as air and food and water

walking through osgoode station today i realised this is yet another manifestation of my "opposite extremes" as well as yet another indication of my need for intimacy. i hate physical contact from strangers but love it from those who know my soul and ground me and make me feel at home

with all of that on my mind i came across a couple of quotes from the movie "crash" tonight and one stood out to me... (every now and then the universe strings together a wonderful cosmic chain of coincidences)

Graham-- "It's the sense of touch. In any real city, you walk, you know? You brush past people, people bump into you. In L.A., nobody touches you. We're always behind this metal and glass. I think we miss that touch so much, that we crash into each other, just so we can feel something."

just so we can feel something.
we crash
we miss that touch
into each other
so much
i think we miss
just so
crash
into
crash
feel
something

maybe there're pieces of me youve never seen

2006-02-06T11:14:00.000-05:00

why i love her.....

she whispers to me.
her words twist and wrap around me. a blanket. a hug. a shelter. a mirror.
in getting lost i am amazingly blissfully beautifully found.

another reminder today.....

"I wrote this record because I was trying to fill the void any way I could...After nothing worked --men, food, incredible Chardonnay, shoes-- there was no anchor to hold on to, the old ways didn't work any more. I realised I'd supressed a lot of sides to myself to be loved and understood by men. I didn't want to play seductive little girl or ballbuster any more. With this record I played all those roles until I got to my heart. To find your fire as man or woman you have to take your torch and go to the shadows."

what's so amazing about really deep thoughts you ask

the corner of my mouth reluctantly curls into a smile

knowing i will sink i take my torch and dive in

when the truth hurts....

2006-02-01T16:48:00.000-05:00

is it better to know or not to know?

as i grow older, gain more life experiences and become more comfortable with myself, i find that i (to borrow the words of ani) care less and less what people think

i am always deeply intrigued by other people's minds. as a result of that curiosity, combined with my open and talkative nature whereby no subject is taboo, i often ask people their perspective of a given situation or circumstance in my life

my main reason for doing so is a sort of "character anthropology". i like to learn what makes people tick and the type of response i get when i ask a person's opinion very frequently gives me much insight into who that person is -- whether or not he or she intends to do so

(depending, of course, on the topic and the person) i rarely ask because i genuinely intend to change my course of conduct to reflect Person X's opinion of the situation. i do, however, seriously consider what the person has to say. if his or her reaction is very different than what my own instinct tells me, i think about that view and add it to the mix of possibilities in deciding how i will proceed

my feelings will rarely be hurt because of something said to me by someone who does not know me intimately. yet i often encounter people who hold back when i ask them something directly -- ostensibly to avoid hurting my feelings

i dont quite understand why that is so

is it really to avoid hurt feelings? why the insincere niceness (dont you hate things that are just *nice*?) of just telling someone what you think she or he wants to hear? is it a fear of being seen as "the bad guy"? or are we too often unsure of our beliefs and opinions to stick by them?

i always prefer to know exactly how a person feels but that is far different from allowing that opinion - good, bad or neutral - to change me in anyway. why, then, the fear of being forthright? im a no-nonsense person. i dont sugarcoat or beat around the bush and i have a profound amount of respect for others who are the same way

im a big girl, i can take it

the situation is very different when it comes to a small group of very close friends. their opinions matter to me. if a friend or acquiantance who is outside that circle were to tell me that they didnt approve of a choice i made, i would be interested but would not be personally affected. if a friend within my circle, knowing me in all my ugliness and beauty, were to say the same thing it would be a desperately needed wake up call

either way - close friends or not - even when the truth hurts, i would always rather know than not know

sure, the truth may sometimes be unpleasant in the short term. but i think it is always preferable to suffer some sadness now so as to avoid pushing ahead in oblivion and hurting more in the long run

for example....

a friend and i hypothesised last night about what you would do if you thought your dear friend was dating someone who wasnt good for him or her?

im not sure that i would always have the courage to say so, but not saying so would gnaw away at my insides

i would definitely want to know if my close friends (those in the circle) didnt like someone i was dating. dating can sometimes be like a monet. when you are up close, the picture makes no sense but looks like a mesmerising kaleidoscope of colours. it sometimes takes having a friend who is standing a few steps back to tell you exactly what the picture is (an art-lover's version of the proverbial "can't see the forest for the trees")

or for example...

imagine you have gone on a few dates with someone in whom you are interested. you feel an energy, a connection, a little shiver inside when he or she touches you. you wonder if the feeling is mutual - some of the signs are there - but neither of you has spoken about whether there is reciprocal romantic interest

do you ask her or him?

conversely, imagine (it isnt hard to do. hell... we've all been there) you are pretty sure the other person is interested in you, but you dont feel that spark, that tingle in your belly, that attraction that makes your head spin. do you tell him or her that it isnt going to happen? if she or he asks you directly, do you answer honestly? or do you make something up to "let him or her down gently"? (or do you pull, as i ashamedly admit, my signature move of not answering the phone calls?)

in those kinds of situations, i stick by my desire - even when it hurts - to know the truth

because it is only through the highs and lows and ups and downs of life that we learn and grow and become more fully ourselves. i am at times an idealist, at times a pessimist, at times an optimist. but i am most definitely most often a realist. nothing is gained from living in the bubble of oblivion or naivete - or worse, deception - that envelops us when the truth remains unspoken

so often we shy away from asking necessary questions because we are afraid of hearing the truth. i have been told at times that when i persist in this demand to know the truth, i am "shooting myself in the foot"

i beg to differ

a wonderful person and good friend recently shared the following beautiful quote with me (SC - i copied it from your 'blog...t'anks... hope thats ok!)

"I must learn to love the fool in me - the one who feels too much, talks too much, takes too many chances, wins sometimes and loses often, lacks self-control, loves and hates, hurts and gets hurt, promises and breaks promises, laughs and cries. It alone protects me from that utterly self-controlled masterful tyrant whom I also harbour and who would rob me of human aliveness, humility and dignity but for my fool." (Theodore Isaac Rubin)

if i am a fool -
for wanting to know the truth
for not being enticed by superficial gestures
for putting myself out there to face the truth with no shields, shelters or SPF sunblock -
and if, by doing so, i lose often, hate, hurt and get hurt, break promises and cry,
then a fool i shall be. because all of that is worth winning sometimes, loving, making promises (that i keep) and laughing

it is only that fool that protects me from the real hurts of life that come when someone hides what he or she really thinks

but then.... if my cooking sucks... you can keep that to yourself and smile and say "mmmmm"

so i guess there is no straight answer. i'd love to hear your thoughts.....

when the truth hurts, is it better to know or not to know?

10% literal, 90% metaphor

2006-01-29T18:40:00.000-05:00

so much of life is song
the great ones i mean the really truly amazing ones sing the thoughts
i didnt realise i was thinking
so because i cant find the notes myself
a few of hers that speak to me......


i know that you feel my resistance
i know that you heard what i said
otherwise you wouldn't need the excuse
but i always feel i have to
take a stand
and there's always someone on hand
to hate me for standing there
i always feel i have to open my mouth
and every time i do
i offend someone
somewhere
i'm no heroine
at least, not last time i checked
i'm too easy to roll over
i'm too easy to wreck
i just write about
what i should have done
i just sing
what i wish i could say
i am writing
graffiti on your body
i am drawing the story of
how hard we tried
i sing sometimes
like my life is at stake
'cause you're only as loud 
as the noises you make
i'm learning to laugh as hard
as i can listen
i study the conversation
like a map
'cause i know there is strength
in the differences between us
and i know there is comfort
where we overlap
every song has a you
a you that the singer sings to
and you're it this time
we barely have time to react in this world
let alone rehearse
if you don't ask the right questions
every answer feels wrong
i was a terrible waitress
so i started to write songs
and i don't know how i feel
but i wonder if you feel like me
do you ever get wrapped up 
in the folds of my memory


when i need to wipe my face
i use the back of my hand
and i like to take up space
just because i can
and i use my dress
to wipe up my drink
i care less and less
what people think
i am not an angry girl
but it seems like i've got everyone fooled
every time i say something they find hard to hear
they chalk it up to my anger
and never to their own fear
regretfully
i guess i've only got three
simple things to say:
why me?
why this now?
why this way?


everything i do is judged
and they mostly get it wrong
but oh well
'cuz i don't care if they eat me alive
i've got better things to do than survive
i've got a memory of your warm skin in my hand

a recent conversation

2006-01-25T23:06:00.000-05:00

with a male friend went something like this

M: "would you ever get a breast enlargement?"

A: "you mean just one? wouldnt that look funny? ... or are you trying to say im lopsided?"

M: "you know what i mean"

A: "do you mean would i get fake boobs?" (i cant believe i said that word. i hate that word)

M: "ya"

A: "why?"

M: "well... youre not exactly pam anderson... errr... and besides, you joke about it all the time yourself"

A: "sure but theyre mine, im allowed to joke about them"

M: "but wouldnt you want them a bit bigger"

A: "ive thought about it... but its awfully painful"

M: "come on, how painful can it be?"

A: "they compare it to an elephant standing on your chest for a few weeks"

M: "ouch"

A: "ya. and besides... they only last a few years"

M: "so what? you can get them re-done"

A: "oh great... so kind of like a regular oil change"

M: "exactly"

A: "on my body?!"

M: "dont worry...its not every 4 months or anything"

A: "ok but look at that woman on tv... hers are so obviously fake"

M: "it doesnt matter... theyre big and they look good"

A: "but youre more of a legs-and-ass man i thought"

M: "thats true"

A: "so you mean to say youd rather have them big and fake than small and natural"

M: "um... well... ya, i guess so"

A: "you dont buy organic produce, do you?"

M: "what's that got to do with anything?"

A: "like lots of women, im fine with my small breasts. besides from what ive heard most men are content if they just have nipples and are attached to a woman's body"

M: "well ya, youre right about that"

A: "tell you what... if you get a penis enlargement, i'll get my breasts done"

M: "youve never seen it... how do you know i need one?! have you girls been talking?? really... your breasts are fine.... i think.. i would guess anyway.... um.... so what's all this hype about organic produce?"

moral of the story..... we all have flaws and parts of ourselves we're insecure about. id rather be the tiny yet flavourful organic mandarin orange than the kiwi on steroids
and...
some men only have balls until you insult their penis

end of the seiren call

2006-01-23T21:44:00.000-05:00

just as jacques cousteau was drowned by his alter ego, so i have buried seiren

it was time

really, it was just an experiment

sure, we had some fun and i dont regret any of it

but it became so tedious
and i have a renewed commitment to just letting things happen
everything is more exciting that way anyway...

and there are already some pretty fantastic people in my life
and it just wasnt for me -- so contrived, so artificial, so insincere
even from the people that seemed genuine at first

so often its not about our plan

but we can learn and love and live another plan

i close with the words of henry miller...

Life has no other discipline to impose, if we would but realize it, than to accept life unquestioningly. Everything we shut our eyes to, everything we run away from, everything we deny, denigrate or despise, serves to defeat us in the end. What seems nasty, painful, evil, can become a source of beauty, joy and strength, if faced with an open mind. Every moment is a golden one for him who has the vision to recognize it as such.

baking 101 - keep salt and sugar in distinctly marked containers

2006-01-18T09:57:00.000-05:00

my balance is off

i feel like the metronome i used as a child for piano practice. it was old and the weight was off-kilter. instead of the soothing, rhythmic measure of "tic-toc-tic-toc", it went "tic-toc" rapidly - then a pause - and then "tic-toc" rapidly again

after twenty-four years, i have come to see my life as a precise recipe requiring perfectly measured ingredients -- a cup of music, a cup of exercise, a dash of restlessness and a teaspoon of hallucinogens

but lately i feel like the recipe has gone wrong - like the time i mixed up the salt and the sugar and my apple crisp was inedible

i am a libra and according to the "libra journal" that my mum gave me in grade 8, my zodiac symbol is scales and my phrase is "i balance". i really dont believe much in astrology but my "libra journal" seems to have me figured out

balance is integral to my mental, emotional and physical stability. but i dont adhere to the "everything in moderation" motto (at least not in my own life). i am a passionate person. i pour my heart into what i do, think, feel, support and expect. consequently, to avoid the health perils of over-indulgence and to find my balance, i create equations that delicately juxtapose opposite extremes

the calculus goes something like this...

i have an extreme leather addiction so i have an extreme aversion to eating meat
at times i extremely enjoy casual encounters with men so at times i am an extreme feminist
i have always been extremely hardworking at school and work so when i party, i party extremely hard
i am extremely "PC" to make up for the fact that i grew up with parents who have few friends of any sort of minority
i love extremely cold and extremely hot weather
i am extremely atheistic to compensate for my extremely catholic upbringing
i am an extremely fast walker and an extremely slow eater
sometimes i am extremely shy and sometimes i am extremely extroverted

i am also someone that thrives off socialization, meeting new people and innocent flirtation but that is balanced by my need for..... but wait... where is it....?

the other side of the equation is missing

and it has left me ungrounded

i overmeasured the socialization and undermeasured intimacy

i have been single since last march. i was in a relationship with abundant intimacy but i was starved for socialization. he had few friends and was socially awkward around mine and so, most of the time we spent together, it was just the two of us

which is sometimes nice

but without the balance of socialization, i was suffocated in intimacy. i am not someone who, once in a relationship, needs no one else except my partner and loses all yearning for socialization. he was

so, true to my nature, when things ended with J last year, my pendulum swung in the opposite direction. i have revelled in an active social life, both dating and platonic and with both men and women. i have met many new, wonderful, exciting people and have had unforgettable experiences getting to know myself and those around me better. i have relished dating casually and meeting one man for drinks on thursday and another for dinner on friday

in reaction to the mundanity - of the predictability, the sameness, the absence of anything more unknown than which colour shirt he would be wearing when he arrived for the weekend - that i had with J, i have loved the fact that these men know nothing about me or my past, nor i them or their past. i have loved the surprises, the anticipation, the wondering of who these men really are and how things will turn out - does he visit the dentist regularly? where did he grow up? does he understand that i need to open doors for myself? all those things that i knew so monotonously well about J

i have loved the series of firsts that come with new person X - the first date, the first kiss, the first time waking up next to him

but my inner libra is calling to me for balance. because without intimacy all of that is hollow

my inner libra cannot understand how some people are ok living that way, on a superficial level, for so long

i have spent my share of time with interesting men in the past few months, with whom i've had a lot of fun. but there has always been a lack of intimacy - for reasons i wont go into here and which have varied depending on the man and the situation

i miss it - the comfortable silence over a meal where i know exactly how much he wants to eat and what

i miss it - it being ok to reach over and kiss him or touch him no reason

i miss it - him pulling me close at night without one of us wondering what it all means

i miss it - the knowing that i cant fake it, i cant pretend, i cant put up fronts because he'll call me on it

i miss it - having a person know my fears and insecurities so i dont have to acknowledge them out loud

no, i havent missed it with J - i just miss the feeling. and my inner libra also cautions me that i cant force it to happen and that it wont happen just because i miss it and want it

the time i mixed up the salt and sugar in my apple crisp recipe, i knew after one bite what had gone wrong. i knew where the imbalance was and i never made the mistake again

realising the source of the imbalance has quietened my inner libra's feelings that my spirit is askew. the intimacy i seek will come along and for now knowing that i need intimacy in my life is enough to temper my temptation to over-socialization with nothing below the surface

the most wasted of all days is one without laughter (e.e. cummings)

2006-01-02T11:50:00.000-05:00

"does he make you laugh?"

shana was listing the three elements she thought most essential to a lasting relationship. i can't remember what number 1 and number 3 were. i started thinking about laughter

they say that laughter is the best medicine. (laughter does have proven physical and psychological benefits for the human body) if thats the case, i think many of us are in dire need of the antidote. laughter is hard to come by these days. im not talking about the polite giggle or the slight groan and look of bemusement that appears when we hear something mildly funny. where is the aching belly laugh that turns heads and makes your abdominals sore?

i remember being a kid and losing myself at least once a day in fits of laughter to the point that i couldnt breathe. what brought on the guffaws was never significant. what really mattered was that i was relaxed and carefree enough to lose myself completely in the chortling

how often does any of us do that nowadays? what has changed? are we sensoring our response to what we find funny, stifling our laughter until it becomes just a soft chuckle because boisterous belly laughs seem inappropriate somehow? if so, why exactly has that sort of laugh become inappropriate?

while discussing the topic of this post, a coworker suggested to me that perhaps the nature of our humour has changed. many of us, having become realists and possibly even cynics as we have aged, now revel in dry humour which invites an amused snort and wry smile. sarcasm and satire, though still humourous, do not generally give rise to roll-on-the-floor whooping

i attended an improv night at the second city recently. the actors and actresses were very talented but i noticed that when the audience's attention in a sketch started to wane, the performers would resort to a sexual joke. why is it that jokes about sex have become the only way to get a laugh? and even those jokes do not evoke the elusive belly laugh, but rather titters of discomfort passed over the audience when two women experimenting with lesbian sex were each amazed at the state of grooming of the other's pubic hair.... one wild and unkempt - "hello president bush!" -, the other shaved "like an 8 year old"

like many of the twenty-something generation, i frequently keep in touch with friends through msn messenger. it is a convenient method of communication but unfortunately, typed words make it difficult to express emotions - even with the assistance of several handy "emoticons". i will often say something (that i think is) witty or humourously sarcastic, only to have my fellow conversationist misinterpret what i said. why is it that, where a comment might have multiple meanings, we default to the serious rather than the humourous, even in friendly conversation? why do we need to tell each other "i'm just joking"?

i'm not usually one for new year's resolutions, but since today happens to be january 2, i thought it was a fitting time to make efforts to bring the belly laugh back in vogue. when i am spending time with some of my friends, there are belly laughs a-plenty. like when we were kids, the source of the laughter never really matters. and like when we were kids, we dont care who turns and shoots us looks of disapproval. we laugh until it hurts and then we laugh some more. i feel refreshed and rejuvenated and the worries of life somehow seem smaller. often the therapeutic effect of the laughter is even more intense when my friends bring me to laugh at myself -- something i think we all could stand to do more of

as the new year arrives and we commit ourselves to eating better, exercising more and getting longer nights of sleep, i think the belly laugh needs to be added to everyone's list

sometimes..... (a collection of confessions)

2005-12-22T10:36:00.000-05:00

sometimes....

... i cry at my desk at work when i read online news articles
... i dont eat breakfast before leaving home in the morning because i spent too much time on my hair
... i worry about the future
... i wish i were a kid again
... i take 30 minute showers and by the time i get out my fingers and toes are wrinkly
... i am too critical of myself
... i stay in bed past noon on sundays
... i walk around my apartment naked
... i wonder what its like to be a guy
... i wish i were taller
... i hate men (*remember i said "sometimes"*)
... i put on music (loud!) and dance at home by myself
... i wish i were a stage actress
... i am completely fundamentally moved by something when i least expect it
... i smile without knowing why
... the people i know truly amaze me
... i forget to take the garbage out
... i break things by accident
... i find myself apologizing for things that werent my fault
... i wish more people hugged more often for no reason
... i wonder what i would look like as a blonde
... i try to cartwheel... and sometimes i fall
... i am too much of a perfectionist
... i am afraid of noises that i hear when i am alone
... loose buttons creep me out a bit
... i am my own worst enemy

pues cuando ardió la pérdida, reverdecieron sus maizales

2005-12-13T17:41:00.001-05:00

you were eleven. i was seven

im sure it wasnt cool for an eleven year old to hang out with her seven year old sister. i didnt know how to skip double dutch, my knitting stiches werent straight like yours, and i was always the first one found when we played hide-and-seek

but you seemed always so happy to be around me. julia too even though sometimes she picked on me and you had to stop her

every now and then the two of you would play a game that i was left out of because i was "too young". i remember when you told me about the land behind the wall but said i couldnt go with you guys (eventually i found you giggling in the closet and the secret was out). but before long you would include me again

you were so patient with me and so gentle. you read "how the grinch stole christmas" to me on christmas mornings to keep my attention so that mum and dad could sleep longer. the time i cut my own hair and mum didnt let me use scissors for a week, you showed me how i could cut paper by folding it and ripping along the crease

your name means heavenly and i cant think of a better way to describe you

i wonder where life would have taken you. would you have a family now? what would your passion be? i remember when you were little you wanted to be a writer or an investigator. no matter what i know you always would have found time for your little sis

i wonder how you would feel about my life now. would you be proud of me? sometimes i wish you were here to give me the answers that i know lie inside me but that i need to hear spoken by someone else

sometimes i wish you were here just to hug me

i miss you. i miss the family sing-alongs where we could hear your voice above everyone elses (your favourites were "the rose" and "rainbow connection"). i miss the 101 rules you had for me and julia on the nights you let us sleep in your bed (you took up so much space when you slept and i know you didnt like you little sisters sharing your double bed but you let us in anyway because you knew we enjoyed it so much). i miss your warm smile and i miss all the days we never got to spend together

i remember that last day -- it had snowed overnight and you promised we'd make snow angels together after school. i guess someone else's plan took over and you became the angel

i think about the things i could have done differently to be a better sister. but i was only seven and most of the time i probably didnt know any better. im sure you know that and dont hold any grudges (like the time i made you come with me to the outhouse at the cottage in the middle of winter because i was afraid of spiders)

i think about you when i do something i'm ashamed of and i think about you when something happens that im overjoyed about

i think about the man and his family too. sometimes i wonder who his kids are, what they're doing. i want to tell them we were never angry with their dad. i want to hug them -- we're bonded together in this tragedy and i wish i could just know that they are ok

but mostly i just think about how much i love you

do they know its christmas time at all?

2005-12-12T21:50:00.000-05:00

i've always loved this time of year

christmas time has a special feeling for me. for the past five years, christmas festivities have had to take a back seat to december exams. this is the first year that i've been working in december, with no exams to write. i had big hopes for this christmas season

but it just kind of snuck up on me while i was busy living life

on november 25th, i had a delightful evening at the barenaked ladies holiday concert at massey hall. a friend invited me on short notice and when he mentioned it was a holiday concert, i was taken aback. christmas music?! summer barely ended!!

well the concert sure got me in the mood. and since then i have been listening to and playing christmas music, decking my halls, giving extra to charity and generally trying to be festive

but something feels off this year. in fact, it feels less christmas-y than it did while i was in university

it's always a bittersweet time for my family. my big sister died several years ago on december 13. tomorrow is the anniversary. and a christmas day has not yet passed where i havent thought about her and wished she was there. my nonna passed away two years ago in october and she single-handedly cooked the most wonderful christmas eve and christmas day meals for our family. she woke up at 4:00 am to start making lasagna and lobster and shrimp and many other scrumptuous dishes for our 18-course meals. since she passed away, my mum has tried to replicate what nonna did but my grampa who has been living with a broken heart for two years keeps reminding mum that it isnt perfect

i was at my parents' house last night to help bake christmas goodies. i was looking forward to it since this is the first year that i wont be "coming home for christmas" and since i live on my own i dont have the space to do lots of christmas baking. my aunt and cousin were there too. it should have been a special day. but my aunt wouldnt stop complaining, my parents got in an argument and my mum said she would be happy having hamburgers for christmas

what is it that makes this time of year so stressful for people? where is the christmas cheer? i look outside my window. i see a beautiful blanket of snow on a crisp and clear evening. i see twinkling colourful lights. i wish my family would be able to relax and enjoy each other's company instead of worrying about buying gifts and cooking the perfect meal

hot chocolate and skating and singing carols. volunteering to wrap presents for children from families in need. these are the family traditions i'd like to start. i dont want to sound like a character from the peanuts but the cartoon might have been on to something... what is christmas all about?! i dont have a problem with gift-giving if its about a token of love and friendship. but when my own family is stressed about what to by one another and about what to cook and even about spending the day together, i think we're really missing the mark

i love the snow and the songs and the decorations. sometimes the sights and sounds make me beam and sometimes they bring a lump to my throat. i think christmas will always be bittersweet for me but my hope is to use this time of year to do some soul-searching; to find and re-affirm my values; to love and accept the family i have; and to try to help them remember the "spirit of the season"

can it be that it was all so simple then?

2005-12-03T12:21:00.000-05:00

i had an epiphany last night

i was sitting at the quiet cozy neighbourhood thai restaurant with three dear friends; girls i met in law school. we are always the loudest group in the restaurant. we laugh so hard that it hurts and definitely disrupts the meal of the other patrons. these girls dont take life too seriously but at the same time when i talk with them they help me see myself in the way that only the unapologetic honesty of close friends can

"youre dr jekyll and mr hyde!" said lelia

i had told them i was feeling a bit of baby urge. i wanted to be the mum that makes homemade organic baby food and crochets pale yellow baby blankets. i wanted to be the mum that sings lullabyes and finger paints with her toddlers. not now, but in the next few years - dr jekyll

in the next breath, i was talking about feminism and being a career woman - mr hyde (so they say)

we then jumped to my recent decision that i am ready for a committed, serious, mature relationship. "i feel i have a lot to give to the right person" i said - dr jekyll

then lanna reminds me that i'm only interested in guys who are jerks and assholes and otherwise emotionally unavailable and that i frequently extoll the virtues of "keeping it casual" - mr hyde

"im a walking contradiction" i said

that, on its own, was not exactly my epiphany

i stand for a lot and i have many many (too many??) opinions - but so often they lie on opposite extremes of a spectrum. ive always known that im sort of a devil and angel in one. but it just hit me last night that it is sometimes exhausting business, switching characters from one moment, one conversation, to the next - and trying to make people ok with that. but it is equally exhausting trying to hide aspects of who i am in a hopeless attempt to conform to people's expectations that we fit into neat, organized, predictable boxes

i thought about one of my all-time favourite episodes of sex and the city - "ex and the city" - which i watched this past week

a brief synopsis is in order....

the girls are discussing whether it is possible to be friends with an ex (something i personally always find awkward and even unnecessary). carrie, who recently discovered that mr. big has returned from paris with natasha (the idiot-stick-figure-with-no-soul), decides that she is ready to try the friend-thing with him. they meet for lunch and big breaks the news that he and natasha are engaged. predictably, carrie obsesses the next day with her friends over martinis. "why her?" she asks rhetorically. miranda replies "one word - hubbell!" as the girls begin to reminisce about the way we were, carrie comes to her own epiphany. barbra streisand (wild, curly-haired k-k-k-katie) loses robert redford/hubbell to a boring, straight-haired girl because things with the new girl are just simpler. carrie realizes that the world is made up of two types of women - the simple girls and the katie girls

my italo-guyanese heritage has blessed/cursed me with a head of crazy, frustrating, hard-to-manage curly hair. in the last couple years i have invested much time and money and employed the assistance of countless products and appliances to straighten my locks. yet everytime i take a shower, the curls come back

last night i came to the realization that i'm destined to be a katie girl; i cant be a simple girl, no matter how hard i try to flatten my hair

call me katie, call me dr jekyll & mr hyde, call me what you want, but i wont be the simple girl and i make no apologies for that. as much time as i spend in self-reflection, i cant even figure myself out. its exhausting for me and im sure its exhausting for those who try to understand me. maybe thats why i usually get the feeling most people dont and usually expect they won't want to bother trying

but hey thats just me

and ive learned in my 24 years that the people who matter the most to me are the ones to havent tried to straighten out my kinks, but have embraced my multiple and sometimes-contradictory facets unconditionally. i wish i could embrace my curls the same way

i'm trying

and as carrie says.... maybe some women arent meant to be tamed. maybe they need to run free until they find someone just as wild to run with

"in truths that she learned"

2005-11-28T19:08:00.000-05:00

his comment undressed me. in my jeans and flirty sweater, it was unnerving, uncomfortable to be exposed that way to someone i had barely known a week

was it possible that a stranger knew me better than i knew myself? or did i really know those things about myself, somewhere deep inside, but had refused to admit it? im not sure what was more unsettling for me - what he actually said or the fact that it was so true

my first reaction was defensive. this has long been the preferred coping technique of my self-protectionist nature. i didnt want to trust that what he was saying was his genuine observation, spoken honestly as a new friend. my years of being disappointed by men and my legal training had combined to make me a detached arguer and i instinctively thought he was trying to rattle me to exert some sort of power over me. i have learned to use my devices to guard against men doing just that. it is my refusal to be pushed around that gives rise to the same stubbornness he was calling me on. i didn't want to hear it - especially from a man - but i needed to. the moment he said it, i was forced to acknowledge that it was true. it's easy to deny something that only pops up in your head, but it becomes a lot more difficult once the words are spoke aloud by someone who had just come into my life

i was reminded of one of my favourite lines from rent the musical. at the life support meeting, one of the characters living with aids says to the group leader "look i find some of what you teach suspect/because im used to relying on intellect/still i try to open up to what i dont know/because reason says i should have died three years ago"

i too am used to relying on intellect for what i dont know but im realizing that it doesnt always have all the answers. my new friend's comment has helped me see that sometimes i dont have the answers and i need to open up to hearing the voices and opinions and wisdom of other people. whats more, sometimes i do have the answers if i can learn to trust my emotions instead of looking only to reason and letting it get in the way. lets face it, there are some things we can't explain or rationalize, we just need to feel

it was not an easy thing for me to hear, but something about his gentle manner and unassuming presence forced me to really consider what he had said. i dont have myself figured out and he doesnt have me figured out either. but my discomfort at feeling he saw right through the defences i had so carefully constructed began to fade as i realized how refreshingly light it might feel to not have to carry those barriers around all the time

i dont know how long this new friend will be a part of my life but i do know that in the short while i have known him i have already come to know myself better. im making efforts to look beyond reason to see emotion and spirit and essence. i want to tell my new friend thank you but that isnt something that comes easily for me so instead i hope he can look past my teasing and sarcasm and dry humour and hear my gratitude

if the lyrics of rent are right, the measure of a life is "in the truths that she learned" - not just in a book or a newspaper about the world, history or science, but about herself too

"you never really know a man until you stand in his shoes and walk around in them"

2005-11-24T20:22:00.000-05:00

some co-workers and i got on the subject of the Holocaust at lunch today. not exactly typical lunchroom banter, i know, but we clerks tend to be serious folk sometimes

it got me thinking about my visit to the US Holocaust memorial museum in washington dc last summer. what still stands out most in my mind is the shoes. yes, i walked through a boxcar that replicated the ones that carried millions of jews from across europe to concentration camps. i touched a set of bunks from auschwitz. i saw photos and video clips of countless nameless victims

but more than anything i remember the shoes. hundreds - no thousands - of them

i can still smell the stale leather. every so often, scattered through the jumble of mid-century footwear, i would see a timy brown shoe missing its lcases, too small for any adult to have worn.

the shoes - only a fraction of those actually recovered from nazi death camps - were brought across the ocean to take their place in the museum. they were piled up six feet across and two feet high, along both sides of the length of a thirty foot corridor

what is it that made tears spring forth when i saw those shoes that day and each time that i''ve though about them since? perhaps it is the fact that they could easily have belonged to someone i love. perhaps it is some sort of self-interest; a recognizition of human suffering and fear that i might be a victim some day. perhaps it is the coming-to-life of the victims through those shoes - the realization that at one time that dusty footwear belonged to individuals not so unlike you and i - that forces us to see the Holocaust as a real and tragic event instead of detaching from it. what is the reason why we can feel such intense emotions for the plight of individuals we have never known? and why do we feel so incensed when confronted by a "moral relativist" who would say that those responsible for planning and carrying out the Holocaust are not in violation of some higher, universal moral order? a relativist would be committed to the view that we cannot take an objective, external moral view of the Holocaust. if for no other reason, i must abandon relativism on this basis

the Holocaust is a loaded topic, and rightfully so. i think we look at it differently than we do other examples of "moral practices" such as head-hunting, female genital mutilation, or even slavery. while our revulsion at the idea of slavery might come close to that of the Holocaust, i think our temporal proximity to the Holocaust increases our sensitivity to it. in fact, i think we are so acutely conscious of the horrors of the Holocuast that if we bring it up as a challenge to the relativist, we are accused of not playing fair. but to accept relativism, one must accept its implications in respect of all situations and examples, including the Holocaust

what would the relativist think, seeing that hall of shoes? she might regard those shoes as fascinating anthropological artifacts. he might pause for a moment and think how curious it is that in that culture it was morally right to attempt to violently extinguish a minority group. but she could not, if committed to her belief in relativism and all its implications, look at the shoes and say that what happened is wrong

i have to believe there is something universal about the suffering of the Jews in the Holocaust. the mere fact that there is today such an impressive memorial to the holocaust in washington dc, thousands of miles away from germany and the concentration camps, demonstrates that there is something universal about the Holocaust. what is it that makes the Holocaust something we all scorn? it marked the beginning of robust international human rights treates and a new world order through the united nations. yet i can't seem to put my finger on what it is about the Holocaust that affects us all

maybe it's just self-evident? i cannot speak for all people in all places but it seems that the Holocaust, more than any other event in history, is universally condemned. yes, there are still Holocaust deniers out there, or those who know it happened but think it right. but the overwhelming majority of people in the world react to the Holocaust with intense emotion. the instinctive reaction is that the Holocaust was wrong - not because religion tells us, or biology tells us, or anything else. we just know that it is wrong. when we are told that six million people are rounded up and killed just because they are a religious minority, we don't seem to need much justification for why it is wrong. that the victims had certain rights and those rights were violated seems self-evident when we consider that so many people the world over agree that on it, without anyone coercing or convincing anyone else. perhaps we can know that the morality of something is self-evident when it is accepted across cultures without the need for coercion or justification

the problem is that we seem to like justification. we find it useful. we want to know why it is that human beings ought to be treated in a certain way. philosophers who have attempted to uncover justification have frequently fallen into the logical trap of the "is-ought" problem. david hume wrote that the is-ought problem arises when a theorist tries to jump from a descriptive claim (the "is" proposition) to a prescriptive claim (the "ought" proposition) without providing an explanation of why the ought-statement follows from the is-statement. if we start with a descriptive statement like "all human beings experience physical suffering in the same way" perhaps i can move on to say "we ought not treat other human beings in a way that causes them physical suffering" by using as my explanation the statement that "this is so because i can identify with the physical suffering of that other person and would find it undesirable if it were to happen to me". i'm not sure if that gets past hume's dilemma, i'd love to hear your thoughts on it.....

the times they are a-changin'

2005-11-21T23:15:00.000-05:00

my sixteen year old cousin spent the night with me on saturday. she gets excited when we plan these little vists, and i do too. she feels all grown-up, coming to my apartment, drinking coffee, staying up late, and talking about the things that teenagers are curious about and twenty-somethings have already tried and finished with

i picked her up saturday evening at the ice rink where she was skating with some of her friends. there were mainly girls in the group but a couple of guys too. i watched her finish two last circles around the rink while i stood beside her peers who had already changed out of their skates

i had made her friends laugh and was thinking i was doing a pretty good job of "being cool" and fitting in with the teenagers but then one of the boys said something that made me realize how much has changed since i was their age

i didnt catch the beginning of his story but it ended with "so i told her to drop to her knees and gimme head"
the circle of girls around him started giggling flirtatiously
i wanted to be sick

when exactly did it become appropriate for 16 year old boys to talk that way?! i may have had a somewhat sheltered adolescence but i seem to remember the boys talking about cars and sports and video games when we were 16

but for the fact that it would have mortified my cousin and likely ruined the remainder of her time in high school, i would have said a thing or two to that boy about how discriminatory and degrading his comment was, not just to the girl he was talking about, but to all women. more importantly, i would have asked the girls gathered round him why they werent bothered by his comment and didnt they feel more self-respect than to hear that comment and laugh, never mind walk away silently

i told my cousin about the boy's comment once we were in the car. she told me he "says that stuff all the time". but when i asked her, she agreed that it was disrespectful and said she would stand up to him the next time he speaks about women in such a way

girls at sixteen and seventeen are at an age where they need to develop the confidence and self-awareness to stand up for themselves against discriminatory and harassing comments from men. remarks like that made by the boy saturday night send the message to teenaged girls that they are worth no more than a blowjob.

yes, things sure have changed since i was sixteen. i am so grateful i'm not that age during these times. i just hope i can present an example for my cousin to follow as the type of women that doesnt take that shit from any man, any time and doesnt passively allow it to happen in my presence

like so much dirty laundry

2005-11-17T22:15:00.000-05:00

the one thing i hate more than any other about living in an apartment building is doing the laundry

i am a meticulous laundry-doer. in an ideal world of limitless-loads, i wouldnt just have the whites and the colours. i have the jeans load. the towels load. the reds load. the black delicates load. the white delicates load. the socks load. the green tshirts load. ok you get the point. it would all be fine and dandy if i had my own machines but the machines downstairs in my building charge $1.75 for a wash and $ 1.50 for a dry and my sorting neurosis becomes awfully expensive

and then there are the weirdos who use the laundry room at the same time as you. washing your skimpies next to someone else can be an intimate and very uncomfortable situation. tonight i went down to throw in a couple of loads and in the laundry room, sorting her clothes, is an older woman wearing a button-up shirt, shoes and apparently nothing else. i would have turned around and walked out except for the fact that i needed to wash my pillow cases. i dont know about you but i dont wait until i have NOTHING to wear on the lower half of my body before doing my laundry

and if that wasnt bad enough, this building of over 90 suites has only four washing machines and four dryers. and no-pants lady is monopolizing all of them!! i finally asked her if there was a machine i could use. i had two loads to wash and it was an hour before the room would be locked (thats another problem - like my grocery shopping, i like to do my laundry in the middle of the night) so i would have liked two machines, but so be it, i figured id have time to do one load after the other

i put the first load in and came back upstairs to make use of the 20 minutes before the cycle finished. when i thought the washer would be stopped, i went back down. no-pants lady was still there. i realized i forgot my bounce sheets so came back up to get them and went down against. no-pants lady was still there. same thing happened 30 minutes later when the dryer stopped. she must have been doing about 75 loads of laundry. no wonder she had no pants

not to mention she fully occupied the folding counter the entire time so i had to struggle, me with my short arms, to fold my large bedsheets in the air without them touching the filthy ground

maybe i should just start sending everything to the dry cleaners

do-it-yourself... unless you suck

2005-11-16T21:12:00.000-05:00

lanna and i were walking back to work today after one of our many lunches together. starbucks changed to its holiday season drinks recently and i noticed on the menu "chai eggnog latte". well, maybe it doesnt have the kick of caffeine that i need most afternoons, but i figured hey i like eggnog, i like chai... why not?! we each ordered one and sipped happily as we made our way to university and queen

we got on the discussion of chai... what makes a good chai tea, what doesnt, how chais can improve. i mentioned to lanna that my sister has a recipe for making chai stove-top, from your own spices. "the whole gonsalves family is do-it-yourselfers!" lanna remarked. i replied that everything is better when you make it yourself. "everything is easier when you dont" replied my wise friend

my friends are fond of joking that i make everything. its true i would rather marinade my salmon steaks in teriyaki sauce from scratch, prefer my own lasagna to anything youd find in a restaurant, and make pancakes almost every weekend but never from a mix

i was raised in a family that never had idle hands. my father worked hard days, came home in the evenings and after dinner and a short snooze on the couch during the 6:00 news, would go down to his workroom and spend a few hours making furniture, fixing appliances or completing a project on my mom's endless list of home renovation tasks. my mother made our clothes, made her clothes, made flower arrangements, made wall-hangings, made her own jam, made her own ice cream etc etc....

i blame my parents for the fact that i have a hard time doing nothing. i cant just sit in front of the tv even after a long day of work. i have to be DOING something. i get bored and restless unless i have a project on the go or a pot on the stove. and i blame my parents for the fact that i have a hard time buying something that i think i can do better and cheaper myself - and have a lot more fun in the process

but i wonder if i have an addiction to do-it-yourselfing. maybe there are somethings that are just worth buying or paying something else to do. after all, im a busy person and lanna's right - many things ARE easier if you don't do it yourself. i have a problem admitting that i can't do something. when i hosted the first annual fancy shmancy dinner i insisted on making the pie from scratch - and mireille bore the anxiety of watching me roll and throw away crusts three times because they didnt work out right. on THAT occasion it would have been much easier to just buy a pie. but then, i spent 3 hours making 5-bean soup over the weekend and it tastes wonderful and i had fun doing it... so i'm trying to moderate my addiction to do-it-yourselfing. there are some things that are clearly worth doing yourself (my mom used to say that homemade soup always tastes better because it has the special ingredient of love). but somethings are better left to the experts - or the grocery store. and the sooner i have the serenity to accept this, the easier a lot of things (painting the walls, oil changes, cutting my hair....) will be. and surely i'll appreciate that peace of mind when i'm sitting around trying to force myself to do nothing

the busstop....

2005-11-14T22:43:00.000-05:00

the random act of kindness is an endangered species these days. after all, kindness takes time and it takes nothing more than the morning commute to work along the ttc to remind us that we are busy people, in a rush, with no time to help out strangers who would never do the same for us

which is why i was stopped in my tracks the other night by the simple act of kindness i experienced at the hands of a fellow commuter at the busstop

like most of the players in the pack of rushhour commuters, i zone out into my own world when on public transit. I bury my nose in a book and plug myself into my ipod so avoid any inadvertent eye contact or that uncomfortable conversation with a nosy stranger who wants to know why i would read a book lilke faludi's "backlash" when there's so many good classic novels out there.

so i was taken aback when, earphones in place and book in hand, this twenty-something year old man actually waved his hand between my face and my book to get my attention. i had noticed him at the busstop when i first walked up. he was young, attractive - clearly the kind of guy that makes rude comments to women to impress his friends. i immediately thought back to that same morning when, before i had even had my morning coffee (!) and wearing an old pair of jeans, a man driving by the busstop rolled down his window and asked if i wanted a ride. ask any young woman - we get used to those comments after a while and find ways to just deal with them.

thats why i always have a book and my ipod

and that why i expected a comment along those lines when the young man at the busstop interrupted my blissful isolation.i nearly dismissed his efforts at grabbing my attention with a scowl and a curt comment. but when i looked up and removed my earphone he smiled and said hi and told me that there was an emergency on the bus and it wouldnt be coming for a long time. he walked away to tell the other people waiting at the stop before i had the chance to say thank you. it was such a small thing but i thought about it for a long time afterward. most people would have rushed home and not bothered with the other people waiting. the experience - just a moment out of my long day - made me scold myself for expecting the worst from strangers. it made me think of what i had been missing all those days as i tried to retreat from the people around me. the random act of kindness may be rare these days, but it does happen and by expecting the worst, i might miss kindness the next time its offered

us people are just poems....

2005-11-14T00:33:00.000-05:00

so goes the ani difranco lyric.... "us people are just poems. we're 90% metaphor". if she's right, that might explain our drive to create, compose, communicate.

so i dove in and decided to create a blog. i don't usually buy into these crazes of pop culture. i didnt watch 90210, never had a tamagochi egg and havent ever worn a pair of doc martens. but alas i broke down and have joined the blog craze because like many people i yearn for an outlet and audience for my musings, observations and rants about the world.

i have no idea what sorts of postings will end up on here but i hope to keep it updated regularly. i welcome your comments

the edge of the bed

2005-11-13T21:42:00.000-05:00

written august 2005. inspired by one of those moments that underscores the observation "life is a b movie its stupid and its strange. it's a directionless story and the dialogue is lame. but in the he-said she-said sometimes there's some poerty..."

(it was composed as a monologue and the emotion doesnt translate perfectly into writing, but here it is anyway)

you left me the edge of the bed. i guess i should have been grateful that you gave me even those few inches. but naively i expected more. we shared cigarettes and showers and we even shared our beds in the past (quite comfortably) and i wanted to feel entitled to more than the hard wood frame that surrounds your mattress

it was symptomatic of everything that was and wasnt between us. you still had plenty of space between you and the wall. you could have slid over and we both would have fit on the twin bed with ease. but you needed to show that i only belonged there to the extent that you would allow; i could be there, but only on your terms

because you were sound asleep and bigger and stronger than me, i couldnt roll you over to the other side of the bed. i wanted to try and adjust my position in hopes of making a little more room for myself, but i was afraid that any movement would cause you to expand further into the tiny space i had staked out for me. i was afraid any change to our fragile status quo would only result in me losing, not gaining. i was fighting to hold on to the few inches at the edge of the bed that kept me from falling off and wondered if i wouldnt be more comfortable on the floor or walking away altogether to lie by myself in my own bed

you told me you wanted me to sleep over but you didnt seem to care much that i was there. i wondered if, in your sleep, you even remembered i was beside you or if you knew but didnt really care; i wasnt sure which would be worse. the jockeying for position in bed reflected our jockeying for control in our "relationship" (of sorts) during our waking hours: no matter what, dont give up any ground; only attempt to advance if youre sure you have an opening. but i realized that almost imperceptibly, over the last few weeks, i had become the only one jockeying. you had already decided where you would lie and if i wanted to stay i had to try my best to conform to the space you granted me

i lay awake listening to the heavy breathing of your restless sleep, brought on by too many drinks after work. i wanted you to wake up. i wanted to wake you up. so that you could realize i was next to you and put your arms around me. so that you could kiss my temple and give my waist a squeeze. so that we might have a chance at fooling around now that you had sobered up a bit. i stroked your face with my finger as a gentle way to say "here i am, notice me!" and you moved your chin to brush it away. did you know i was touching you and decide you didnt like it? or, in your sleep, did you act in reflex, oblivious still to my presence? i hoped

but then moments later, my arm draped over your chest to keep me from falling off the bed, you took my had in yours. i kissed your shoulder and continued to hold on, hoping that before long i would either fall asleep or you would turn over, smile at me, and give me a spot in your bed, in your life