Wednesday, May 27, 2009
A Secret Made
...is a secret kept.
It's thrilling to have something all to yourself, isn't it?
Thursday, May 21, 2009
This week I've experienced the two extremes of the work-day: The Day That Flew By and The Day That Dragged Ass. Today was one of those days that just felt like it was never going to end. I was exhausted and cranky by lunch and the end of the day saw me examining the bags under my eyes in the bathroom mirror. I felt like I was trying to wade through molasses in my cute, summery heels. But oh, oh Tuesday and Wednesday disappeared before my very eyes. One moment it was 10am and I was having my toast and marmite and the next it was just about 4pm and I marvelled at the fact that leaving the office on time was a reality.
It was funny, because my partner in crime felt it too, felt the day being whisked away. For some time now, she and I like to say the date very slowly while looking intensely at each other. "Woowww - today is MAY twenty-first... Maaaay... twenty-FIRST!" It feels like our season just started the other day and now... now we only have five more weeks left of it. People have said to me that it feels like I just started, when really, I started six months ago. My job at work usually has me thinking and planning for a week ahead, so to me, it's pretty much June. And June means the end of our peak travel season, which is the end of my busy times at work, which potentially means me not working in the office over the summer (because, let's face it, even though I'm awesome doesn't mean that there's much business sense in paying me to sit around and tell people to recycle better), and THAT means that I get to buy plane tickets and fly over oceans and greet people with hugs and oh-em-gee I should probably start thinking about dates and buying those plane tickets NOW.
*wheezes into a paper bag*
Sometimes, the speed at which life moves scares me.
This is, for the most part, how my brain works: quickly and unnecessarily, aka jumping to conclusions. I don't know that I'm not staying in the office over the summer; I'm just making that assumption based on some random pieces of information I put together from conversations I had with three separate people. And this is probably one of my greatest weaknesses: my affinity for making things up and masking it behind l'aire du sense. When really, it makes no sense at all to make myself worry for no reason. I don't know anything, but I hope lots.
All too often I lie in bed, awake at night, and muse to myself about more than what's going to happen at work the next day or what my plans for the weekend are. I tumble through the flurry of mind-bytes that wonder what my life has become, and what it will be - what am I doing, where am I going, and how am I going to get there? And if I don't feel like I belong in any of the situations that I currently find myself in, nor the ones I've made for myself, then surely it means that I must not belong anywhere. And if ultimately I am going nowhere, then what the heck is it that I am doing in the right here and now? Lying awake in bed has suddenly become one of the more terrifying activities I've ever engaged myself in.
Amidst all the fear and worry of a future that lies so uncertain before me, there is a gentle, timid hope that wants to grow stronger. As much as I can't fall asleep for all my pessimism, I'd like to think that it is mostly my optimism that keeps my body and spirits up at night. I may play scenes from my past that I desperately want to re-live, but I also create ones that I hope will come to meet true life soon. I calculate invisible money and purchase non-existent tickets to far-off places in the world. I can feel laughter and taste colour. In my mind I make art with skills I don't have, I hear music that hasn't been written, and make love to a man I don't know yet.
I take a deep breath and count my lucky stars. So glad that it is just only May.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Mainstream Movie Minded
I'm notorious among friends for being particularly clueless when it comes to pop culture. I don't go to the movies often, and when I do, it's to the indie theatre to find obscure films like my darling favourites, The Motorcycle Diaries and Millions, or Amal and The Diving Bell and The Butterfly. The friends who really know me typically don't invite me out to see the big ticket movies at the local Googleplex theatres and only upon either high, high recommendations or a simple desire to hang out will I go to see something a little more mainstream. I admit that I never meant to be a movie snob, and I'm decidedly not - it's just that I don't seem to care for making the efforts to be caught up with Hollywood in any way. Despite the indie-movie persona I've managed to give myself, I do try to watch something every now and then so that I can at least keep up with some of the conversations in the lunch room at work.
In my defense, I will say this: At the theatre last night, I noticed something while watching the trailers before our feature that reminded me why I don't want to see any of the blockbusters: they all look the same. Take Terminator, Transformers and GI Joe, for instance, the three trailers I saw last night. Robots, killing, blowing things up. I could have been watching one trailer for one very long movie for all I knew - if there wasn't a break between them I wouldn't have been able to tell them apart. Now, I don't really have anything against robots and blowing things up - unless it harms or kills people, which I don't prefer (unless they're evil).
Take for example, Wall-E, which I saw because friends highly recommended it to me and knew that I would love it. Now, there's a movie all about robots and the bleak, bleak future that I ADORE. I only saw this a few weeks ago and AWW!! Robot love has never been cuter. Whenever I watch a human couple do the dance around a relationship, I'm more annoyed than anything at how our inherent ways never fail to bungle up a relationship. I think I'm quickly becoming a fan of animated, machinized romances.
And with a simple desire to hang out, I saw Star Trek last night, and I'm pleased as punch that I did. I've never been into science fiction, or movies about space and alien species in the future and I admit to only having watched half an episode of Star Trek during a class in high school (the one where they meet a race of beings that don't have genders - it was supposed to prove a point and incite discussion over ...something). Anyway, I found myself enjoying all two hours of it - mostly because I developed a Spock crush. Kirk is great and all, but I'd choose those dark, mysterious, un-feeling Vulcan eyes over the blonde-haired, blue-eyed bad-boy any day. Also, have you SEEN Zach Quinto when he's not Spock? He may have been cute in space, but HUBBA HUBBA. He's like young Spock meets young Pierce Brosnan who can really pull off a good pair of geeky glasses. I have a new reason to start watching Heroes.
So there we go - indie movie snob no more! A robot movie AND a space movie which had lots of things blowing up. I may have liked them for funny reasons, but hey, at least I'm keeping an open mind.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Gone Too Far
Last night I tossed and turned until just about 2am before finally, finally, falling asleep. It's an awful feeling, knowing that you're exhausted and need a good night's sleep before a work-week, but having your mind and body duke it out right there under the covers. Maybe it was my late dinner of cold chicken wings and pizza - but though I've heard that food before bed can give you weird dreams, I've never heard that it can kick your brain into high gear in the middle of the night.
To be honest, I think it's work that's keeping me up at nights. I have a nasty habit of taking work home with me - and not only in the sense that I consistently have reports in my purse - but in the sense that I carry work around with me on my mind during the commute home, while chewing a late dinner, in the shower, and it seems to be especially true when lying in bed trying to fall asleep.
I had just come home from a Sunday meeting (lies - I had just come home from the bar we went to after the Sunday meeting) and I felt like I was trying to do twenty-one things at once getting people ready for their trips. Keeping track of who is missing what from which kit, who needs uniform pieces, and extra manuals, and questions about pick up points, and assigning phones... I feared that if I wasn't mentally organized I might forget to do everything Monday morning. So I laid there and thought about it for FOUR HOURS.
It's not like I didn't try to fall asleep. I tried different positions. I repeated one phrase over and over (which has worked well in the past) to no avail. I tried relaxing my muscles - nope, seems like they're all perma-tense now. I started a late-night conversation with ex-lovah boy turned BFF. Finally, either my thoughts all got organized, or my brain exhausted itself from running laps around my head and flopped over on one side. Either way, I fell asleep THANK THE LORDS.
Now, I don't know which is a worse way to tell that work has taken over not only my life, but all available mind-space as well: the fact that I lie awake until 2am thinking about work, or the fact that I dream about work when I've finally managed to fall asleep. It's in my subconscious, people, my SUBCONSCIOUS!
Thursday, May 07, 2009
Here's To One Decade At A Time
Sometime in my early twenties, I stumbled upon a little gem online and despite the increasing depth of the internets, Google still manages to find it for me - hidden in the comments section of a blog I still adore. Even if it failed to do so, I have the precise location of where I wrote this in my old journal accurately memorized. The author had written this message in a card he gave to his sister, who had just turned twenty years old, and she ended up cherishing it forever:
You have entered the most turbulent decade of your life. These are the years you'll experience your greatest loves, your greatest breakups, your greatest victories and your greatest hardships, all of which will lead you to the greatest decades of all: the ones in which you'll know yourself.
I shared it with my best friend, and then with my brother, on their birthdays. Though I found it after I had already entered my twenties, it made my heart swell as though it had just taken a deep breath of relief. It comforted me and gave me much hope. Hope for those greatest of loves and victories, and hope, too, for those lessons learned from the greatest of breakups and hardships. Most of all, I wanted that tiny flicker of light at the end of this long decade to get bigger - I wanted to know myself.
I'm not sure I feel much different at 25 than I did a few years ago. Different than 19 and 21? Of course. The amount of time that I spend drunk out of my mind has decreased dramatically. But being 23 and 24 feels like it was just... seven days ago. It's almost as if I'm disappointed that I don't know myself better at this point (ridiculous, I know), but I think I've proven myself to be the type who has terribly high expectations of ...well, everything.
When I was younger, I often imagined what I would be like when I grew up. And when I got into writing myself birthday letters, those daydreams and fantasies manifested themselves into full blown predictions and desires captured in my loopy scrawl and sealed into envelopes for years at a time. When I turned 16, I read a letter I wrote to myself at 12 years old that wanted future me to have a stereo and CDs and be "cool". Turning 23, I read a letter from 20 year old me which was emo as all heck... something about love and crying and goodness knows what. The one I liked best was the letter I wrote to myself on my 16th birthday for an older me at 20. I was cute and charming, almost funny. I spoke to myself like I was my own friend. And sometimes, I think I forget that: I am my own friend.
It seems that even the farthest reaches of my over-active imagination could only ever see me at 20, at the oldest - for I never wrote a letter to an older me after that. On the eve of my birthday last Friday, I kind of wished that I had a letter to look forward to in the morning. I suppose imagining 16 and 20 were kind of easy - 16 being smack dab in the middle of all that was to be dramatic teenagedom, and 20 being on that cusp of almost-adulthood. I'll admit that when I was 21 or so I saw myself at 27, but only because that was the age at which I always thought I'd be getting married. And being 27 sounded really cool to me because I was reading the blog of someone who was 27 at the time and gee, I just thought she was the neatest thing ever. But what of 25?
Right now it kind of feels like no-man's land, and fuzzy at best. I finished school just about a year ago now, but my ties there are still strong enough to make me feel connected (plus, I miss my life in my campus city SO DAMN MUCH) to the point where I say that I "just" finished school. I'm working a full-time 9 to 5 gig, but I don't really feel that it's "me" quite yet. I kind of know deep down that I won't be there forever and that I'm ultimately looking for something a little... else. I moved back home; and after living on my own for five years I have to admit that it feels funny, to say the least. See? Not a student, but not really an adult. Even if I were to have imagined myself at 25, my letter would have been so lofty that upon reading it I might have actually burst into tears. Perhaps I should be glad that I could never figure out what my mid-twenties were supposed to be like.
And I guess that's it right there - it's not really supposed to be anything, but it's everything all at the same time. It's love and loss. It's winning and not. It's good, it's bad. It's all-you-can-eat Japanese with your family one night, getting dolled up for a club only to be thrown out later for being obnoxiously over-intoxicated the next, and geeky, cheery goodness at Medieval Times the following. Looking back at my youth (gosh, that makes me sound old, but I didn't know how else to say it), I can confidently state that I did most of my "growing up" in my twenties - and will continue to do so.
So here's to the lack of birthday letter and to realizing that I had no idea what was to come. As much as I have an idea of who I'd like to be at this point in my life and who I am already, I've gotta say that at the very least, I'm pretty happy. And very grateful. Here's to those next decades, the ones in which I know myself, but in the meantime, here's to the rest of this decade now - whatever it may be.
Friday, May 01, 2009
Why thank you!
feel old yet?
I think I started feeling old a long time ago...
oh. well then... carry on :)
And never did I think that I could feel older! Alas. Hello, 25. It's nice to finally meet you.