Do you ever wake up in the middle of the night, in a cold sweat, goosebumps all over, suddenly terrified of how fragile we really are?
I do.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
A Child And A Chickadee
I know, I know I am the most cynical, harsh person. I know that sometimes, I am not kind. I know I am exacting, I know I am hard to please.
But sometimes, I get moved to tears by things like this.
(If you can watch it in full screen, I recommend you do so. It's better that way.)
I don't even know how to explain it. I just... okay, here, I wrote a poem about it one time.
It's like sometimes, when I see things like that video, or witness events that are so seemingly unimportant, I feel the whole world at once.
But sometimes, I get moved to tears by things like this.
(If you can watch it in full screen, I recommend you do so. It's better that way.)
I don't even know how to explain it. I just... okay, here, I wrote a poem about it one time.
Sometimes I am moved to tears by the world
A sound a face a breeze a gesture a smell a colour a smile a death a wave
Why do these things, so small so nothing and unimportant,
MOVE me, to the point of overwhelming my senses,
this day-breaking gull flying light shining.
I don't believe in God or gods or heaven and hell
I believe that one day a plant grew and an animal became and one day,
one day,
a word was spoken,
so why tears? Why does a crowd of people, all seperate, all hurtling in different directions
hit me so hard?
Why will a child and a chickadee make me choke?
It's like sometimes, when I see things like that video, or witness events that are so seemingly unimportant, I feel the whole world at once.
Monday, August 9, 2010
I Don't Want To Set The World On Fire
You know what, I'm going to stop being such a fucking weenie.
I noticed someone commented on my last post (btw, thank you. I love comments. It reminds me that there are actually people out there who read these things), and she was very frank with me.
She's right, it's not much of a surprise. I have always been pretty sure that I was depressed. I think it runs in the family a bit, actually, which is a very sad thing to be genetic (hahaha, literally). But she then went on to say
Argh. That's what I'm really trying to avoid.
1. Seeing a doctor/therapist
It's no big secret that I think I'm the toughest person in the whole world. I really don't like going to see doctors. Not because I'm afraid of them or anything. I just view going to a doctor as an act of weakness. I come from a fiercely independent family, and growing up I was taught how to take care of myself. I used the word "hardy". My corrected me and said "Not hardy. Harsh." Before going to the doctors, there were home remedies, or sleeping it off; taking care of yourself the old-fashioned way. Infected cuts were treated with hot water and salt, a plugged ear was fixed with a little warm oil, sore throats were given freezies (okay, freezies aren't really a home remedy). Of course we always went to the doctor when things got bad, but things rarely got bad because we were very vigilant about minor scrapes and cuts and such.
Also, I have a bit of a weird hang up with modern medicine. I mean, don't get me wrong, it is fucking dandy. Saving lives is swell. Sometimes I just feel that we are getting a little too dependent on it though. Did you know that people in Third World countries don't get allergies? Because their immune systems are tough as shit, while ours are molly-coddled with... okay, this is a rant for another post. But you get the idea.
2. Medication
When I was in grade 9 (or 10?) this girl that I was friends with was on anti-depressants. When she wasn't on them, she was pretty much normal. But when she was on them... I don't know, I found it a little chilling. She had on the BIGGEST smile, all the time, like she couldn't stop. I actually asked her one time "Why are you smiling?" and she said she didn't know. She just couldn't stop. And right then, I swore to myself that I would never take anti-depressants. I don't want to be fake-happy, I want to be REAL-happy.
Okay, you're depressed, so you take medication for it. Things are great now. But, for whatever reason, you go off them for a bit. And then you're back to the way things are.
I don't want to take them if it's only masking the problem. Like I said, I want to be real-happy, not fake-happy. If I'm just going to go back to the way I was before if I stop taking the pills, then I personally don't see the point.
Okay, okay, okay, PERHAPS, maybe, at one point, sometime, in the future, I MAY go and see a therapist. Just to talk. Just to see what's going on up there. But keep in mind, you guys, the more people tell me to do something, the more I won't do it. I'm Mary-Mary-Quite-Contrary.
SO. Is there anything else less emo going on?
Just working. But the other day, I made apricot and almond florentines! Okay, the ones in the picture look a little better than mine, but I think that's because they used better almonds than me. The recipe called for slivered almonds, but they used these ones, and I used these ones. I think theirs look better, AND I didn't make mine thin enough. But they were still good.
Too bad baking is such an expensive hobby.
I'm going to make this daily again! I miss it. ALSO! I'm almost at 100 posts!
And I still only have 5 subscribers.... :D
Chin up! Chin up! Keep your chin up!
I noticed someone commented on my last post (btw, thank you. I love comments. It reminds me that there are actually people out there who read these things), and she was very frank with me.
"To be honest, you don't sound well. As an anonymous reader who has suffered from depression and has about 20 years on you, you sound like you are depressed, and maybe a bit manic. I mean, you write these words yourself, so it's not that much of a surprise, right?"
She's right, it's not much of a surprise. I have always been pretty sure that I was depressed. I think it runs in the family a bit, actually, which is a very sad thing to be genetic (hahaha, literally). But she then went on to say
"Everyone goes through periods of time where it ain't so rosy, but sometimes it can be medical, like as in altered brain chemistry. No amount of motivation or trying can fix that."
Argh. That's what I'm really trying to avoid.
1. Seeing a doctor/therapist
It's no big secret that I think I'm the toughest person in the whole world. I really don't like going to see doctors. Not because I'm afraid of them or anything. I just view going to a doctor as an act of weakness. I come from a fiercely independent family, and growing up I was taught how to take care of myself. I used the word "hardy". My corrected me and said "Not hardy. Harsh." Before going to the doctors, there were home remedies, or sleeping it off; taking care of yourself the old-fashioned way. Infected cuts were treated with hot water and salt, a plugged ear was fixed with a little warm oil, sore throats were given freezies (okay, freezies aren't really a home remedy). Of course we always went to the doctor when things got bad, but things rarely got bad because we were very vigilant about minor scrapes and cuts and such.
Also, I have a bit of a weird hang up with modern medicine. I mean, don't get me wrong, it is fucking dandy. Saving lives is swell. Sometimes I just feel that we are getting a little too dependent on it though. Did you know that people in Third World countries don't get allergies? Because their immune systems are tough as shit, while ours are molly-coddled with... okay, this is a rant for another post. But you get the idea.
2. Medication
When I was in grade 9 (or 10?) this girl that I was friends with was on anti-depressants. When she wasn't on them, she was pretty much normal. But when she was on them... I don't know, I found it a little chilling. She had on the BIGGEST smile, all the time, like she couldn't stop. I actually asked her one time "Why are you smiling?" and she said she didn't know. She just couldn't stop. And right then, I swore to myself that I would never take anti-depressants. I don't want to be fake-happy, I want to be REAL-happy.
Okay, you're depressed, so you take medication for it. Things are great now. But, for whatever reason, you go off them for a bit. And then you're back to the way things are.
I don't want to take them if it's only masking the problem. Like I said, I want to be real-happy, not fake-happy. If I'm just going to go back to the way I was before if I stop taking the pills, then I personally don't see the point.
Okay, okay, okay, PERHAPS, maybe, at one point, sometime, in the future, I MAY go and see a therapist. Just to talk. Just to see what's going on up there. But keep in mind, you guys, the more people tell me to do something, the more I won't do it. I'm Mary-Mary-Quite-Contrary.
SO. Is there anything else less emo going on?
Just working. But the other day, I made apricot and almond florentines! Okay, the ones in the picture look a little better than mine, but I think that's because they used better almonds than me. The recipe called for slivered almonds, but they used these ones, and I used these ones. I think theirs look better, AND I didn't make mine thin enough. But they were still good.
Too bad baking is such an expensive hobby.
I'm going to make this daily again! I miss it. ALSO! I'm almost at 100 posts!
And I still only have 5 subscribers.... :D
Chin up! Chin up! Keep your chin up!
Different Names For The Same Thing
I know, I know, it's been a long time. But not much has changed, so what's the point.
I just feel really aimless and pointless right now. I don't know what's wrong with me.
I want to draw, I want to write, I want to create SOMETHING. But I just can't.
I'll write later today when I'm being less emo.
Also, I'm broke right now, and I need catfood. Fuuck.
I just feel really aimless and pointless right now. I don't know what's wrong with me.
I want to draw, I want to write, I want to create SOMETHING. But I just can't.
I'll write later today when I'm being less emo.
Also, I'm broke right now, and I need catfood. Fuuck.
Friday, July 30, 2010
Make Me Hungry For You
You know what I'm tired of? Being such a fucking failure.
Everything I do, everything I'm good at, I end up dropping it. My trombone, my writing, my comic, my cooking. I don't do any of it anymore.
Seriously, what is my fucking problem? I miss doing all of these things so much, but I just can't muster the energy to try anymore. I have fucking DREAMS about playing my trombone again, I would LOVE to find a jazz band to be a part of. But it's been so long... What if I forgot how to play?
What if I forgot how to write too? Does that happen? I'm sure it can. My comic was supposed to be a way of injecting new life into all the old writing projects I have stored away in my head. And how far have I gotten with that, huh? A couple pages into Chapter 2 and no progress since last Wednesday. Pathetic.
I just sit around like a fucking lump these days because I can't make myself do things that I used to love.
Do you know how many story ideas I have tucked away in my brain? How many one-liners? How many songs there are, waiting to be played? How many grandiose delusions?
FUCK me, I'm so SICK of being me. Somebody, please. Shake me, punch me, MAKE me get back to doing what I love.
I just want to get back to creating things. I want to write and draw and cook and make music again.
What is WRONG with me?
PS. I never ended my story of how I stayed up all night long.
I ended up staying awake for 35 hours, and the Seattle trip was a bit of a disaster. As per usual, everything went wrong, but we ended the day with a lovely dinner in a tiny Italian restaurant called Luigi's Place. But it was on the drive back home that shit started getting weird.
I hallucinated like crazy. I was kind of nodding off, but didn't want to fall asleep until I was home in my bed. It was mostly little things. At one point, we went under a bridge, and it was like it had frightened me or something, because as the darkness from the bridge overwhelmed my sight, I sat up and shook like crazy, like I had been electrocuted. I felt these crazy tremors running through me, kind of like I'd hit my funny bone, but affecting my entire body.
Then we were listening to CBC Radio, and there was some weird song on. I remember hearing the words at first, like just a normal song, but then it started to sound like she was singing "Claudia" over and over and over again. Then I kind of shook myself, and things went back to normal.
The weirdest and most vivid occurred while I felt wide awake. I was just kind of staring at the road as it rushed towards us, and then I saw coyotes in front of us, 4 or 5 of them. Well, my brain told me they were coyotes, but they have much larger ears than actual coyotes, like fennec foxes. I was kind of just staring dumbly at them, wondering if my mum was going to stop driving or just plow right through them, wondering if I should say something, when we caught up to them... and they just faded away as the headlights hit them, like ghosts. Then I was like "HOLY SHIT!" and scared my mum.
Everything I do, everything I'm good at, I end up dropping it. My trombone, my writing, my comic, my cooking. I don't do any of it anymore.
Seriously, what is my fucking problem? I miss doing all of these things so much, but I just can't muster the energy to try anymore. I have fucking DREAMS about playing my trombone again, I would LOVE to find a jazz band to be a part of. But it's been so long... What if I forgot how to play?
What if I forgot how to write too? Does that happen? I'm sure it can. My comic was supposed to be a way of injecting new life into all the old writing projects I have stored away in my head. And how far have I gotten with that, huh? A couple pages into Chapter 2 and no progress since last Wednesday. Pathetic.
I just sit around like a fucking lump these days because I can't make myself do things that I used to love.
Do you know how many story ideas I have tucked away in my brain? How many one-liners? How many songs there are, waiting to be played? How many grandiose delusions?
FUCK me, I'm so SICK of being me. Somebody, please. Shake me, punch me, MAKE me get back to doing what I love.
I just want to get back to creating things. I want to write and draw and cook and make music again.
What is WRONG with me?
PS. I never ended my story of how I stayed up all night long.
I ended up staying awake for 35 hours, and the Seattle trip was a bit of a disaster. As per usual, everything went wrong, but we ended the day with a lovely dinner in a tiny Italian restaurant called Luigi's Place. But it was on the drive back home that shit started getting weird.
I hallucinated like crazy. I was kind of nodding off, but didn't want to fall asleep until I was home in my bed. It was mostly little things. At one point, we went under a bridge, and it was like it had frightened me or something, because as the darkness from the bridge overwhelmed my sight, I sat up and shook like crazy, like I had been electrocuted. I felt these crazy tremors running through me, kind of like I'd hit my funny bone, but affecting my entire body.
Then we were listening to CBC Radio, and there was some weird song on. I remember hearing the words at first, like just a normal song, but then it started to sound like she was singing "Claudia" over and over and over again. Then I kind of shook myself, and things went back to normal.
The weirdest and most vivid occurred while I felt wide awake. I was just kind of staring at the road as it rushed towards us, and then I saw coyotes in front of us, 4 or 5 of them. Well, my brain told me they were coyotes, but they have much larger ears than actual coyotes, like fennec foxes. I was kind of just staring dumbly at them, wondering if my mum was going to stop driving or just plow right through them, wondering if I should say something, when we caught up to them... and they just faded away as the headlights hit them, like ghosts. Then I was like "HOLY SHIT!" and scared my mum.
Joi
I just want to be wild and crazy and different.
I don't want to sleep, but I want to keep the dreams.
I don't want to eat, just never feel hungry.
Hey guys, I'm half way there.
I don't want to sleep, but I want to keep the dreams.
I don't want to eat, just never feel hungry.
Hey guys, I'm half way there.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Baby Boy Can't Lift His Headache Head, Isn't It Tragic?
It's 5:30 in the morning. No, I didn't wake up early. I just haven't gone to sleep. And the weird thing is that I don't feel tired at all. Like, I'm yawning, but physically I feel really energetic. And manic.
And for some reason, I can feel anxiety curling it's way into my chest right now. I shouldn't be allowed to be up this late. Strange things happen to me.
I can't really explain how I'm feeling right now. Manic is definitely the right word. I feel like, like I'm glowing. Whenever I get like this, I feel prettier, and funnier, and stronger, and taller and just... powerful. Like I'm totally in control.
It's sick, I know it's sick. I'm sick.
Even now, I'm hungry, but I can't bring myself to eat. In total for today and yesterday, I have eaten a couple slices of salami, half a small potato salad, a chocolate bar, popcorn, tinned mackerel. And it makes me feel strong.
Okay, I'm not sick, but I'm not well.
Had a lovely conversation with Amina for a couple of hours as we stayed up together. Honestly, besides Max, she's the only person I've told a few personal things to. I think it's because I can feel that we're the same. She said that everyone at work thinks she's "the happiest person in the world." I told her that when we first met and really talked, I could already tell she wasn't.
Anyway, I'm off to Seattle for the day with my mum, Rachel, and her friend Maya, who has never ever been to the States before. I already know I am going to buy two comic books from the store they have on that pier. Flight vol. 7 and The Walking Dead vol. 12. STOKED.
Well, peace out kiddies. All of you have a nice day now, and ponder deep, existentialist thoughts.
And for some reason, I can feel anxiety curling it's way into my chest right now. I shouldn't be allowed to be up this late. Strange things happen to me.
I can't really explain how I'm feeling right now. Manic is definitely the right word. I feel like, like I'm glowing. Whenever I get like this, I feel prettier, and funnier, and stronger, and taller and just... powerful. Like I'm totally in control.
It's sick, I know it's sick. I'm sick.
Even now, I'm hungry, but I can't bring myself to eat. In total for today and yesterday, I have eaten a couple slices of salami, half a small potato salad, a chocolate bar, popcorn, tinned mackerel. And it makes me feel strong.
Okay, I'm not sick, but I'm not well.
Had a lovely conversation with Amina for a couple of hours as we stayed up together. Honestly, besides Max, she's the only person I've told a few personal things to. I think it's because I can feel that we're the same. She said that everyone at work thinks she's "the happiest person in the world." I told her that when we first met and really talked, I could already tell she wasn't.
Anyway, I'm off to Seattle for the day with my mum, Rachel, and her friend Maya, who has never ever been to the States before. I already know I am going to buy two comic books from the store they have on that pier. Flight vol. 7 and The Walking Dead vol. 12. STOKED.
Well, peace out kiddies. All of you have a nice day now, and ponder deep, existentialist thoughts.
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