the reality/ maybe maybe maybe

she loved the sound that rain made as it hit the roof above her bed. she loved being curled under thick covers and that blissful relaxed feeling of almost sleep as the rhythmic pounding of the rain soothed her to sleep. she wondered why it wasn't working tonight. tonight, her eyes could close and she could be completely cozy beneath the covers, but sleep eluded her. instead, she struggled to quiet her congested mind and find the sleep she so desperately craved. she opened her eyes, realizing that sleep wasn't coming just yet. as she threw back the covers a wave of cold air rushed at her and instantly she was coated in goose bumps. flicking on the light above her desk, she awoke her sleeping computer-- hoping there was an email, an assignment, an errand she was supposed to do but hadn't that was the reason sleep refused to come. but alas, it was not so. her toes felt cold as ice as she sat at her desk.

she dug through the mountain of papers that made up her desk, looking for the one thing that usually helped her sleep. finding it, she decided that bringing it into her cozy bed would be a better place to tempt sleep from. she crawled back under her covers, carrying with her her slightly beaten looking, but well loved journal. but for whatever reason, tonight she couldn't bear to open it. she knew the entries in it well and wasn't ready to add this next one. does postponing reality make it any better she wondered. sighing, she tried to plump her pillow to the utmost level of sleep inducing coziness.

maybe if she wrote it she could sleep.

maybe she needed it to be etched in paper to make it real.

maybe she wasn't ready for it to be real.

maybe it wasn't ready to be documented.

maybe she wouldn't sleep until it was.

maybe she couldn't find the words to make it real, for her or for the paper.

maybe pretending it wasn't real was all that she had.

maybe the journal would decide that.

she picked up her pen and placed it on the next blank page she found.

maybe her heart

maybe her head

maybe... something

would guide her hand and allow her sleep

or maybe this was the beginning of a long string of restless nights.

the train/ trying to find a connection

she had a difficult time recognizing her own reflection in the window. she thought, at first, it was the speed of the landscape flying by as the train sped along the track, gently rocking, but no. the lines of her face were clearly reflected in the glass of the window; she could see the careful arch of eyebrows, eyelashes coated thickly with mascara emphasizing the lack of colour of her irises, her thin lips were pursed and ever so slightly turned down at the corners. all the pieces were there, and she'd seen them everyday, yet she didn't recognize them. maybe it was the separation of colour from her skin and the imprint of gold-orange-brown-green-grey-black leaves and trees and branches and fields and industrial landscape on her face which made it hard for her to recognize herself. or maybe she just wasn't that girl anymore. her fingers brushed the glass, trying to make real the image displayed there. a futile attempt at a connection. she sighed and tried to settle into the trip, avoiding the 'reflection' of herself in the window.

she hated and loved the train. there was a smooth steady silence about it which she found comforting yet she found the voice of the station announcer to be one of the worst noises in the world. perhaps because he so abruptly and constantly cut the silence she so loved. she listened for the sound of her heartbeat in the silence. it seemed to be pounding in her chest. she couldn't hear it above the smooth rolling of the tracks, the soft fan, and the quiet page turning of the boy across from her. so many noises, but it all still felt so silent. she wondered why her heart was beating so fast. she could feel its steady beat throbbing in her chest and while the speed of it concerned her, somehow, she liked the reminder that it was still beating.

she pulled out the novel she was supposed to be reading. she hated that she didn't get to read for herself anymore. she barely stayed on top of reading for class, so the thought of reading something she may actually enjoy, or have picked on her own, was a dream she had yet to be able to accomplish. she supposed that she could learn to better manage her time, but had yet been able to successfully master that concept. four years of this game and at times she felt like she hadn't progressed at all. she'd hoped to 'find herself' while at school. whatever that meant. despite it all, she felt no closer to knowing what she wanted to do with her life or where she wanted to go or how she wanted to get there. perhaps it was a lack of motivation or maybe she was in the wrong place. it was impossible to know.

maybe coming here had been a mistake. she hadn't really looked anywhere else. instead, she'd been set on this school and this program but now struggled to remember why. was it the midnight trips to a secluded concrete campus? the late night wanderings by the river that set this place in her heart? if it was a mistake, she didn't regret it. there were way too many amazing experiences that she'd had along the way to regret it any moment of it. but still she waited. waited for some kind of enlightenment from the experience to occur. she knew that might never happen, yet she clung, almost desperately, to that hope.

the train rocked violently to the right, causing her to glance up and out the window. the lake visible there was a cold steel grey and she couldn't help but notice that she was able to fully see her eyes reflected in the window because of it. she watched the waves roll through the irises of her eyes and found a sense of calm wash over her. while the colour of the water wasn't really a colour but instead was cold and harsh, there was still a beauty to it. and that fact calmed her. she found herself in that moment. that brief instant that her eyes connected her to the lake as the train sped by without acknowledging the connection. she still didn't know what she wanted from life, but she knew she wanted to find that connection again, that sense of belonging. that instant where things simply felt right. she sighed, not knowing how to find such a thing.

how amazing would this be??

Title: Assistant to Director, Marketing & Director, Development

External Posting:The Art Gallery of Ontario is one of North America’s pre-eminent art institutions. With a fabulous new building designed by Frank Gehry, the Gallery is growing in popularity and expanding its markets for visitors. Be part of a new era of growth and reputation-building for this critical cultural asset as:

Assistant to Director, Marketing and Director, Development

Regular Full-TIme

Reporting to both Directors, this positionis a pivotal department assistant role at the centre of critical activity at the AGO. You will support the work of the two directors including coordinating their schedules, meetings and contacts while ensuring they have the documents and tools necessary. You also support the departments by planning and organizing team meetings and coordinating the flow of documents and information.

Your applied knowledge of executive and office management techniques and practices, achieved through a minimum of 3 years’ related experience in an institutional or not-for-profit environment may be complemented by relevant post-secondary education. In addition, you have complete command of Microsoft Office and a working knowledge of Raiser’s Edge fundraising database.

You bring exceptional skills in document and presentation preparation including insightful research, writing and proofing. Your have a good working knowledge of department budget control, expense tracking and reporting. You have also worked on policy planning and review, business planning including setting priorities and timelines. Finally, you are comfortable dealing with the public on behalf of leadership functioning with discretion, confidentiality and a positive attitude.

If you want to join a world class institution, please complete your online application profile by Sunday, October 25, 2009.

The Art Gallery of Ontario is an Equal Opportunity Employer.

We thank all applicants but must advise that only those selected for interviews will be contacted.

I would love love love this job. Unfortunately, I still have this year to finish first.... *sigh*

the city/ you can't lose yourself when you haven't found yourself.

there was a certain vastness, that element of unknown that she loved about the city. she turned another corner knowing each step took her farther from familiar faces and closer to a sense of understanding. despite it all-- everywhere she'd been, everything she'd seen and everything she'd experienced and everything she'd neglected to see and everything she'd missed the opportunity to experience-- was still searching. she didn't know if she'd ever actually find what she was looking for, but she was, for now, enjoying the search. she loved feeling so small yet so important amidst it all. in a sea of people she was just another girl, standing just a little too tall, a blank face with blank eyes. she blended in, and nothing ever felt better that the moments that she disappeared in. no one ever really understood that about her, her strange connection to that feeling of being ultimately small and unimportant. it was why she felt at peace in large cities and beside the ocean. truth be told, she didn't understand the feeling either, but at the same time she refused to question it. it was as much a part of her as any of her other quirks and she wasn't willing to give it up or attempt to explain it to anyone. it just was.

no matter what anyone said, she liked being lost and feeling small. there was something about knowing she was making only a minuscule impact on this world. but in that same thought the people she cared about and who cared about her were always brought to mind. you can't get lost with someone she told herself. being lost is a solo endeavor, not a team sport. but she hated the guilt she felt when she tried to leave them behind. it was almost an unstoppable force within her, the attempt to lose everyone important. it was her biggest fear and her biggest hope that it would happen. she hated that she'd never be complete until she lost herself. but how do you even lose yourself? no matter where you go or who you talk to or who you avoid that one commonality remains: you.

she didn't understand it either. it was just this feeling in her soul. this instinct to run despite the fact nothing was chasing her. or maybe she was chasing her. when things start to fit together too well she had to tear them apart, she was OCD in her organization but obsessively compulsively messy about life too. she needed a certain degree of skewedness to function. sometimes she felt she balanced too well and in those moments she lost who she thought she knew she was. this wasn't lost in the sense she was finding herself, this was just lost. the difference? that feeling of things being just right. she didn't remember the last time she'd felt that. but in all fairness, it wasn't exactly like something was wrong. nothing happened to evoke the change from rightness to nothingness, it just happened. and she was lost. hopelessly, utterly lost. without a map to find her new self and without a path to find her way back. just lost.

it was fall again. she didn't need a crisp breeze or to see the coloured leaves to know this. she could feel it. everytime it hit this time of year, she changed. it wasn't something she could control. and it wasn't something she could reverse. and it wasn't something anything she noticed until it was in full swing. she didn't like to admit her limitations. or her shortcomings. or her strengths. she hated this part of her that she couldn't control. but she was, after all, a control freak, so that wasn't really a surprise. she still couldn't help but wonder what she did to deserve this. every year this time. she wished it didn't happen. even more she wished she knew how to fix it. to change it. to separate it from herself. but she didn't even know if that was possible. it wasn't like she would lose anything by trying. you can't lose yourself when you haven't found yourself.

Life isn't about FINDING yourself. It's about creating yourself.

it's year four already.

it's getting harder to laugh while i say "i don't know what i'm doing with my life"

i thought the university experience was supposed to help us "find" ourselves

i don't think i've found anything -- except for amazing people along the way

am i where i'd thought i'd be now?

i don't know.

according to my SAP practicum, no where close.

go figure.

i'm not sure how i feel about all of this.

maybe things will change in this year of 'lasts'?

or maybe it will be another year of all the same...

i guess only time will tell....

question

there was a song in high school.

we played it a lot.

okay, there were two songs we played a lot.

but i'm not in the mood for a funny little feeling.

i'm not sure i'm in the mood for question either.

but its playing and i'm longing for those simpler times.

and for crying in a good way.

sometimes i miss highschool. no, i miss the people.

Question Old 97s

the nightmare/ and she wanted it to be any other way than the way it was.

she tried to think back to the last time she had fallen asleep at a 'normal' time. the last time she had slept completely through the night without waking at least once. if not more. she grasped to recall the last time that her pillow had not been tear soaked before she was finally able to fall into a fitful sleep before the irritating buzz of her alarm shook her from the nightmares which frequented her dreams. she wasn't sure if she'd been sleeping well at all this year. there was just something about this year that wasn't right. nothing felt right. she was eager for change yet hesitant to cause any. she looked around her and it wasn't bad, but it wasn't good. the cars on the street tried to drown out her thoughts and part of her wished that it were raining--- the type of rain which drenches you in a second and pings so loudly off the roof that you can't hear anything, not even what is echoing in your head. but it wasn't it was eerily silent despite the traffic noises. she thought that she would be accustom to that noise after living alone for such a period of time. but it just didn't feel right tonight. but it wasn't just tonight. she wished so much that it were, but she couldn't deny it. and she wanted it to be any other way than the way it was. but she didn't have that power. no matter how much you try to cling to the power of control or try to make things seem like they might turn out okay, it’s always just beyond your reach. and in your attempt to reach you earn yourself fits of tears and sleepless nights and the want for nothing more to escape as you build your own prison. she wished that the buzz of her alarm would wake her from this nightmare. then she realized in horror that she had yet to fall asleep.

"do we create meaning or is it the soul of the world?"

i came across something tonight.

something that without reason that i can easily grasp or put into words, is still echoing in my head. i want to share: (http://codyboyko.blogspot.com/)

it's been a long time since highschool, and a lot of things have changed.

and a lot have stayed the same. some that should and others that shouldn't.

i haven't been writing.

and a part of me wishes i could say i felt guilty over that,

but i don't.

it's been a busy summer and i've met amazing people and have had some amazing times.

i've also been somewhat of a hermit and miss a lot of amazing people and wish that i could be having amazing times with them.

but while being a hermit i've figured out something.

i like being with me.

i like not worrying about what i'm saying

or what i'm doing.

i've enjoyed spending evenings reading books that aren't literary classics.

and i've enjoyed reading the classics of my own choosing.

i love cooking for myself and making a huge mess.

i love eating only what won't make any dishes.

i love getting paint splatters across my hands and having them stain my nails.

i love giving myself a manicure while i watch some sappy movie that i tell myself i hate yet still watch.

i hope you're taking this summer to do something for you too. regardless of whether or not you know who that part of you is or not.

i wish i could write cards like this

We didn't come here to fit in.
We came here to be who we are.
We didn't come here to work.
We came here to live our dreams.
We didn't come here for the stuff.
We came here to love each other.
We didn't come here by accident.
We each came here with a purpose that is uniquely our own.

Be
Dream
Love
Thrive

Head Under Water

there's something calming about the ocean.
i like the wide open space.
the change from still as glass
to huge crashing waves.
i love the feeling of ocean waves rocking a boat.

i love the ocean.
i like every sound the ocean makes
from the soothing trickling of the tide
to huge crashing waves.

i love the smell of the ocean.
i like the salt smell exhausting my senses
drenching my clothing.
i like the sting of salt spray on my face.

i love the biting cold of the waves as they crash over
my feet
my calves
my knees
my thighs
the feel of icy swirling water around
my waist
my breasts
the frigid waves pulling at
my arms
my shoulders
my neck
the absolute roaring silence of water
saturating my ears
the opague clarity of water
stinging my eyes
the bitter sweet taste of salt
filling my mouth

there is nothing i do not love about the ocean
even with my head under water.

somethings never change....

so, during the school year you get all busy and focus on other things and you forget about papers or just procrastinate from doing them until the last minute. i thought things would be different for summer school, i'd have more time to focus my attention and the class is interesting so i'd definitely write my papers before the night before... right?


yea. not so much.


go figure. procrastinator must be my middle name.

mistakes aren't always regrets...

are they?

We are Willing Victims of a Social Contagion.

Before the internet there were several simplistic packet switching models of digital networking. In the early 1980s as the internet grew in popularity, it is unlikely that anyone person could have imagined the enormous impact the internet would have on today’s societies across the globe. When we hear of societies which are very ‘primal’ to our technology saturated culture, our reactions can often be of shock and wonder: how do they function? What did we do before the internet and technology dominated our lives? At this point in our technological advancement, perhaps it is not important to look back at how far we have come, but instead to focus on the monstrosity our society has created. When considering the popularity of social networking sites such as facebook, it is important to consider that such sites have grown immensely in popularity. Since its formal launch to the public in February of 2004, consider the leap in users from 1 million people at the beginning of 2004 (prior to public launch) to 175 million active users in 2009. From this, I will be so bold as to suggest that facebook itself is a social contagion that is expanding in an organic, voluntary, seemingly unstoppable form. The numbers are staggering, and, in my opinion, terrifying as to how many individuals rely on the site daily; a study at the University of Illinois indicated that users logged into their facebook accounts 1-4 times per day. Some students admitted to leaving the site open all day on their personal computers. But, what does this all mean?

Facebook, like any other internet meme is a powerful contagion. “Meme” was originally coined by Richard Dawkins in his book entitled The Selfish Gene and its original intent was to refer to packets of cultural information. This term has since been adapted to describe viral lulz and frunz which spread like wild fire across the horizon of the internet. Lulz refers to laughter at someone else’s expense, literally taking pleasure in the anguish of someone else. Frunz is the anti-lulz, it can refer to content which is still humorous in nature but does not rely on other’s pain for laughter or simply informative or serious information passed on in mass quantities. “Internet meme” is literally a shortened form of internet phenomena. I hope that my above exploration of facebook indicates that these phenomena are growing at an astounding rate. Any idea, image, quiz, video, virus, website, saying, joke, or similar packets of information which is spread quickly peer to peer via the internet is considered to be an internet meme. The spreading of this information takes no predetermined path and is not automated in its transfer. This contagion cannot be predicted as it is entirely dependent on the individual in order to grow and continue its lifespan.

Any individual who exists within our technological enamoured society has fallen victim to internet memes. Those who consider themselves exempt are not, they have, at some point, glanced at a forwarded image or scanned a ‘friend’s’ questionnaire responses. Regardless of whether we choose to partake in these internet memes, the reality is that they are dominating the world wide web. Within the past day of opening just my university granted email (ignoring my use of the social networking site of facebook, my blog, and instant messaging) I fell victim to an internet meme no less than four times. Four times, within twenty-four hours. It is appalling to take a moment to pause and watch the uncontrolled growth of this phenomenon: there is no control over what content get spread, or the underlying messages which get transferred almost thoughtlessly between individuals. These packets of information are transferred peer to peer without a moment’s thought as to their impact on the individual, much less our immediate and global society. Thus, it is not difficult to see that the impact of these internet memes will be challenging to track and it will be seemingly impossible to fully realize how much this culture’s dependency on the internet will impact how our future societies are shaped.

But what can be done with this social contagion? The likelihood of every facebook user simply deactivating their account and walking away from other social networking sites is slim, in fact, I will be bold and suggest it will never happen. What does this fact say about our society? We are willing participants in a social contagion. A contagion which is being documented, quite thoroughly I might add, and being used to manipulate the individual. The number resources dedicated to advertising through social networking is ludicrous, but ever expanding. The amount of information that is processed by individual users of facebook is astounding, and mounting. My generation is a generation which heavily relies on the internet for social and academic purposes, the amount of information which we encounter purposefully and unintentionally is phenomenal. The ultimate question is: how much will our reliance on the internet shape this generation and generations to come? The social contagion which we seem adamant to cultivate has an unknown impact on our futures. Will this phenomenon be a positive or negative influence? Unfortunately, only time will tell.

the sun is shining even behind the clouds.

there are some days
when it seems like the sun has forgotten to shine
and the sky is completely grey and forlorn
but then there are those people
who can make you smile despite it all
who remind you,
the sun is always shining
(even when its hiding behind the clouds).



[things are beautiful, keep smiling]

on being beyond words

being beyond words:
it isn't bad thing
but it isn't a good thing

sometimes when we lack the words,
things seem a little clearer.

sometimes when we lack the words,
the world gets a little hazier.

there are days that i like best
when i stutter
and don't know what to say
there's still compassion in my heart
a little fight in soul
its just,
the words just don't seem to fit right.

sometimes i can say it best
in beyond words:

because at the bottom of it all,
regardless of
expectations
and
obligations
we all just want to know that there is someone there
someone who cares, whether they know the right words to say
or if they trip and stumble in trying to find them
or the just sit and understand with you.
in being beyond words
we use
silence
to say everything we need.

A friend...

A friend is one to whom you may pour out all the contents of your heart, chaff and grain together, knowing that the gentlest of hands will take and sift it, keep what is worth keeping and with a breath of kindness blow the rest away. DINAH MARIA MULOCK CRAIK

Sometimes, people hear your voice.

Distinguished Teaching Award for Excellence in Teaching Assistance
Kristina Ottosen, master’s candidate, M.A. in Public Texts graduate program

“Any student would be fortunate to have a teaching assistant who is half as considerate, tolerant, and compassionate as Kristina is,” wrote one nominator about Kristina Ottosen, the winner of the 2009 Distinguished Teaching Award for Excellence in Teaching Assistance.

As this year’s winner, Ms. Ottosen, a master’s student in the Public Texts M.A. program at Trent since 2007, is being recognized for the outstanding support she has provided as a teaching assistant to her students in the Medieval and Renaissance Literature course.

“I am surprised and elated to receive this award,” Ms. Ottosen said. “Growth is important to me and I sincerely hope that every student that I have encountered has grown in some way; learned a new way of looking at something; approaching a problem; or simply asking for help when they need it. Each of my students has my deepest respect and it is my hope that this is a demonstration of their respect for me and what I do.”

All of Ms. Ottosen’s nominators praised her extensive knowledge of - and great passion for - English Literature, the variety of innovative teaching methods that she employs, and her willingness to incorporate student feedback into her lesson plans. The selection committee was particularly impressed with the extent to which Kristina “went above and beyond” to engender a learning environment that not only offered abundant encouragement to her students, but also challenged them to better themselves and the work that they submit.

The Distinguished Teaching Award for Excellence in Teaching Assistance acknowledges the contributions of academic assistants and those that facilitate learning in workshop, tutorial, seminar, laboratory, and field settings.

Nominations for the teaching awards were submitted to Trent’s Teaching Awards Sub-committee on behalf of University faculty, staff and graduate student teaching assistants. This is the third year the Distinguished Teaching Awards have been awarded and the 32nd year that Symons Award for Excellence in Teaching has been conferred.

the journal/ oh, it's you.

it was a new kind of cold. she'd been cold before, but not like this. never like this. she didn't know if it was her lack of a sweater and proximity to the frost painted window or if it was cold radiating out from inside her, but she was freezing. she felt like crying, but was unsure if ice would be able to form tears.

she reached for the sweater hanging on the back of her desk chair. her position on her bed made for an awkward stretch, but she didn't care. she rocked back into her previous cross legged position. as she pushed her arms through the wool sleeves and quickly zipped it closed, she took stock of the space around her. bright colours, books, endless stacks of papers, and clothes strewn everywhere. organized chaos. she'd never been one to keep things constantly tidy, but she always knew where to find things in this room.

she made eye contact with the girl in the mirror straight ahead. that finalized it. she was freezing from the inside out. her eyes had once been a vibrant blue. but now, now, the blue water was freezing to a grey-green. not a bad colour, if you could call it a colour. she looked away, uncomfortable with the girl staring back at her.

she shivered, unable to combat the cold seeping through her body. she glanced sideways at the papers on all sides of her. she stacked them, deciding she'd pretended to do enough work for the night. the stack added to the mountain already existing on her desk. she sighed, wondering the point of it all. wondering if it would be better to quit while she was 'ahead' and save a few trees in the process. the mountain of papers shook, and she heard her cell phone vibrate from somewhere amongst them. she dug until she finally found it and stabbing at the"talk" button she answered with a hasty, half asleep:"hello?"
"hey chicky"
"oh hey babe, what's up?"
she sighed inwardly, knowing this call would be of a dramatic nature. she tried to brace herself for what might come next.
"oh, you know"
she scanned her memory, trying to think of the last time they'd talked:
"actually, i don't? we haven't talked in awhile..."
"i fell for him"
"oh"
"you don't understand"
"i know i don't. How could i?"

it was no secret she didn't know what love is. she had a sneaking feeling that her heart had frozen over and that's why she was cold. but she also knew her friend's story wouldn't be love either. no one really understood why they were as close as they were, no one could see what bonded them. she wasn't always sure she understood the dynamics of their relationship either. regardless, she always tried to understand and empathize. it was her curse, she thought, she was such a good listener she often forgot she had a voice to tell her own stories with, to make remarks that had an intention other than to comfort, advise, or to entertain.

her eyes flashed to her laptop, and her heart skipped a beat. oh, she thought, it's not completely frozen. his smiled stared back at her from the screen still. she'd neglected to close their last MSN conversation. it was partially intentional. she liked rereading them. no real reason to, they just made her smile. she wondered when she'd see him again."are you even listening?"her friend's frustrated voice broke into her train of thought. she inwardly sighed,
"sorry, i must have zoned out there. what's going on with you two now?"
"i'm in love with him, but his girlfriend is still in the picture. i'm never happier than when we're together and when he holds my hand, i finally feel complete."
"well, you knew he was already seeing someone when you started this, regardless of how you feel, he's still with her for a reason"

she paused, knowing this wasn't what her friend wanted to hear, but not knowing what else to say. she hated this position, not wanting to hurt, but not able to see any way around it. she switched her cell phone to the other hand and ear, her finger tips having gone numb with cold from holding on to it.
"you knew it would hurt babe, and really-- even if he dumped her, would you honestly want to be with him? what if he cheated on you?"

getting into the morals was never a good idea, but she was having difficulty hiding her personal opinions tonight. she looked back at his picture, wondering what he was doing, and more importantly, what words of wisdom he'd share with her about her friend's situation. that's what she liked most, yes, he was fun to be with, but it was even better how he listened and knew exactly what to say. it was just so, comfortable? she sighed, focusing her attention back to her friend:

"i know, i screwed up, i shouldn't have started this or gone along with it, but i did, what do i do now?"'
"i know babe, i know. i don't know what you should do."
her friend sighed, lost in the hopelessness of it all.
"maybe i'll just go talk to him, tell him how i feel."
"if you think that's what's best, do it."
she secretly rolled her eyes, knowing the teary phone call she'd be getting later in the evening.
"love you."
"yea yea. talk to you later, let me know how things go."

she winced at her own words. she hung up her phone. love. what a weird concept. she felt like she was losing faith in that idea. she was starting to believe that perhaps it didn't exist. not in the way people thought it did anyway. throwing her cell phone back on to her desk and pulling up her quilt over her legs in one motion, she leaned back into her pillows and hit the power button on her radio:
like a shell upon the beach
just another pretty piece
i was difficult to see
but you picked me
yeah, you picked me
she paused to hear this, then click the button off again. she was in no mood for wistful, romantic melodies.

she dug under her pillows and pulled out her well loved, slightly beaten looking journal. she reached over to her desk, knocking aside the book she was supposed to have read for the next day. she stopped, glancing at its cover. then she decisively picked it up, and tossed it to the floor. school was near the top of her list of priorities, but not tonight. tonight something else came first.

she grabbed the first pen she found, and uncapped it quickly. in her haste, she managed to slash her palm with its black ink. she was, if nothing else, always clutzy like that. she figured there were worse things she could be. she stared at the ink staining her palm. skin seemed like such inadequate protection against the world. yet we rely so much on it, she thought, but its so vulnerable to everything. she smoothed her thumb across the ink, spreading it haphazardly across her palm. she considered getting up to wash it, but decided against it. too much effort, and far too cold to get our from under the covers.

she dropped the pen atop her journal and blew into her hands in a vain attempt to warm them. her fingers remained stubbornly frozen solid. what else would i expect other than stubborn from every part of me, she thought to herself. she grabbed her pen and opened her journal. the accumulation of words always surprised her. she'd never thought of herself as having much to say. she hesitated in her flipping, on an entry she always paused at.

about a boy, a boy who believed that she had once thought of herself as "superior" to everyone. his explanation for her silence and watchful eyes. she'd had a hard time getting past that comment (and some days felt that she still hadn't). she'd been unbelievably broken by its thoughtless delivery and had spent the better part of two weeks on the verge of tears before she could convince herself that no one actually believed that about her. it wasn't that she thought herself to be 'superior' but rather that she felt out of place. she never really felt that she fit in with people. especially not in that town. she would often stop and stare at everyone around her, wondering how she got there, why she was there, and why these people liked having her around.

the dynamics of relationships always escaped her and she never felt that she ever fully understood them. not intimately anyways. she shook her head at herself, wondering how many more times she'd be willing to lie to herself; telling herself that it wasn't her, it was bad timing, unusual circumstances, whatever she thought she'd believe about why she was still alone. there's a limit to how many times she was willing to lie to herself. she looked back at her laptop and wondered how many more times she'd be wiling to believe the lies to herself over that one too; making herself believe that there was something which likely didn't exist outside her mind.

she threw back the covers, swinging her feet over the edge of the bed, made contact with the floor and stood. her steady steps taking her quickly to her door, pausing as she reached for the handle; she spun, marching back to her desk and she slammed her laptop closed. she went back and opened her door, and went into the washroom. she turned the faucet on, semi-visible in the nightlight illuminated darkness. she watched the water run down the sink. she waited a few moments, hoping the water would heat up, watching as the water flowed quickly and easily down the drain. she stared at it, unwilling to make eye contact with the girl in the mirror. unable to fake a smile for herself.

she pushed her hands under the water and she let the hot water cascade over them. she felt the heat seep into her hands and she wondered why she hadn't tried this earlier in an effort to ward off the original cold she had felt. she reached for the soap and vigorously rubbed it between her hands making an abundance of suds. as she set it back on the edge of the sink she mistakenly caught the eye of the girl in the mirror.

"oh" she whispered to herself "it's you."

still unsure of who the you in the mirror was, she let the hot water from the tap run over her fingers until the suds were gone and her fingers warm again. she turned the water off, quickly drying her hands on the towel beside the sink before returning to her room and quietly closing the door behind her.

she crawled back under her quilt and reached for her journal and pen. tonight, tonight would be about her. not about the boy from her past, not about the boy from her laptop, not about her friend with her drama. no, tonight, tonight would be different. tonight would be about her and only her. she smoothed open her journal to the next blank page and posed her pen above the paper.

she glanced upwards, meeting her own gaze in the mirror. her eyes, they seemed a little more blue she thought. she smiled. it wasn't the fake smile she so often relied on. no, no this was a genuine smile. she decided she wanted to use that one more often. she had stories to tell too. she was more than just a good listener.

"yes," Her voice steady and clear "yes, this is me."

pen and paper made contact, she looked at the page as she found herself scribbling there, words flowing effortlessly. with each word she felt a little less cold and a little more sure of herself. yes, she thought, i'll exist on this page first. first this page, then i'll find myself in the world. she knew this was right. it felt right. these words, they were her words, they were more than her words, they were her.

life is good.

Don't Miss Today's Quote of the Day:

A man's subconscious self is not the ideal companion. It lurks for the greater part of his life in some dark den of its own, hidden away, and emerges only to taunt and deride and increase the misery of a miserable hour.

P. G. Wodehouse (1881-1975)

There will be days like this.

When it isn´t always raining there will be days like this
When theres no one complaining there will be days like this
When everything falls into place like the flick of a switch
Well my mama told me there will be days like this

When you do not need to worry there will be days like this
When no one has in a hurry there will be days like this
When you do not get betrayed by that old Judas kiss
Oh my mama told me there will be days like this

When you do not need an answer there will be days like this
When you do not meet a chancer there will be days like this
When all the parts of the puzzle start to look like they fit
Then I must remember there will be days like this

When everyone is up front & they are not playing tricks
When you do not have no freeloaders out to get their kicks
When it is nobody´s business the way that you want to live
I just have to remember there will be days like this

When no one steps on my dreams there will be days like this
When people understand what I mean there will be days like this
When you ring out the changes of how everything´s
Well my mama told me there will be days like this

Oh my mama told me
There will be days like this
Oh my mama told me
There will be days like this
Oh my mama told me
There will be days like this
Oh my mama told me
There will be days like this

complicated eyes

"she has complicated eyes"
they say.
"she is hard to read"
they say.
"her voice lacks a level of truth"
they say.
"there is no conviction in what she says"
they say.
"you'd think she'd just blend into the crowd"
they say.

and they might be right.
and they might be wrong.
and they might not exist at all.

she's one of those girls
who can smile on demand.
but leaves you wondering
if she really meant it.

she'll laugh at your jokes
without hesitation
if she feels that's what you need
at the moment.

she'll be patient and listen
to your same story
for the sixth time,
without ever mentioning,
she's dying inside.

she'll show up on time,
everytime,
if you ask her to meet you.
giving up whatever to please you.

she'll dance the night away
and pretend like its okay
when you leave her.

but if you look a little closer,
look behind complicated eyes,
you'll realize:

that while two and two will always make four

you'll never understand
what's happening behind

complicated eyes

because not everything is as simple
as it first may seem
and no one really knows
for sure
what hides behind
complicated eyes.

sometimes you just can't help what you feel....

i'm pretty involved with things at my school
for whatever reason i got tied into an organization
which eats up a lot of my time and energy
three of my 'staff' left this organization at the beginning of this year
leaving me with three times the work, most of which i didn't know how to do
its taken pretty much all year to get things quazi sorted out...
and i know, i know, i've probably taken on too much,
but i've been asking for help
not always receiving it, but i ask.
and it been challenging when people aren't willing to help when i need it,
but i've tried not to hold it against anyone.
i got myself into this role and the internship that came with it, so suck it up right?
and most days, i do. i took on what i did and that's life.
well, i didn't take on having to fulfill the extra roles when others walked away because it
"is too much"
but i've tried to shoulder it as much as i can
and have tried not to have things at this organization suffer
but there's still only one of me.
so it still hurts when someone makes snide comments about how long its taken "they"
to change things that i'm responsible for.
and i know they didn't mean to make me upset
but i still am
there's just one of me,
and to be honest,
i'm kind of drowning.
and i can only take being told 'no' to so many times when i've asked for help.
so i'm really looking forward to the end of january
because i'm stopping caring then
my contract might not be completely up,
but my signature doesn't guarantee i'm going to give a shit anymore.
because i'm the only me there is,
and i need to focus more on me,
and less on caring what other people think.

...a crazy combination of everything and nothing right...

as you may have noticed by now, my writing hasn't exactly been occurring on a regular basis. at least, not that i've been sharing anyway. i'm going through a little batch of writer's block, but i'm creating... just in a different way... i did this painting over my holidays, and just wanted to share. its acrylic on paper, nothing overly special, just something different than what i've posted in the past... i may be posting other pieces of my art in the future, as it is hard to say when i'll relearn my love of writing... anyways, thats all for now.


"Dreams" painted by Lesa.