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Kinda funny that my first entry is on April 1st. Maybe a sign that I'm fooling myself. I fear the years as a technical writer has stifled any creativity I may have had. And those years being in high-tech, of any originality as well. Although, I've been thinking about the idea of originality. It's said that everything's been said. But, here's my thought. What if you truly come up with something on your own and have no idea that Joe down the street or miles away has also come up with that same something? Isn't it still somewhat original then?
Coffee with friends. Is there really anything more you would want to do on Sunday afternoon? To walk into a coffee shop, see your friends look up and smile, and to go join them. To me, this is such an essential feeling of belonging. In a world where I've often felt I don't belong. Here, amongst my friends, I fit. I forget for a bit that I'm slightly different. Born Canadian, but raised East Indian, you never quite fit right. The desire to be like your peers, the need to please your parents. You end up being two within one.
Home sick today. Should say, home guilty today. Even though I really am sick, I still feel this guilt. Like maybe I'm not that sick. Maybe I would have been able to work. Right. No doubt I would have gotten to work and felt worst just for the effort of getting there. And then felt guilt for infecting everyone else. Guilt if I do, guilt if I don't. Sigh. I also lecture myself with the thought that the only reason I feel okay at the moment is because I haven't done a thing today. Well, nothing, except feel this guilt.
When really listening to the lyrics of a lot of songs these days, I realize that I should be quite offended. Particularly as a woman. And yet, instead, my head starts a-bopping, my hips start a-shaking, and my feet start moving to the sound of words like "I get more a** than a toilet seat."Gasp! I can't help it. I'm in the grooove. Why is it that the songs with real rhythm and real funk come with the nastiest lyrics? And the songs with the oh so poetic and gentler lyrics come with no discernable beat to be heard?
Serpentine belt. A. An embossed trendy belt of the 80s fashioned out of snakeskin. B. An army green coloured belt indicating the twelfth level in Jiu-Jitsu. C. A rubber belt that winds around the front of an engine. D. All the above. First heard, I pictured A, then B. Not so. It's C. According to the mechanic, the serpentine belt has a tiny crack - one that can cause the whole thing to go at any time and leave me stranded. Stranded? A word only a mechanic could use to scare a clueless me into paying for a replacement now.
"The most painful state of being is remembering the future - especially one you can never have."A quote that no doubt has a source, just not one recalled now. And yet, there is never any trouble in remembering the future. Everybody does. It is there as soon as the words Ãƒâ€šÃ¢â‚¬Ëœif only' or Ãƒâ€šÃ¢â‚¬Ëœwould have' or other such phrases are uttered. Regretting the things that did not happen. And yet, thinking (almost wishing) of them as if they did. If only that step had been taken. If only a heart had not been broken. Then we would have been here.
Random thoughts today.
Monday. Tuesday. Wednesday. Thursday. Friday. Five words to distinguish days that are undistinguishable to any cube dweller.
Yellow daffodils bought a few days ago already wilting and dying. Some (most) before they have even opened. The writer in me could not ignore the metaphor.
Fat. The word is still used in childrens' books. Found that surprising. The caterpillar grew big and fat and then burst into a butterfly. Not sure about the message here.
TGIF. A most clever and lasting marketing term. Even though at its start, it did mean a TV line-up that included Full House.
Where do we go from here? The question keeps coming at us, but the answer keeps eluding us. We followed the predictable path set out for us - by our parents, by our teachers, by everyone. Be good, study hard, get an education, and find a job. But then what? The road does not end, but the map has faded. We know there is more. There has to be more. Heads down, we forged ahead, to suddenly look up, and find there is no one setting a path anymore. Now it is up to us. Where do we go from here?
"Escape, escape, escape,"was the mantra that ran through his head. Day in and day out, as he swam the length of his tank, the red-eared slider could think only of escape. Crazy, which was his name, plotted and thought and thought and plotted of only being out. There was a rock and a pot, he climbed and took a peek about, "uh oh!"Three adults. "Drop down and duck. Wait till dark."Slowly climb up, push hard with the legs, tail power too, and over and plop! "I'm out!"But if only I weren't, with my four feet up!
Time for a pet peeve - people who litter. Just don't get it. In this environmentally-conscious generation, how is it even possible that people feel they can drop their trash anywhere? Do they think their mothers are following behind and picking up after them? Do they just not care? The worst offender would have to be the gum throwers. Gum sticks. If given a lamp and genie, amongst the usual fame, fortune, happily-ever requests, my profound wish would be when someone litters, three times as much is tossed right back at them. Just imagine how surprised that half-full-soda thrower would be.
A good day is a day to hold onto. Particularly in a sea of sad days. But too quickly does the day fade, that the cause of a smile cannot be recalled. Was it an unexpected kind word bestowed, or a friendly light touch of hand? Maybe so simply, it was the warmth of the sun, or within a task finally done? Any one or them all, led to this thought of the day, and now with eyes cast back and too needful to say, an attempt to recapture a moment, and the content that was felt with it all.
There's a story to be told. The only problem is in telling. Too often the author is too close in the reader's mind. Thoughts, actions, and emotions of the characters are projected upon the writer. Then comes the pity, surprise, or horror. Cause the protagonist in the tale must represent the conveyor of the words. How else are lines known? It could, but just be, an eye that sees, all that the rest ignore. Either or, no difference any more. Now too much the audience is too close in the author's mind. So this writer sits still, the story untold.
I've faltered and I know it. I haven't looked back at my words (as the guidelines advise), but I can easily remember the last few entries. Not good. No direction, nor focus. As an editor, I would have torn into the text, the flow, the content - all of it. I feel this pressure from within to put down something ever so profound. I realize the important thing is to write, but also think it's useless unless interesting enough to be read. So I play with different styles and thoughts. But maybe it's time to find a voice of my own.
This has got to be the weirdest entry. I'm currently sitting in my car, in the parking lot of Staples, using their wireless, so I can get in my words before the midnight deadline. It is Easter weekend and since I am at my parents' home (who don't even have a cell phone) means no computer access either. Though focus is a little difficult with my niece jabbering away beside me - we just went to a movie. What is more interesting are the five teenagers in a car nearby who keep circling the parking lot. What are they up to?
Told the other day that I have not changed a bit in nearly ten years - that I look the same. This was a compliment I realize (for clearly I have found the fountain of youth!), but in some inexplicable way, it saddened me. Like my physical features are evidence of my lack of progress. For too long I have watched everyone move on, while I am stuck. Yet time and age are gaining on me. The things that I truly want moving further out of my reach. And soon I know, I will have to settle for what I have.
Watched a new show yesterday - What about Brian. When I heard the premise, I had vowed not to watch since it seemed eerily close to my own circumstances. But either lack of discipline or sheer laziness prevented me from getting off the couch or switching channels after Desperate Housewives. So I watched as single Brian watched his last remaining single friend get engaged. Take out the usual embellishments of TV land and this is my life. I don't have a single single friend left. And as depicted, I too feel like the odd one out in a world of pairs.
Today has just been one of those days. An interview this morning, drove right by the building, number was hidden by a delivery truck, was to go around the block but realized that meant passing right in front of an ex-friend's house (not a term I like, but an entry for another day), so went down an extra few blocks in avoidance, only to find, as turning, myself facing the apartment of a guy I dated for a bit. And that was it. The sign that it's time I moved on and out of this city. There's nothing new left.
Crossroads - an interesting thing in life. If we didn't have them, if there was a single path laid out for each of us, then everything would be so simple. No decisions, no second-guessing, no self-blame, no responsibility, no excuses. You could just say, but this is my path and that would be it. You would know. Instead, we have the uncertainty that comes with choice. There are too many paths laid out for us. And the ones we choose lead to more, impact others, change who we are. But always the question, was the right decision made? You never know.
I am at a crossroads and am too frozen to move, afraid that I'll make the wrong choice. Looking around, I see the paths others have chosen, but I know that each of their paths is not my path. But what is my path? I no longer know. There's a sense that I could do more, could do better. And now is the time for it. Do I leap and see where I fall? Having faith that it's the right step? Or do I continue with the current path? Hoping it will eventually lead me where I want to go?
Life is unfair. We know this. But sometimes I wonder how much harder we make it on ourselves? Looking around I see that each person always seems to be missing just that one thing they desperately want. There is the single person who cannot meet someone, the couple that cannot find the perfect home, the couple that cannot have a baby, the married person with house and baby who cannot gain better health. No one ever seems to have it all. Or is it once we get the one thing we desperately want, we suddenly want something else even more?
An unexpected invitation to a party, he was surprised. Cause though he often was invited out, he never understood why. He was perceived as so many things, he himself didn't believe he was - attractive, smart, thoughtful, and kind. Either he fooled many people, or he deluded himself even more. But he could not infer, why anyone would want him around. Though he portrayed it well, it was confidence he lacked. And the thought that he could be loved at all. He went to the party, and he had a good time. Laughter he realized, had been missing for so long.
Kudos to the balloon guy. The balloon guy was like you and I. Working ever so long hours, crouched over a computer, in the tiniest of cubicles, lost in a floor of three-quarter high grey partitions, aiming to meet ridiculous deadlines, that once actually met, mattered to no one. The dreariness of the day-in-day-out slowly stripping away the soul. But the spirit of the balloon guy rose above. Taking to the art of balloons, he soon entertained children and adults alike. Now, instead of adding more tech to an already high-tech world, he brings smiles to the faces of all.
Random thoughts of the week:
You may get the nutritional value of one apple in a fruit snack, but you sure don't get as full.
It may be true that the sleeve around your coffee is made of 45% less paper than another cup for double-cupping, but then, why make it so hot? If it's too hot to hold, it's gotta be too hot to drink.
Asking a single friend living in a downtown apartment to attend a lawn and garden show is akin to asking a married friend living in suburbia to go to a club and pick up.
Apparently, I am hell-bent on destroying my body this week. That, or I am testing its limits and am realizing it is no longer that of a twenty something. First, there was the copious amounts of drinking Saturday night which led into Sunday morning till five. The rest of Sunday was a haze of sleep, getting home, showering, and making it to a movie, which involved the lone meal of the day - popcorn. And then there was today's lunch. Never let yourself be convinced that the five taco five piece chicken deal is actually a deal. Even when you share.
They entered the coffee shop, her friend chatting away beside her (
when she's done, gotta tell her about yesterday
). Having grabbed tea, they sit and talk (
). A guy drops into a seat nearby (
hmm, he's cute
). He glances up (
oops, we're being too loud
). A few moments pass, he looks up again, straight at her (
). As the gabbing continues, he throws more looks her way (
uh oh, he's annoyed
). She moves to leave (
hmm, maybe he's attracted to me
). She looks up and away (
ha! what a joke
). They leave the coffee shop (
I'll never know
Everyone leaves. This thought kept running through my head yesterday as I attended the good-bye party of two friends. They have decided to move back east. And even though it is sad to see them go, I know this is the right choice for them. But still, this led me to think of all the people in my life I have had to let go. My choice, their choice, it does not matter. Each one leaves a mark on me. And so I take each moment with each person for its present value, knowing that sometime, they too will leave.
Nothing inside of me. That is what I was told. Only because I did not weep, like the rest of them to show. I should have left you stranded for those words. But instead I stood still stunned. Deep down I was wounded, cause how could you know? Your years young, your growth so stunted. Never could you fathom the real feelings of a connection. Sad I thoroughly am, but I also understand. So why give tears, when the cause is their regret. You do not know me, you cannot speak. You consider yourself something, but really you are nothing.
Helplessness is a state I dislike the most. Sorry is a word I utter too often. They do belong together though. When I see a friend cry at the way their life has gone, all I can do is stand by. When I see another desperately trying for the thing they desire, I watch with a sad smile. For each of you, I just want to make it work out, but instead, all that happens is the word sorry tumbles out. But what does that do other than prove to you, so ineffectual, so lacking, so sorry for this word.
The lone tupperware of soup sat in the refrigerator pondering, as all soups do, why am I here, why was I made? For days, such thoughts swirled around in the soup's lentils. Soon, visions of losing it's yellow glow and ginger scent to a moldy pallor and stomach-churning stink haunted the poor soup. So worried was it, the soup shook to its tomato cores. But then one day, the door opened and a hand appeared. The joy! As it was warmed up, the soup finally knew, it had purpose, it had meaning, even if it was to only be eaten.
Random thoughts today:
I'll bet the same guy that pulled the first wedgie invented the thong. He's probably still giggling over it - the ultimate wedgie.
It's been said before, it'll be said again, but chocolate and peanut butter - pure genius. Mmm.
Forget words, so much more can be expressed in a simple sigh. Short, quick sigh of frustration. Long, drawn-out sigh in a show of endured patience. Quiet, low sigh of pleasure. Deep, shoulder-sagging sigh in a throw of hands.
This is the last of my words. They've been a bit eclectic throughout. Wish they held more meaning, more depth.
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