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Maybe today is better suited to twitter

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You know. The less said the better. I feel the dark descend down on me. It fell heavily and took me surprise. Thing is, I really shouldn’t be surprised. I don’t know how it snuck up on me. I’m vigilant. Usually I can dodge it with some “glass half full” mantras.

It’s grey and raining outside so that doesn’t help. It’s oppressive, but still I hobbled out for a bit of a stroll as the rain beat down on me. Maybe that was the wrong thing to do. Still I want to be somewhere else. Anywhere but here. I’m having trouble even finding the words to express. I’ve fallen down a very deep dark hole and right now I’m just standing here transfixed, unable to move and the hole is filling up with water. 

Here we go. I agonize, should I post this and let people in or do I add it to the 20 or so posts gathering dust in my unpublished folder.  I’m breathing deeply. In….out….in….out….in….out. Ah what the hell. You only live once right? 

Feb 2 Day 1

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IMG_9814It’s that time of year again. Hopefully we’re still keeping the promises we made to ourselves. Do more of this, less of that, do that better. Doing more of this is one of mine. I know better to overload my plate with expectations, so I’m keeping it small; it’s only this. It’s February 2. I’m just a little behind the curve.

Now as far as the exercise of writing goes there’s a few things I want to write about. It’s not beautiful prose or a work of fiction that captivates. This nasty trinity tend to eclipse my everyday life, overshadowing all of it. However, I don’t want to expose myself, hang out there on a limb. I think perhaps it is important, sheds some light or maybe not. I don’t know exactly the words will flow….Be patient. Look, I’m in front of the computer on a day when I’d rather burrow under the covers and stay in bed and forget that the world exists. It doesn’t help that it is swirling around me, making it difficult to see. The inertia is profound. My inspiration like my energy is nil.

Just so you know I wanted to delete this and just go lay down where it feels safe, but I know I would beat myself up for not doing something. Maybe I should have tried a feeble haiku instead…but now I hit publish and just put it out there.

november oh-eight

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it’s november now and my brother’s birthday now behind me but i was going to write this then. it was the way i felt. i was falling down a rabbit hole, caught up in a vortex that completely eclipsed me. it was honest it was how i felt, but then i censored myself and began editing myself, paralyzing myself in the process. i do this a lot. so much so it’s become automatic but doing that feels inauthentic on the path i am trying to follow, so i’ll post it now even though i’ve had to blow the dust off of it. 

i started in a burst of emotion, with tears in my eyes and then i let it sit….this is my m.o. what spurred this frenzy of brief writing was a Mary J. Blige song i heard on Songza and I don’t know why but it reminded me of him. actually, i know why. it reminded me of the time i perused his music library in the CD stand in the living room, a step or two down from the kitchen. running my fingers up and down i find the rack filled with nothing but R&B, lots of divas, removed from my musical taste. at the time i was full on into electronica or something and only dabbled in r&b. this is practically ancient history, how long has it been since he had lived in that house 10 years? 12? memories like this are cemented in my psyche, but buried so deep i didn’t even realize they were there. that’s the way it is with me and music, as i’m sure it is for a lot of people. music stirs us, ignites and inspires us.

now, i write this in the aftermath of what happened in ottawa, two days since his birthday passed. i still feel the same way but it doesn’t prick at me quite so much. i read on my timeline that one of my FB friends knew Nathan Cirillo and i begin to think of the six degrees of separation. i cried when i heard about it. i cried when i watched kevin vickers stoically make his way into the house. i cried again and again. i couldn’t stop. but then i suppose i’ll cry over anything. i know i am overly sentimental. i can’t say the events of yesterday distracted me from the writing of this, i could use brewing coffee, searching for words or gazing out of the window as excuses but i also know that it’s just the way i am.

i know i haven’t dealt. i know i am feeling sorry for myself. it’s coming on 4 years since he died and i feel the loss more keenly. the further away i get from it the closer i get. every time i hear about a sudden death that no one can figure out i am shot right through with a reminder of him. i believe i fucked up. i am the big sister. i should have known better, and i did know better. there’s that thing that stops me every time, stops me from reaching out. my regret is tinged with anger at myself and as much as everyone says not to feel this way, i feel it. it stings me every time i realize that we won’t have our sessions over a good strong coffee.  the first time i heard him order that grande americano 3/4 full on one of his visits to toronto. it’s my drink now. that sardonic smile of his. how different are and how much the same. we rose like phoenixes out of our of shared experience in such different ways. he shot into the stratosphere, and I crumpled into myself.  so much so that i couldn’t seem to establish that closeness i so longed for with him and now long for with the girls he’s left behind….

i’m doing it again. agonizing over whether to post or not. i’m mixing up the voices. i know it is breaking a rule of writing, so i vacillate and  go back and forth leaving some of it in one, some of it in the other. ok, i fixed it all, i think. i am teased the hell out of it and it’s driving me crazy. the kink in my shoulder is telling me to just get on with it already, like tout de suite. it’s time to stand up and walk around, wash my face and go get some fresh air.

this is so old…….

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this morning I forgot my phone and feeling naked, and, after a bit of staring out the window, i turned to the book i had on hand. up until today it was Mordechai Richler’s swan song, “Barney’s Version”, but it reminds me of the last book of his i tried to slog through. “St. Urbain’s Horseman”. it was my introduction to Montreal before I ever went there. And, though i can well appreciate the Canadiana references, in the back of my head i hear his swaggering, gravelly baritone droning this stream of consciousness. (not that i should be critical because this is precisely the writing style i have adopted. ) this book is replete with footnotes, correcting factual dalliances here and there. i made it to page 55 and i felt like i’ve run a marathon, and i think i’d rather just run a marathon and hit the wall and be done with it.

the biggest problem for me is it doesn’t have that lovely escape hatch feel to it.  even the grittiest of crime novels allows me to fit in between the skin of the book and the character until the crime(s) is solved. this it isn’t taking me anywhere away from here. if anything it is having the opposite effect, causing my mind to wander into dangerous territory, making me linger in the hurting place, which is precisely where i don’t want to be.

so in the spirit of making a good use of time, i opt instead for a few page snatch of this social networking book i picked up. a conversation a friend has me exploring a whole new way of networking with a mind to making it pay off in the long run. i’m not sure i’ll be able to exploit this to the best of my advantage, but it doesn’t hurt to explore.

i though i might simply collapse at work yesterday, the workload was something fierce, but that’s always the way give or take. today i walk with heavy feet dragging reluctantly back to the same place that causes me so much stress. my inability to cope has me strung out almost as much as the work i am meant to accomplish.  i’m no type a, but i am a driven perfectionist and i can never live up to the high expectations of my ability.

so i chuck some optimism at it and hope it passes. if not that, then what?



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