Reset: October 2006

Tuesday, October 31, 2006

Skylines and Raccoon Riches

Wednesday, October 25, 2006

Saturday, October 21, 2006

Almost

I'd decided some time around my 15th year that by my 32nd birthday I'd be dead. It wasn't a suicidal thing or anything like a timeline for my own demise that I was going to actively persue, just a feeling I'd had. That I was going to die young, like the romantic poets before me. I was in Athens for my 32nd this past month, and the day came and went without so much as a funny twinge in my chest or being bitten by a rabid dog. Nothing. I went into a bit of a funk after that. Not immediately, but over the next few weeks I started to realize that I really had no plans beyond this, for getting older, for making decisions regarding whatever comes after. In a way, I had made my peace with not being here and I was somewhat dissappointed that nothing happened. Like waiting for a date that never showed up to take you to prom (or something).

So, I was in a funk. I was irritable, depressed and snapping at just about everyone. But in the last two days, I've had a couple of incedents. The day before yesterday, I was helping a truck driver loosen the chains on his load when the snipe he was using let go and flew, spinning through the air and missed my face by a few inches. Last night driving home, we almost hit a moose that ran across the highway in front of us. Two brushes, one month after my birthday. Makes me curious how close I am coming to realizing my prediction.

Friday, October 20, 2006

Now That the Heat Is Off...

Hopefully by now, many people will have forgotten I blog altogether. I've missed writing, but it was getting too crowded in my head, no offense to everyone who still comes back here. I've been thinking a lot lately about what it is that is driving this "insanity" of mine. I would argue that I have always been thus, and the whole thing has just gained momentum. So I have to speculate what has changed and why. Sonja mentioned the other night that I seem afraid now, diminished, that my spark is gone. So I've been thinking, if I am afraid, it's because I've let too many people know my secrets.

What has changed, I think from her point of view, is that when I was in high school, I was different, more creative, fluid, fire. She sees me now, now that she is actually living in a house I'm in and watching my day to day, and thinks that I have become fragile, weak and deflated. I've allowed her to experience sides of me that no one sees. Have I changed? Yes, a little, but I think it's more that when I was in high school, I was removed. I was older than the rest of the people in my class (by 2 years, which now isn't a great distance, but was then), I had "lost" my best friend to schitzophrenia and prescription drugs, I'd been hurt and betrayed by the first woman I loved, and had a son, all within a year and a half. Then I moved to Chilliwack to start a new life, finish school and maybe, if not correct, mend the mistakes I'd made before moving. I knew things and had experiences that the people around me never had. I had scars and survived wars that many people would never have to endure, and I gained something from that. I had an amour and a dark distrust of people, of getting close and letting people in. Sonja perceived that as strength, my lovely darkness as the thing that is me. It's not true.

What I am is an accumulation of all things. I've said it before, but I don't think people understand what I mean. I gain my strength, as I did then, from experience and knowing what other people could never know. Yes, I was different then, darker, but I was no less afraid. I was just not talking about it.

What I've come to since then, what I understand now that I didn't have then, is that I can also gain experience from the experiences of others. But being cut off, being the way I was then means that I would not share my personal life with the people around me. People would only be privy to the higher functions of my mind, not the mechanics of it. People would be able to look at the things I'd created, but not see the process. I would probably have set up the TV and video game systems in my room, instead of the living room and lock myself away for days at a time. And maybe that's not such a bad idea.

I haven't changed as much as people think, and as much as I've lead myself to believe, my environment has. It's hard to be wondrous when you have your guts exposed.

So here's the new deal, people. I'm taking away the comments ability of my blog. From now on everyone reading my blog does it anonymously. Also, I won't talk in person about anything I write here. That way I can deal with my processes, my cycles, by writing and without the distractions. My mind doesn't spin in a way that 5 people asking "what do you think about that" and "why" do anything other than distract me from my process. Best of both worlds scenario: I get to write again about what I feel and what's going on without the pressure and interruption of outside influence. I am creative and wondrous in my own way, in my own time. Just because I'm not putting anything out doesn't mean it isn't still percolating.

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