2003-01-21 - 12:21 p.m.

Hola

:o) I am happy. Happy that I'm writing my daily entry. There was a time not too long ago that the decision to write daily in a diary would have lasted a few weeks and then dissipated like water running down a drain. I've been aware of this trait of mine for as long as I can remember, yet I've always felt helpless against it. For once in my life I have the impression that I really can build myself up by daily effort to do something more than excel at a video game.

I've played my guitar daily for slightly longer than I've been writing in this journal, and that feels great too :o) I'm still struggling of course, and some of the things I wish I'd do aren't happening, but I'm still well within my expectation of myself.

This morning I started reading a particularly interesting book: "The Canadian Small Business Guide - how to start and operate your own successful business". It's very strange to realise that now is the time. I've thought about and talked about doing my own thing for a long time, always just assuming it was something I'd do. The world of business was shrouded in mystery since I was so naive, but now that I've worked at a small start-up, I've seen first hand exactly how clueless most business operators are. In this arena, experience and talent are no substitute for ambition.

Honestly, knowing myself, I have a great set of skills in my chosen area, and a decent amount of ambition. Where I'm lacking is in experience, obviously in the field of running a business but also in the sense of being strict with myself and meeting goals. However, I have to admit that I've really turned things around lately. I'm sure I've written it in here before: I can't imagine what my life would be like if Michelle and I were still together. I can't see myself having come this far if it wasn't for that huge shock.

I've been drifting back in my thoughts lately. I find myself thinking of various pasts in Thunder Bay. I wonder how long the flood of memories will last? I'm sure it'll take me until spring to clear my mind and begin life anew here.

Yesterday it was .. I can't even bring up the thought in my mind without getting wistful.. sad, yet.. glad for the memory being there at all. I'm thinking of the kite festival in Thunder Bay. A beautiful sunny day with warm breezes and the sounds of children being their natural happy selves. Me resting my head in Michelle's lap in sheer joy after playing and romping with Kris and Cody. Our friend Sue there, loving the day with us... just a moment that I'm sure I'll never forget. Damn. I shouldn't be reliving memories like this so soon, because then they'll get tainted with the sadness I still inevitably feel. If I wait a few years then I'll be able to enjoy them so much more because the pain will be a ghosted memory and the joy and warmth will still shine through.

I guess it's been a while since I talked about sad things. At night I keep thinking of a million things and wanting to get up and write an entry then and there. I can only pile up such thoughts for a while until they spill out. I don't even know myself... like, why do I not write about them? Why do I not get up and write an entry then and there? Why did I go so long without thinking of Michelle and now I'm tortured by memories again? How many more times do I have to remind myself that I did what I could and I can't fault myself or think that if I had said something different there really would have been a chance?

I think it's because I'm lonely. I'm really frickin lonely. I dreamed a few nights ago of having a girlfriend :o) I dreamt that we were out and about on the town, and the while we were walking through some building we just spontaneously kissed. It was the most blissful feeling.. a warm living mouth on mine, that feeling of being desired, of being wanted. It was a very good omen that this girl was not Michelle. Hmm.. there's a thought. I think that was the first relationship-type dream I had that didn't involve her. I know there was a gap there after the dreams I had of her where I didn't dream of anyone in that way.

Speaking of dreams, I've had a ton and very strange too since I moved here. I've even had a nightmare or two and several of the disturbing variety of dreams. I don't think I wrote about one particular one I'm thinking of, but I told my mom about it.. the one where I was in a department store looking at water fountains.. you know the kind that are a little statue of something with a motor in it that cycles the water so it makes a relaxing sound in your room? Well, I was looking at those and very close up too.. strange how my dreams can be so astonishingly vivid. I remember scoffing at the price tags :o) Then there was a blood curdling screaming. It was a man, screaming in pain, just OW OW OWW OWW OW OWWW OW over and over. I remember my reaction and my shame; crouching there in front of the water fountains with my hands over my ears while those around me (who had suddenly appeared, up till then I'd been alone) were rushing over to see if they could help the wounded.

I got up and followed, but there was nothing to be done. It had been some sort of construction accident.. omg. k, I just made a connection. Anyway, in the dream I remember a big ladder and some tarps and a man laying on the ground, partly under some tarps, and a lot of blood. No details there, strangely enough, after the fact that I could clearly see the "7" on the $700 price tag for one of the water fountains from a few inches away. In that strange dreaming way, I knew that the man was dying and nothing could be done, as did those around me who had stopped in their tracks and stood gawking. Enough.

Like I said, I made a connection there. A long time ago, when I was maybe 8 years old, I was with my grandfather and some of his friends where they were doing some work on an apartment building. He owned the building, I believe, or was doing some contract work. Anyway, I often went with him on these trips, and was just hanging around in this messy construction area. Suddenly there was some commotion and he called me over. My great uncle (his brother) had cut himself rather badly with something and looked pale and shaken. My grandfather was urgently telling me to take this money and run to the pharmacy about 4 blocks away and buy a certain kind of bandage. I seem to remember my grandmother being there yelling at him, or at least some argument going on about going to the hospital, but my grandfather insisted everything would be ok and just to get the bandage.

So off I ran and as I was so young I didn't rush nearly as much as I could have, though I don't remember wasting a single moment. It must have seemed like ages for some. When I returned, my grandfather bitched at me, asking what took so long and I can only remember feeling that it wasn't really directed at me, in that bizarre understanding way that kids comprehend situations they don't quite understand.

This memory had come back to me while I lay in bed trying to fall asleep. The urgency of the moment, the blood, the pale face, the worries of the men, my grandfather's agitation, the burden of it all placed on my shoulders. No wonder I had that dream. It really came out of the blue and shocked me, but talking about it now, it makes sense.

It's hard to explain how it happens... I slowly realize that I'm trapped in a memory, reliving it practically for real, my body tensed and hardened against the night, eyes closed, mind open, body forgotten. But I live in it, and it comes back to me in a rush, and I know that I was just remembering, and I remind myself that I need to relax. I let go of the urgency, reminding myself that it's ok. But where does the panic go? It doesn't just dissipate, else it wouldn't haunt my dream.

The sad, scary thing is that there are so many of these moments of panic, so many of these memories, that I would be just scratching the surface on the 1,000th page, were I to write a book.

Hmm.. another connection. That book.. "The First Man" by Camus. I read it just recently and it was less a novel than a collection of childhood memories from a man who died before finishing his manuscript. The time his uncle fought a man in the stairwell, the times the neighborhood kids played in a public fountain, the time he had to go to the chicken coop at night to grab a victim, and so on. It makes sense that reading that book put me in the frame of mind to remember my own vivid past, which brought on the stress of a submerged memory, which appeared later in a dream as a sudden shock.

And isn't it strange that I'm ashamed of myself for hiding, in my dream? When someone, a fellow human, was hurt, I cowered and hid, covering my ears, wanting to be away. But where I grew up, there was fighting. There was yelling. There was shouting at the top of the lungs and a forgotten child cowering in the corner with his hands over his ears. There were hours and days spent alone, lost in thought, minding my own business to avoid punishment, to stay away.

I don't want to paint the wrong picture, most of my life has been rosy and there were plenty of happy times. More love than anger, beyond a doubt, but I'm well aware that what takes a day to build takes a minute to break, and what is broken in a split second may never be repaired.

Life is such a strange thing.

My elbows are hurting. I need a better desk if I'm going to write this much.

Yes.. how can I change the world without a better desk?

Or I could just get smart and put the keyboard in my lap. Ha! What a fool. Reminds me of the button. 10 minutes of sewing reversed years of discomfort. How many times did I roll the stupid sleeve back instead of buttoning it, because the button was too tight? How many times did I button it too tight and wish it were different. There's a lesson here.. several, actually.

For one, that means I can fix some things inside that have been left broken. For two, doesn't it also mean I deliberately leave things broken because I feel like.. what? that it was fate? That I deserve the discomfort? That it excuses some transgressions I've made? I had my fertile and accepting mind injected with religiously diseased thoughts when I was a child, so who knows what kind of twisted remnants those early assumptions left? It took a while for me to learn to question what the adults told me, and before then, I may have burned some pathways into my brain that really don't make sense.

Wow. This is such a strange entry. Good, but strange. I'm not upset, I'm more.. exploring. Like it always was when I went exploring, I don't know where I'm going. For that matter, none of us do, but we act like we do, don't we? We write like we should know what to write, or like we should write something worthwhile. Wtf is worthwhile? Whatever it is, most of us probably don't feel like we measure up to it.

It's funny that those who naturally believe themselves to be worthwhile actually are by that virtue alone. Those who believe they fall short pound themselves down into the hole they envision is their home.

Whatever. I'm a nut case. I would like to shmoke a joint and relax, eating some vietnamese salad rolls and listening to DCD's "Aeon". That memory will soon join the ranks of the "alien planet" field and the view from the top of the hill behind the apartment.

If that were all that I took with my from Thunder Bay, I'd still be unboundedly rich, because I could write for days and days about the feelings I lived in those places. Hmm.. Just like the tardis is much bigger on the inside, I think the memories that are attached to, say, standing under some pines in an abandoned field and smoking a joint probably encompass months worth of other memories in the surrounding times. Hmm.. like the slow crunch of gravel down the back lanes in a stifling summer, caressing the bike seat to stay in immutable balance as the sparkling spokes guided me to the field where I would smoke. I never biked on the main roads if I could help it.. it was far too disruptive to my serenity.

As a matter of fact, I remember an entry starting something like "gravel roads are much better than pavement" or something like that. That reminds me, I once intended to retrieve all the entries I had written in my other diary and add them to this one. I think. I think I intended that, I mean. Then again, I may have thought right after that those thoughts didn't belong.

Now I want to read over my first alien planet entry.

Yeah, I should get on with my day. It's four short of noon. I kind of want to get a hair cut to please Niki. Well, not just for that, but there would be that. :o) I don't know. I want a friend. A confidante. I want to sip tea and roll chinese medicine balls in my palm. I want to feel a soft finger trace the countour of my shoulder and the brush of hair against my face. It'll come soon enough. I'm not meaning to sound impatient, just, again, wistful.

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