Sing me to sleep.

Why am I writing?

Perhaps I think it'll help me.

I used to write for the sake of writing. Writing was my escape, my first love.
Still, I find I never do anymore. This blog is enough testament to that. Why did I stop writing?

Perhaps I thought the events of my life don't merit writing down. I must admit I felt I only wrote down negative things, things that I felt ashamed to return to. I felt I had no real reason to be so negative, so unsure, so... unhappy.

There is no doubt I still have those very same feelings. Before I started writing this post, I tried to write some prose instead. It was painful. I didn't get a single word down. As I tried to get into the same medium... the same writing form that used to so easily give me relief, I felt a nagging voice at the back of my head. A voice warning me of teenaged mediocrity. A voice telling me that I am no longer the high school poet aspiring to publish a book one day. I mean, what business student writes poetry anyway?

Still, as I think back to my writing days, I feel as though things used to go more smoothly in the past. Perhaps that's good old nostalgia playing its cruel tricks. Still, looking at the state of my life, thinking back to things tonight, I guess I thought writing things down will help me make sense of them. Maybe writing things down will help me understand my own "dark bend," the reasons I've found myself taking zopiclone just to drown out my subconscious' need for dark dreams and non-corporeal misadventures. Perhaps I thought, this could replace the nightmares, the uncertainty, my seemingly growing perpetual weakness.

Even Western medicine,
it couldn't save Danny Callahan
Bad bone marrow, a bald little boy.

But the love he feels he carries inside, can be passed
He lay still his mother kissed him goodbye 
Said, 'Come back, where are you going to alone?'
Where are you going all alone? 

Self-Fulfilment.

Cue hyperactive, chirping music.

Cue dancing man, wearing a grin as big as the blue sky overhead

Cue suburban imagery, beautiful plants, sepia tone garage doors,

Cue luxury car,

Cue FedEx deliveryman,

Cue the happy, beautiful, dream-like land.

Cue the television ad,

Sensory overload, a pill for your most special gland

Cue the flurry,

Cue the rehearsed joy,

Cue the disguised medicated turmoil,

Cue luxury car,

Cue FedEx Van,

Cue the happy, dancing man

The dancing man,

Wearing his sharp suit,

He's fulfilled, because his penis is wood

Autumn's Fog

Driving down the dark stretch of road after a long day, my surroundings seem unfamiliar. Senses exhausted, one eye twitching from a lack of sleep... the world around melts in the soft autumn's fog... the music on the radio plays... incoherent voices... an old one-hit-wonder, the strange sounds resonating... melding around my mind... like that same fog surrounding the constantly moving car...

Constantly moving... ever in motion, always trying to reach some destination... amidst the haze, the comfortable disorientation, an old passing landmark catches my eye... hiding in the darkness and the fog of the night, the small piece of land, lying side by side the empty and now baren corn fields, awakens me only slightly out of the faze... a distant, distinct, metallic taste lingers in the back of my mouth... the passing sense of its existence at first foreign to my tongue... as the sensation leaves my body, my mind begins to place the taste... the feelings... my mind places the meaning...

An old deserted graveyard, fallen leaves, a naive mind and a heart eager to experience its first break... the cold feel of a late October frost, the sloppy, tingling hands of teenagers... eager hearts... one looking... desperately searching to mend... another yearning to open to something real... something incandescent, intangible, and ever fleeting.

Minor in Cynicism.

Having arrived to school about 3 hours early for class -- intent on studying at that -- I found myself having breakfast with a university friend instead. As we talked about the every day things we came to the realization that we graduate in less than six months. This of course lent itself to conversations about finding a job, and our frustrations towards the recruiters that had circled our school like vultures this past month.

"We interview 2500 people to fill 6 positions within Canada," was what I was told by a perky man at a two hour long group interview for a multinational brewing company last week.

Still, as we talked about everything that there is, as I mentioned having already booked my graduate portrait appointment for November, we came to a very simple conclusion. As I ran into an old classmate from my creative and critical fictions elective in 2nd year-- someone I had not seen for two years-- my friend and I realized what could be the underlying essence of all of our four years in business school.

"You guys will find a job no problem! You're hard workers and you're graduating from school of x," my old friend said happily.

We shook our heads in disagreement.

It seemed four years of business school, four years of preparing for the "real world" and four years of recruiting hell had taught us one simple lesson: it had taught us how to be jaded.

"Most people graduate from university starry-eyed and ready to face the 'real' world."

"Yeah, they don't become cynical and jaded until they actually end up in the workforce. At least school X taught us something." 

We were only joking around and making light of the situation. Still, the conversation had some deep truths in it and left me wondering what kind of a person I would be today if I had simply chosen to study something else.

Red.

Today, as I was rushing to catch my bus to work, I threw a bunch of strawberries into a ziplock bag and threw that into my bag. Ten minutes later, by the time I was sitting on the bus, they were nothing but mushy red chunks. I ate them right then and there. They stained my hands red.

I'm reading The Count of Monte Cristo. It's an alright so far.

I napped too much today but I'm still a bit sleepy and consistently yawning.

That's all...

- Amlie

Youtube's Recommendations for Me.

I especially like the first one.

I'm weird.

Nothing like scrubbing the bathtub to the sound of Regina Spektor to pump me up for the work ahead.

UPDATE:
Sometimes I feel bipolar. It's been... two hours since my spur of motivation. Now I just feel confused and disheveled all over again. Not much makes sense. Am I insane?

Not sure.

I finally finished reading The Golden Compass for my children's literature class. Took me long enough! I'm intent on finishing The House with the Clock in its Walls tonight... because after that I have to read Harry Potter and Prisoner of Azkaban. I know it sounds silly complaining about having to read children's books. Last year I would have hit myself in the head if I heard me complain about this.

Still, after all that I still need to get to my geography readings and subsequent paper done, actually study for the midterm I have for English, and hopefully start on the essay for the essay competition I so thoughtlessly entered last week... an essay competition with a topic that has me frazzled and clueless.

It doesn't help that I have near to no motivation lately. The thought of my break ending on Monday and returning to that dreaded gray building has me a little upset. The winter term just has got me so drained. I'm sure the Canadian weather doesn't help.

Is it weird that the Olympian athletes make me feel inadequate? Haha... I don't know. I watch them and think back to the dreams I used to have. Wanting to become a writer, a journalist, maybe even publishing a book one day. I know I can still accomplish it, but it all feels so far away now. My writing feels so stiff, my mind even more-so.

Still, I love being able to sit in my room all day, surrounded by nothing by books. I like this hermit lifestyle to an almost unhealthy extent. Avoiding potential hangouts with random people this past week is an art I have perfected. I guess I'm just not as social as I used to think I was. Or maybe it's the vacation blues I'm so prone to.

Despite all that, I'm super excited to take the lovely friend who just got back from Halifax out to dinner. I think we might just go to that fancy Persian place I love so much. :)

Imitate.

"People don't want to be like themselves. They all choose a model to imitate, or if they don't choose a model, they accept one ready-made. Yet I believe there are other things to be read in a man. No one dares. No one dares turn the page. The law of imitation - I call it the law of fear. They fear finding themselves alone, so they don't find themselves at all."

Andre Gide - The Immoralist

Despite everything, this made me smile...

UPDATE: I am no longer an unemployed bum! Yay for the call centre.

Dreaming.

My body seems foreign to me. My mind seems almost a separate entity. I watch my fingers typing and for a split second, my bony wrists look like someone else's. Did my arms always look like this?

I lie in bed, reading a novel when I should be reading a textbook. I read to get away from my own relentless thinking. My mind is driving me insane. Even as I close my eyes to dream, all I see is a never-ending collage of memories, mixed in with the sort of nonesense that only the dream world is capable of.

I see a girl, walking through a large marble mansion. Everywhere she turns she sees large empty rooms, rooms that were once filled with people... rooms that she had spent countless nights in as a child. I hear the faint laughter of children. I see them in the background, ghosts of the past, jumping up and down on mattresses, laughing for no reason; laughing for the sake of laughter.

Then the girl runs out of the mansion. She seems overwhelmed. She runs through the empty courtyard, passes the dead circular garden. Now she's standing atop a green field. The scene reminds her of her childhood. It reminds her of a time when she carelessly laid herself down and rolled down those hills... leaving herself at the mercy of gravity. She remembers rolling down those grassy hills, the same hills that stained her clothes green, she remembers the parents that scolded for her it, she remembers.....

And then suddenly, she bursts into tears. I watch her from atop. I watch her like someone watches a movie. I watch her and somehow feel all her grief, feel all her nostalgia, feel all her pain.

That is what I want to escape. That constantly running mind. The constantly running subconscious machine. I just want things to be calm, silent. I just want it to stop.

Bright flowers on a cold winter's day.

I have been quite a hermit for the past few weeks. In fact, the last time I set foot outside of the house was last Friday. I dare say the bright flowers mom bought today are the only physical contact I've had with the outside world for the past week. I guess you could say I've been productive though. I mean I wrote two ten page papers and took twelve pages worth of notes for my Sunday final. I think I could say that this is the most focused I have ever have been in my life (academically).

It's a weird feeling though, not interacting with people, sitting at this desk, actually getting work done... successfully avoiding procrastination for once. I think it'll take getting used to.

I don't finish until the 23rd, but at least after Sunday's exam I have a day or two to see my friends and enjoy real life before it's back to books again. I really hope this isn't how the rest of life plays out. I want to go out, see people, meet people, witness life. There's only so much observing and analyzing through books my mind can endure.

Happy birthday Ally.

This year you're finally free to celebrate.
No more hospitals and I.Vs.

I miss you.

Uncoordinated Limbs

Is it just me or do you find that when you most need to be stealthy and quiet in the house, you are your loudest?

Take late nights.... or 5 in the morning. Everyone in the house is asleep but for one reason or another I have to be awake at an ungodly hour. Sitting in my room, suddenly I feel the urge to get some water... or maybe I remember that I should go take my multi-vitamins... and so I tip-toe downstairs, working extra hard not to make any noise.

Finally, after getting myself down the steps and onto the first floor, I breathe a sigh of relief.

"Yes! I did it. I'm as stealthy as a cat."

Then as I walk up to the cabinet to get my bottle of pills, I hit my leg against a pot... or as I reach over to get a glass, it falls over and crashes down loudly against all the other ones.

"Fuck!!!" I mutter. By now any sense of stealthiness has long left my uncoordinated, uncontrollable limbs.

I reach over and get my bottle of pills. I open the child lock on it only for my hand to slip and for the lid to plump down loudly on the ceramic tiles, vibrating and turning with noise on the ground while I cringe and swear, waiting for it to stop.

By now I'm just pissed off. I take my pill, rinse my glass of water and make my way up the stairs, angry and annoyed at my own inability to run this late night errand without waking up the whole house.

Thankful.

I think we're a little too young to be worried about never finding someone.
Yes. I'm sure that is a fact.

Yet, lately I find myself upset over the fact that I can't find new, interesting people (guys) to talk to and to feel silly around.

I know, I know, this is me being my ridiculous self again. I don't want attention when I have it and when I do I shun it. How does that make sense?

It seems I guess that I only attract the kind of attention I want to shun. There have been people that were considered... but they're always a little insane and too busy dwelling in their own minds.

Then maybe it's time for me to start looking out for people who don't dwell in their own heads. I mean sure it's nice. Sure I love the conversations they can hit up... sure they're a lot less pretentious and a lot more intelligent.... but they don't seem thoughtful.

It's ironic really. They're always trapped with their own thoughts... yet they can't divert enough from them to be thoughtful towards someone else.

I have no idea what I'm writing all this for because even as I'm writing it makes no sense to me. I'm not looking for anyone. I'm just frustrated by the lack of people. Does that make sense?

**

Anyways, inspired by the 1000awesomethings blog, I'm going to start writing one thing that I'm thankful for at the end of every post. I don't think I'm thankful enough for the people and things around me.

Today I'm thankful for: the treadmill and elevating heart rates. :)

Assumptions.

Sitting at the table, with three guys I've known for years but barely know, I lose patience. They make me so utterly aware of the gap between men and women. How do we live together, how are we expected to last, when neither side understands the other?

I used to be a tomboy. I had no problems admitting it. I used to play soccer in the streets, the only girl on the team. I used to have best friends who were boys. I found them safer and more understanding. They were my refuge from the needless drama and cruelty girls inflict on one another.

But now, now it's like all of that has done a 360. Maybe it's our age. Maybe at 20, the differences between both sides are the most obvious. I don't know, maybe it's just me. Maybe I've changed too much.

Sitting with the three guys I barely know, they go on and on about sex. They talk about what pleases girls. They even say that sex is better for women. Sex is better because apparantly we're capable of having a million orgasms in a row.

I sit there awkwardly, but get frustrated by their ignorance. I try to tell them they can't make such assumptions. I try to tell them generalizations are stupid. Instead, I get bombarded with more assumptions.

"You're not experienced enough, you'll know one day."

I'm sorry, what? I wasn't aware I'd told you my sexual history. I wasn't aware you could tell tell by a glance what I've experienced in life.

This made me even more angry. Getting into a useless argument with them, I get more and more frustrated... until finally, tired of their fucked up assumptions, I say, "I have had sex before!"

This shuts them up. They look at eachother. The same guys who only minutes ago were talking openly about fucking women. Of course it's fine for them to talk about it, but the moment I, a woman, admit to having had sex, there's sudden silence. Then they start talking again.

Why are you all so shocked? Why is it so hard to believe?

"You just don't look like the type."

The type? What exactly is this "type?" Do people who have sex look a certain way? Do women who have sex have SLUT stamped across their forehead?

They try to correct themselves. They say that's not what they meant.

"You just seem like you're focused on school."

OF COURSE. God forbid I have sex. It must mean I'm not focused on school.

I left that conversation feeling angry and even disgusting. Their ignorance, their reactions, their condescending manner, and their complete utter sexism, had left me completely disoriented. I realized I can't stand these people. I can't stand this building, I can't stand the fake stupid facades everyone puts on.

I've never been much of a feminist, but this is not the first time something like this has happend. It seems the older I get, the more I realize just what we, as women, have to deal with for the rest of our lives. It upsets me, and yes, it even scares me. The only thing I can do is try to avoid people like them and to hope that somehow, someday men will grow up.

Awesome flu.

So I'd been exhausted and really just out of it for the past week. I attributed it to stupid midterms and assignments and not having had a weekend. Yesterday I came home and started feeling a lot crappier. By morning, I was coughing insanely. By afternoon I had a fever of 37.5 (my normal body temp is 36.8) and by evening i had a fever of 39 C. I don't know if I have regular flu or swine flu. The symptoms seem to be exactly the same and I seem to have all of them at once. D:

With the help of some Tylenols and Advil's and some cold water I'm down to 38.1 which is honestly such a huge difference. I can actually function a little.

I have a presentation tomorrow at 8:30 AM but called my professor and told him I was sick. He moved it to next week thankfully. I have to figure out how I'm gonna cover chapter after chapter of mgmt 2000 if my entire weekend is gonna be spent trying to get this fever down.

At least Schulich seems to be slightly accommodating with the situation.

I'm sorry I haven't gotten back to your emails Rebecca! I read them and loved them to bits. I just can't sit down in front of the computer for too long at a time right now.

Wish me luck!

Halloween.

It was around last year this time that I visited you for the last time.

You had decorated the door for Halloween. You said you didn't want to do it but that last minute you thought, hey, why not, you don't get to decorate for Halloween every day.

All your school books were piled up on your table. I even saw one of those practice books you probably bought to help you with first year calculus. You were busy sending emails back and forth with administration at university. You said the lady was really nice and helpful.

Beans played around with his toys trying to get your attention. I gave you the book I thought would help you pass some time.

Your dad came in with some sort of tea. It was as black as molasses. He asked me to make sure you drank it. You really didn't seem to want to.

When it was time for me to go, we hugged. We held on for longer than usual. Something felt different. Maybe it was that we both knew it would be the last time, maybe it was something else.

Your hair smelled like shampoo.

Shiny.

I love the few good friends I have. You know who you are.