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10 June 2011 @ 05:24 pm
i had a dream last night. the kitchen was flooding. i was worried about the small fish we had in our aquarium escaping into the pool of water at our feet. soon enough i saw the fish swimming by, and he had caught another, bigger fish, in his mouth. this made my skin crawl. and then i saw a fully grown dog swimming by. he had come from the basement. it appears he had escaped as a puppy and was raised by a crack addict in the basement. i felt so sad for this dog, i wanted to make him feel loved. i petted him, told him he was a good boy, cuddled him and then brought him to the kitchen to be fed. the cooks were hard at work making several dishes. they gave the dog a bowl of julienned pickles. he sniffed them but didnt eat. and then someone stepped on his tail. he let out a long slow yowl of pain and once the person finally moved their foot, there was a cicular indent in his tail. head down, he skulked to the washroom. then he became a man looking in the mirror. behind him, the crack addict appeared. the addict said to the man/dog, "you don't deserve to be with these people. they don't know who you really are."

i didn't want to see this anymore. "nononono!" i was saying in my head. the dream became a tv show. i changed channels. then i was watching a children's programming special on morality. there was a cartoon logo and bouncy jingle for the start of the show. "today's episode: the dangers of alchohol" (crash, lightning... silly halloween music). in the show, a bunch of teenagers had decided to try running their car off of a dock into a lake. they were drunk and laughing as they sank deeper and deeper into the water. bright orange cartoony bubbles started to rise from their mouths, their precious air running out. the narrator was talking like a gameshow host, "today our players are taking the plunge! this is the game of ZERO SURVIVAL! watch as they travel deeper and deeper with NO OXYGEN! this can only end in CERTAIN DEATH!" the teenagers were still laughing and releasing orange cartoon bubbles when i awoke.
26 May 2011 @ 06:22 pm
This year I have been the most me I have ever been. This is a wonderful experience, feeling like I am relaxing into myself, settling into my skin and enjoying the world around me. However, as I begin to feel comfortable with the personality I have helped to chisel out and refine from a me-shaped rock, I am beginning to notice my unique downfalls.

I don't know things. I don't read enough, watch enough movies, see enough tv shows, read enough facts. And even when I do these things, I can't retain the information I have learned, and thus can't bring it up in conversation. What the hell do I DO all day? I watch nature documentaries, cry over nature documentaries, talk to people on my comp, walk to people's houses and talk to them, walk outside, cook and sing and dance...

I want to do things to improve myself. I want to be able to offer things to a conversation that aren't just my opinions that I have just come up with on the spot when probed. I want to talk about theories and refer to movies and shows without the facts being all jumbled up and incomplete. Most of the time I just end up reverting back to stories of my crazy times during my youth, and I am beginning to feel that people might be growing tired of hearing about it. And besides, what are people supposed to offer in return when we go down that avenue of talk?

You'd think that this problem would be an easy thing to fix, but the nature of my personality makes it difficult. When ever I try to make projects for myself such as making art, writing a story, or reading up on important theories, I am enthusiastic to start, because the ideas excite me, but once I realise there is a process involved, I quickly grow weary and distracted.

And so, I don't know things and I can't do things. I am excited about ideas but can't stand process. In addition, I think another aspect of my personality compounds this problem: I am not really interested in personal growth or introspection. I want everything I do to have an immediate social purpose. And it seems that sitting at home making art or writing for myself is far too self involved for me. This is probably why I havent been able to bring myself to write a journal for so long.

I might have a saving grace, however. I have noticed that if I am involved in a group project that has a deadline, such as making decorations for an event, than I am motivated the whole way through. Perhaps I can find or create more projects like these!

As I settle into this personality I have simultaneously been settling into a longterm commited relationship, and here I have been learning things too. I apparently need space. I need to do things on my own to keep feeling fresh, something that seems to be essential. When I get settled in, I tend to look for drama and when it doesn't arise I end up creating it. If everything has been going steady for so long I begin to feel weary in even this, and I become certain that something is wrong since there is no emotional turbulence!

For example, ever since Gaelan got back from India, I have been irritated with everything he does, to the point where I feel annoyed by him kissing me and being sweet. I became depressed. I couldn't understand why I seemed to be falling out of love, especially when I should be glad to have him back by my side.

It was hard to pinpoint the cause for my feelings, since it was such a subtle and vague reason: I don't like feelings of stagnation and longterm commitment.

I am now completely commited to going back to school for my masters in Toronto. The excitement of a new city and new experiences has worn off and I am faced with the reality of more schooling, more debt, more part time work, and the concept of being locked into this for two years of my life. Similarly, I have integrated my living space and cemented my future with Gaelan. I have locked myself into these things and I only have myself to blame.

It is becoming easier to deal with my feelings in this matter now that I have recognised them for what they are. I just need to suck it up, buckle in and enjoy the ride for the next 2 years. Maybe I will begin to view few commitment as an exciting adventure of its own.
22 February 2011 @ 12:10 pm
Ever since I got accepted to U of T for Library Studies in September, I have made it my goal to squeeze as much fun and sociability out of the fast-disapearing school-free months. I want to live like I have 5 months left before I die or go to prison. Once I am in school, I have promised myself I will devote my entire being to my academic career, so that I can get a job at the end of this and never ever have to serve another customer the submix.

So far I have been doing well in my quest. I have turned down only two funtimes, one the grounds that I was writhing around in fever, and another due to extreme grumpiness brought on by 6 day weeks of 8 hour shifts at work. I have dragged my post-work-exhausted body out of bed to both Craft Night and Techno Tea. I even braved montrous menstrual cramps for icecream and video games with my friends Dan and Celeigh at 130 King.

My ambitious participation in fun activities has definitely paid off. I have learned that even when I am tired I am still energized by my friends and by novel experiences. Last week I spent hours exploring the Tannery building and its many stairwells with Nick, Sylvan and Pink Catherine and was constantly filled with the curiousity, wonder and euphoria of a mischievous kitten or someone on drugs.

Yesterday was another example of solid fun; a day where I didn't sit down and wait for things to happen to me, but rather went out and carpe diemed. As I lay in the morning sun with Gaelan I decided I would rally the troops for toboggonning. While my lover would not partake, I knew at least some friends could be coerced. I summoned Sylvan and we set out on a quest for friends and snowhills. Kerry could not participate, for she had accidentally become nocturnal, John was serving subs to yuppies, and Nick was deep in some code and could not be extracted from his computer. We learned that everyone else we knew had gone home.

Not to be discouraged, we viewed this as an appropriate time to discover the perfect hill for another day. In addition, we decided to take this opportunity to collect data and create a report on our makeshift tobboggoning devices we had gathered. You see, none of us actually own a tobboggon or anything resembling one, so we figured some kitchenware might suffice. I saw the wok as a promising sled; it even had a handle for steering! Sylvan had brough a large blue tarp that we figured could be used by multiple people taking the trip down together. We also had a tin chinese checker/chess case, a cookie sheet, a pie pan and a small strip of blue sleeping foam. With these items we headed for Westmount at the Michaels parking lot.

At first sight the giant icey precipices crashing into a cold concrete parkinglot seemed a little too extreme for us gingers. But as we got closer it didn't look so bad, and there were even a few runs where we sussed we may live to tell the tale. After the a few runs in a safe spot (the wok and tarp proved ideal toboggons) we inched further up on the icey cliff. Little by little we developed a taste for adrenaline and began pushing the limits. Soon we believed ourselves invincible and I watched as Sylvan got a glint in his eye at the top of an icey cliff and said "I'm going to do something foolish." He pushed himself off an icey slop and slid down at great speed! His glorious ride was stopped short at the base by something and he cried out in pain "Owwwwwwww???" Here, we brushed aside some snow to reveal a small cement wall at the base of our hill. Oh riiiiight.... that is there all year round. Huh.

Our bodies sufficiently bruised in badges of tobboggoning bravery, we turned our attention to the unattended Michaels dumpster. It was a goldmine! Glass sheets, sample art sets with paint, pencil crayons and pastels, pvc piping, long sheets of clear plastic, a large roll of paper and some decent sized plastic containers! We gathered some of our treasures in our arms, shoved others into our bags with the pots and pans and tarpauline, and were ready to head off through through our forested shortcut home when we realised something was missing: the Wok! With our eyes we traced our path from the dumpster to the hills, and there, sitting atop an icey cliff, was the little black Wok, alone and forgotten in the snow. I dropped the roll of paper and plastic sheets and headed for the hills. I scrambled up to my Wok and gave it one last ride down, my pvc piping sticking out a meter from the bag around my shoulder as I slid down the hill. Walking home we looked like a couple of travelling ginger urchins, or strange forest creatures performing questionable activities with kitchen tools and craft supplies in the snow.

I will make it my right and responisbility to have more days like that one. I will jump on fun and let it take me where it may until the bell tolls and I am forced to finally come in from recess for another two years.
08 February 2011 @ 11:41 pm
the other night i had a fever. Not a drill-sargeant white-blood-cell quarantine-lock-down typical of Gaelan's vigilant immune system, but it was there, and my body writhed in some sweaty sheets, while my brain bubbled out some creative thoughts. some were so creative i might call them... pseudopiphanies?

I was thinking about art, sculpting in particular, and it occured to me that i had always thought of art as representing something... like all of it wasn't there in front of you, but rather than you had to guess at meaning and reimage the piece in your mind by piecing together your own interpretations of what the art means to you and what the peace is trying to get out of you and how it is supposed to look once these ideas are attached to it. but my fever brought the realization that the artist has made their object to be EXACTLY AS IT IS! The artist has crafted each stroke, chose each colour, sculpted the form with purpose and has named it art! it is art exactly as it is, without any kind of imagining on anyone's part. the artists doesnt want you to imagine in and around their piece, they want you to see it exactly how it is, and realise that exact form as art. ... i don't know if i have done a very good job of describing this thought, but i think its the best i can do. Oh wait! that is what it is!! Art isn't at all like words! Art don't represent... it just IS! ART BE ART ALL THE TIME...

Another fever-thought: isn't it strange to love someone? you look at their flesh and love it. you look at the pores in their skin, because you love that person so much you want to memorize the tiniest specks in their skin. You have held that person so often and in so many ways you now just feel like you are holding the other pieces of your body. and even stranger, isn't it so odd to have someone who thinks these things about YOU? How do I look to that person? what do I look like when I am being loved?
02 February 2011 @ 11:43 am
Last night I slept for more than 3 hours! finally. and i had a very detailed dream:

I was in a forest with some friends. we were climbing a giant tree, when we realised that this girl (one of my friends actually) was coming after us with a knife. She had a lackey which turned out to be someone else i know. The murderer chased us (me mostly) from tree to tree. Thankfully I had a magical skill where i could jump from tree to tree like a squirrel. eventually I killed the murderer's lackey by throwing her from a tree. and then I got the lackey's gun and shot the murderer in the head. several times. how violent.

My friends and i then wandered around the forest, finding keys with labelled keychains everywhere. The keys were keys to the lockers of famous people. I can't exactly remember who they were but they were the sort of heroes that belong to America's mythic past - Amelia Earheat, Paul Bunyan, Davey Crocker...

(my friend asked me if i found Davey Jones' locker. Sadly i did not. I didn't even find his locker key! how upsetting. what is the point of my brain putting a metaphor out there only to not follow through?)

eventually we found this great halfpipe that seemed to be leading the way out. as we climbed over the wall that was blocking it, all the ghosts appeared to escape with us, including my murderous friend and her lackey. we told them to join us, they couldn't hurt us now

we had to wait in line at the exit. turns out this forest was a the kind of place where you gotta put all your stuff in a locker and keep the key. when it was finalyl my turn in line i emptied out all the keys i had found and showed them to the clerk. The famous names had mysteriously changed into really lame things like "key to free burgers at burger king" or "key to the lion club", or "key to the wholesale club". And to top it off I had lost my own key. Guy let me through anyway. then I woke up.

how weird.
01 February 2011 @ 07:54 am
yesterday i was feeling anxious for several hours. i had been laying in bed most of the day, getting up periodically to eat something, trying to gain enough stength to go outside. i was having trouble breathing. there was not enough air in my house. i decided to go to my friends' house. breathing became easier as soon i stepped inside. the house contained some of my most favourite people in the world. I am so glad that i have a place to go when i can't breathe.
24 January 2011 @ 09:59 pm
Yesterday i bundled up, gathered my friends and threw myself into a craftstore dumpster. I was hoping for some watercolour paint but i was pleasantly suprised by a multitude of glass sheets of varying shapes and sizes miraculously unshattered. I also found some foamboard, a large sheet of pressboard and a wooden crocodile missing his front leg. At Sean's suggestion, I have decided to make him a metal leg - turn him into a cybergator.

our dumpster dive was not uneventful. just as we were getting ready to pack up some bitch drove up in her silver SUV and rolled down the window. "What are you doing?" she asked shrilly. "Dumpster diving!" Kerry replied, her voice cheerful. "That's illegal you know. I could call the police..." Piece by piece we returned our treasures to the dumpster and closed the lids. The woman sat in her SUV and shook her head as she watched us, apparently appalled that anyone would ever take a company's precious waste and reuse it for art. Fucking bitch. We walked away only until she drove off, then went back to get the goods.

Turns out dumpster diving isn't really illegal anyways. There isn't any official legislation pertaining to this issue, but there is the Tresspass to Property Act. It says that the owner of a property has the right to ban anyone from their property for any reason, but they must first give notice to the offenders who are only breaking the law if they return. Showing favour to legal dumpster diving, there are court cases where police have gathered evidence from dumpsters and it has been ruled legal. So there is legal precedence. Next time i dive i am bringing like case studies and shit. I will chew those motherfuckers out righteously.

I plan on doing a lot more diving. it makes sense given my financial situation. i have been wandering around like an impoverished headless chicken, shakily pressing my doggeared resumes into manager's hands for the last few days. i think my friendly smile has turned into a desparate grimace, and my confident eye-contact has turned into a wide-eyed plea.

i roamed the streets for five hours today, criscrossed King and Weber, lost in a daze of self loathing, wind and snow. eventually i became a solid frozen core with no emotions - a nomad wandering these frozen barrens that are littered with mirages of smiling managers offering me a position.

At home i looked out my bathroom window where i had hung a homemade birdfeeder. a squirrel sat perched nearby, nibbling some scrap just out of reach of the hanging feeder. I put my boots back on and tramped up the snowy steps to the deck, pulled the feeder up and set it down on the wooden planks. he could reach it now. i feel for him. i know what its like to be a scavenger in the long cold winter.
24 December 2010 @ 11:51 pm
Something broke in my brain. I will describe is as a complete loss of the left side of my brain although I know this is completely untrue. I feel as though I am processing the world and my thoughts about it completely through a wacky, indirect, creative, and generally crazy manner.

Sometimes my speech is worded strangely. My phrases are a little odd and analogous. I am also very fragile. Little bits and pieces of the world come at me with such force I feel them in my body. At times I feel a sense of floaty euphoria, and the world seems foggy but without clouds.

Gaelan says that I am like this often, if not always. But it is not always like this. Am I truly more crazy as of late? or am I simply more aware of my daily insanity, observing it for the first time.

I am not freaking out about this. Gaelan said that I all I can do really is just roll with it, so I am. It is, however, difficult to be in places or with people that would not understand, or at least have sympathy for my apparent new level of insanity. I do have friends that understand instantly when Gaelan says the words "Catherine is crazy today. especially so." and for this I am immensly thankful.

I should probably stop thinking about this-- get back into the headspace where I don't realise my insanity-- if that is simply what has happened here.

It happened because of the events of the solstice, and the day after, I know this at least.

That night I made out with a boy. We connected over being ENFPs. We had stimulating conversation. I kissed him. It was the logical result of our playful, connecting banter. But I feel like it was more of a social interchange than desire, and I was startled and shaken by my act.

When I came home I told Gaelan of my activities. But my drunken self was clearly looking for anger and jealousy as a reaction. I was cruel in my phrasing. and then I passed out.

Gaelan did not give me my anger and jealousy I was looking for as an immediate response. Instead his distress came out later in the day, in text while he was at work. He told me how upset he was. At first I was so confused, the hangover was stronger than I had ever experienced, and I couldn't remember the words I spoke before sleeping.

Once I realised that I had hurt him I wanted to do everything to take back my stupidity and make it right. But then I had a panic attack of epic proportions. This seems to happen often after a night of drinking, and often whenever I realise I have hurt Gaelan. and then HE ends up comforting ME. I should work on that.

We fixed us. We learned about living in an open relationship, and how things can go wrong if one of us is stupid (me).

But there is still something fractured in me. Perhaps it is just a cracked shell in my brain. The membrane is exposed to the flood of self-knowledge that I had never seen. Is this what learning about oneself is like?


I have ideas for art, and for the first time I feel confident that they should and can and will come out. It won't be very good art, for I know that I have absolutely no experience here, no knowledge either. But I think I might be able to get it to say what I want it to say, at least when it speaks to my own eyes. I must not balk at the task before me. I have, after all, already bought some of the materials. This will be exciting.
21 December 2010 @ 09:36 am
I need a hobby. Gaelan is always doing stuff, improving himself in some way. and i just kinda sit there waiting for something to happen. I want to make things. with my hands. i gotta figure what to do with all my time.
09 December 2010 @ 08:31 am
My gasps for breath in the frigid air are a silent mimicry to the raucous crows above me. They fly frantically from one treetop to another, their shrieks breaking the stillness of the dawn. I think of their fragile, hollow-boned frames wrapped in feathers, their small warm hearts thudding away in the whipping wind. Do they shriek and fly to keep their hearts pumping inside of them? Or have they just heard the howls of true winter and are now howling back?

The snow squeals under my tires as I make bike tracks through the sparkling white. The sound of snow is an ancient memory within me; something primal happens when I hear it - the same thing that happens when I stare into the crackling fire. I grow quiet and still on the inside, until I am nothing but the sound of my exhaling breath. I realise that the white snow is the very opposite of winter's darkened sky. The world is upside down, but in balance.

My bike stiffens its brakes and changes gears at random in protest to the cold. I comfort it as though it were a gentle clydesdale bringing me home through the snowy woods.