Music

Time here has been defined by music, imported, stolen, everpresent as I stumble through the days.

Last week he said things I had never heard before. I wanted to believe him, to say it was okay, that he had done enough and somehow I had changed my mind. More for myself than for him, for what I wished he could be. But dressed up like whores, we had thrown the party and it was time to go home, and all I wanted was to capture my crush and disappear. And cornered, I just told him to go home. His words tumbled over me and all I could think was why, if indeed they were true, he had spent the evening pulling another girl. "I keep coming back to you, you're different somehow." I know, I know I am. Nobody sees it, and that's the only thing that really melts my heart for you, that one thing, that you see it somehow. If only you could hold that thought after a few drinks, after you lose your mind, after the late-night phone calls and inappropriate actions, after the cruel words you try to excuse away. I see it, the attempts at making me jealous, I know what you are doing. Why can't you understand that I would have you if you showed me you could just be good to me?

And so I ended, and he finally went home, and we both felt empty about it. And gone were the calls for drinks, for time, for one more chance. I had severed it, and now he was angry. And I knew he wasn't someone to anger. I hadn't done anything but look out for myself, and had been so good to him in the meantime, and all I got was anger back.

The week sped, and Wednesday I drank too much. We arrived after already having a few, DPG escorting me towards an answer with the Crush. As expected, the door was slammed in my face. And it stung, not because I was upset, although the crushing rejection is always upsetting to a degree, but mostly because I was so confused. First of all we sparked. Really sparked. I don't fabricate this, we totally spark. And seriously, does he know who I am? Frankly I would rather have this conceit than the pain of rejection. I am so pleased to have grown past the childish belief that it is somehow me that he is rejecting. He doesn't know me at all, and so he is rejecting some idea of me. That's fine really, its his loss. I believed this, and felt big inside.

Back to a weekend, and as the saying goes, when a door is closed a window opens. My windows opened as DPG and I got inadvertently drunk after a lovely dinner on Friday night. The strangest set of friends in the world, one is so friendly, the other reminds me immensely of Luke, right down to the scowl, the cigarettes and the unmistakable 'bad boy' sex appeal. Its the former who appeals more now, despite my being drawn to his friend. But alas, nothing has come of that.

Then there's Gravity. We've visited him before. And generally I don't go in for these sorts of things, but somehow we keep running into each other at inopportune moments. On Wednesday he was gone by the time my rejection came through the pipeline, and it was to surprise and slight smiles that he appeared beside me on Friday night. And yes we let him take advantage of our State by kissing... to be honest kissing DPG is often the highlight of my evening. And we excused ourselves one more time, and coming out he was standing there. Leaving. And kissed me. Hmmm, the window is more open than I thought.

And Saturday night was true Gong Show styles, like our previous trip to that college, and all my shadows seemed to be there, haunting the evening. DPG noted that it wasn't an option to lose control of ourselves, because everything else was so insane that our own sanity was keeping it all together. And I let him kiss me when I shouldn't have, knowing that I didn't reciprocate his feelings, but falling into a moment of weakness. But managed to avoid the hauntings all night, only to come home to further textual abuse on my mobile. I decided to deal with it, drunkenly slurring down the phone about abuse and inappropriate behaviour and not letting things go. He thought I meant us getting back together, when really I just meant acting in a civil and mature fashion. Confused, I ended the phone call. Have since resolved to ignore him.

Now? Now I feel a dick. Feel I am leading on a lovely man, that I am unsure about another and contemplating visiting a third in London this weekend. Ah well, c'est la vie around here, and this week should prove just as interesting. Thanks for your patience, I'm hoping this means the Blog is Back.

Dreams

I had a dream last night I was in Sydney. The city looked like a web-image of a 360 degree view, which I scrolled through in time to the music playing in my mind. There is always music with me these days.

I clambered up a steep cliff, laid with slanting bricks, to reach the train which would take us into the city. We waited in a gated enclosure, but the train stopped further down the platform, forcing us all to walk back onto the cliff and skirt the enclosure towards the opening doors. I tripped, sliding downwards, but caught myself upon some upturned bricks a few feet below me. I stepped onto the train.

My cabin was huge, shared with two other travelers, a girl with a large backpack and inflatable souvenirs, and a man, sullen, reading to himself. I had nothing with me, but knew my things were coming.

The rest is hazy, we argued about books and I spouted some lost words.

I have been remembering my dreams lately.

Too few or too many

This is somehow difficult to say. I don't think I can keep doing this.

What upsets me the most is that I've let myself down, I really enjoy having them to read back through, but for some reason blogging and Oxford aren't working very well.

I have a few theories.

1. Its too same old same old here. While things do happen, in fact things happen constantly, they are always pretty much the same things. Going to hockey, going to class, reading, reading, going to work, going out to the pub with friends... it happens that nothing changes as all of this turns forward. And who wants to hear the same reports? Nobody, nor do I wish to type them. Even though life seems so full and insane, its boring at the same time.

2. Audience. I have to cater content, and hate the feeling of being censored.

3. Lack of content. Nothing is happening. (related to #1)

4. Too busy. I am just too busy to sit down and type on a regular or semi-regular basis. This is perhaps the most likely scenario.

5. Too much to say. Somehow opposing #1 and related to #2, there is so much going on in my head that I can't filter it out in an acceptable fashion, and most of it isn't appropriate anyways. This one came to me on the bus home last night, and I think I like it.

And now? Now I have to go to my room and think about what I've done. I'm sorry.

Back to my chores

After a week of getting our asses kicked (literally and figuratively) in the Czech Republic, it was time to get back to my chores. Chores like laundry, reading, grocery shopping and considering reality. Chores like this blog.

I start to wonder why it has become such a chore to write here, because of my audience, my lack of time, or just a loss of whatever it was that made me write in the first place. Perhaps a combination of all three, a sense of being out of words, or rather a sense that words come to me when I am away from this uninspiring room.

Tonight we went to see Naomi Wolf speak at the Union. She was eloquent and inspiring and I was enthralled... it is one thing to believe you are a feminist, and a damn good one, and entirely another to hear your own beliefs expressed by such an acclaimed supporter of the Cause. I adored her. I am convinced that this somehow mattered, thought not quite how, and lament the inaccessible nature of celebrity.

Tomorrow it is back to classes, to reading, to petty squabbles over ideas. To my unfinished essay, to my so-called friends. People I hardly know. After spending last week with the hockey ladies it will be strange to put my face back on for classes. DPG and I joined the gym, intending to 'get stacked' for varsity and beyond. She ran into my obscene crush today and managed to drop my name, bless her, and I am already starting to get nervous about seeing him. Ahhh the sensation of being sixteen. And now, I think I will head to bed, with a cup of tea and some delicious foods, watch several episodes of South Park and collapse into sleep.

Has it only been two days...

Since my last post... I don't believe that. Time is once again becoming distended as Oxford comes back to life. My days filled with words, breaks for episodes of Lost which I've run out of. Yesterday spent at the library crashing through statistics assignments. Finding out my essays weren't due for two weeks, and deciding that I would let the second one stew for a while, and finish it when I come back.

Back. On Sunday I'm leaving for Prague, for hockey camp. For certain, slow, painful body-death. Nobody believes me, nobody has done camp before. Having been off for six weeks as a result of my stupid-injury (apparently I am getting an award for it too) I am severely concerned. Looking forward to Prague though, having about 48 hours total there over the course of the week.

I'm having trouble getting out of bed these days, despite being fairly well rested. I think it is probably the lack of exercise that does it, I've been sitting around for too long and my body is upset about it. Regardless, my crappy bed has somehow become amazing, one of my favourite places, and I want nothing more at ten in the morning to get back into it.

I honestly can't wait to leave this break behind. Sure its been nice to answer to nobody but myself for a while, but I have issues with self-motivation, and end up getting upset with myself about it. The pace of camp is a bit much, but I'm looking forward to 1st week, classes, reading, structure, research (which I will get on much earlier this term!) and hockey.

Finally, drinks

I'm going out for drinks tonight to celebrate being finished one of my papers. The second is plodding and I can't bring myself back to it, so left it alone for the rest of the day, indulging in Lost episodes and slow fantasies of Matthew Fox. Mmm. But seriously, I feel like its about time I got thoughtful about something.

If I had been told this time last year that I would be right here, right now, I would have laughed. And isn't that always how life works? Expect the unexpected, that sort of thing. This is perhaps the first new year that has passed unnoticed, passed without some sort of reflection, contemplation, this year I was empty of it all. Very zen. It seems lately that 'very zen' has described an awful lot. Today I stumbled across a company website, one that I looked at and thought that it was what I would love to do, and life became very real for a moment.

Back here in denial I'm going out for drinks. Getting ready to leave the house and look presentable for the first time in ages, and it feels really good to be social again. I feel like I have forgotten how to speak over the course of these weeks.

I spoke to Jordan today, as always felt connected across this imaginary ocean, and all thought-provoking felt like it had already been done, already been said. We wonder about the future, about adventure, about how tempting the easy things are and how scary the adventures can be, how safety is something that finds you too quickly. Look! I want to yell, look how safe this is all of a sudden! This is the safest thing I've ever done! And I know that isn't true, but where does it leave me? Feeling like I'm somehow losing out, somehow copping out of something bigger. As Jordan asked, so where does that leave you, between London and Vancouver? I don't know, I just don't know Jordan. But thank you my friend, thank you as always, for asking me the questions I need to consider.