Paperweight Canvas

Dreamweaver

2010-11-13T00:52:00.005-05:00

I'm really rattled up about this. I've never felt so out of hand with myself. I guess making a joke of it makes the impossibility more acceptable. Makes being so close but so far away so much easier to stomach. I feel like I'm making a mess of what could potentially be the greatest thing that ever happened to me. I somehow feel hopeful for the first time since I can remember. I think the world is just too critical and stuck in their heads that they don't know what passion is anymore. Society tends to put everything in too narrow a perspective for people to truly live by. It's about empathy, not morality. I would kill to live in a world which accepts peoples choices, sans judgment and unprecedented punishment. Alas, it's the 21st century. Wake the fuck up.

Laconism

2010-07-13T23:43:00.003-04:00

The birds whisper in the wind and I feel nothing. Not the wind or the snap of fallen branches. Not even the unsteady beat of my own heart; the single physicality that always woke me from my sleep. The days fall backwards, as though silence were the only earnest way to distinct one from the next, and some don't seem to move at all. The taunting laughter in the distance makes me comfortless, a feeble stone tossed among the trees that never grow. But I am not small, my veins still ripe with overgrown bravery, head full of lucrative potential. Scorn from what I can only reason as arbitrary dogma. The line has blurred where loneliness began and emptiness remained. I have grown too proud to turn to God, ineligible for his sustenance, too distant for amendment.

Grow up, Blow away.

2010-06-25T10:44:00.003-04:00

Please just decide how this is going to end

so I can stop waiting for it to begin.

Come Down Now

2009-12-12T11:40:00.002-05:00

It was a love I created wholly and entirely in my head. It could have been real at some point, it felt very real. I'm still stomaching the fact that almost five of the most essential years of my romantic life were spent subconsciously needing him. He was the one thing that insisted on healing the wounds he continually created. My anchor represents those scars, the ones he pulled open, the ones I picked. The details are endless, and everything I have of him is tucked neatly in letters and hard drives, nothing I can or plan to throw away. The pack rat excuse has gotten me nowhere. At this point I'm not waiting, just holding on. Grasping so tightly to an aesthetic, a fairytale sentiment. I know it isn't real, but it's like there is a part of me that will always have some undying hope that it was - that nothing will compare to how unconditional it felt. But we made it up, wrapped it in lyrics, and pretended with every solitary inch of naivety we had left. "Everything looks perfect from far away". We were so far away.

The Waiting Line

2009-11-19T02:23:00.005-05:00

Why can't you let me leave your life? Why have you prolonged this wait? Do you know that it leads to nowhere? Have you always known? How does "us" still possibly exist? After everything? Why do you expect me to watch as you give them the whims you etched in me? Am I only just in case? Did your love slowly fade? Do you miss me when the ocean hits your eyes? Do you know how much I miss you when I'm trapped beneath the skyline? Will you ever set me free? Do you think about how young we must have been? How naive? Do I get to keep your name? Whose smile is backstage? Who stands in line? Where do we go from here? Who gets left behind? Can it not be me this time?

Leo

2009-11-17T00:50:00.005-05:00

Somewhere minutes away there is a meteor shower,
Jupiter fragments. I wonder how his hair would smell,
when his ocean eyes would crash right through me. The tickle of peaceful breathing, popcorn ceilings. Minutes away, the sky is falling.

At the bottom

2009-11-12T02:25:00.003-05:00

The stagnation of each day is something I have grown used to, the dullness that has virtually entangled itself into the core of my soul. I miss how delicate I once was, how charming reassurances swept me off my feet. Am I truly bored with all and everything? Or is it something more unsound? If there were any real reasons to put faith in, I would give them to him. Being hurt meant being loved, and the downfall meant there was something to dwindle from. I am stuck in this place where existence is indolent, life is tedious at best. There is no way of pinpointing when the goosebumps left my skin, when all of life's aesthetic value became tarnished. My books don't read the same, my mind does not wander to any solitary place. The muses get by through slips of memory, souvenirs of my sentiment. I could be doing and feeling so much more than this, not wasting away in the aftermath of surrender. At the very least I can admit to that - I wholeheartedly gave up. I am lingering between having learned a lifetime of lessons and finding the means to use them. The past is my southern comfort, it is blinding and hopeful. Yet it makes no exception to the things I have become introspectively isolated from. I miss the tragic, naive, bittersweet, trusting, unusual, ignorant, sincere shell of a girl that needed nothing more than a notebook and well-grounded hope. Why has she gone where I cannot follow?

There Is

2009-10-22T15:33:00.003-04:00

The regret never quite sunk in, it sort of faded in the belief that he would be back someday. It felt as though there had never been as much promise in anything as there was in the love I had for him. Hopeless to his every word, weak for the life I thought he would give me. There is this realm of waiting that I stood in for so long, and in it I only made room for him. He never showed up. I stayed in a trust absolutely blinded by adoration, certainty. Somewhere in the pit of my logic, I knew he'd never come. But at that point, I would rather have been waiting all my life for him than spend a moment of it pretending to love somebody else. I became incapable. Only now do I see how make-believe it all was, how I made him an anchor to my life, holding it still and in place. A piece of me has accepted never to find a love as unconditional as ours, the rest of me fears it never truly existed.

Heavy Heart

2009-10-09T00:10:00.002-04:00

I wonder what love is. The way it tickles, pricks. Makes you known to senses you weren't even sure existed. The sensitivity your skin begins to know, with the grazing of an arm, a mere glance can send numbness to cover your entire soul. Turning red, hit the ceiling. Sometimes it's not always easy to tell the way you love someone. There are instances where you say it, even to yourself, and you know you mean it. But the rest of the time, when you're not caught up in that person in that moment, it doesn't really seem true anymore. But sometimes it is. I wonder what it means to know real love, because what is built in my head is only a whimsical hope. It was never anything more. I look at him from across a room and with every bone in my body feel safer than a child in its mothers arms. There is a completeness to my smile when he draws it on my face. One I hate, but can't help but love - mostly for what it's worth. I didn't know much about sincerity until I began to see how much he means every word. How every time we touch, I don't feel so alone in the universe anymore.

Let Go

2009-08-02T14:10:00.006-04:00

"Don't let the imaginary person in your head

keep you from loving the real one right in front of you."

Blindfolds Aside

2009-07-30T01:09:00.005-04:00

I watch people in the ways their lives shape around the greater significance of what has grown to be important. There is so little morality in the changing of ways. When a person discovers the sincerity of being in love is it wrong to reject their naivety? They will call it jealousy, deem it selfish. Sometimes it is. Secretly we hope that somewhere along the lines there is a place that will leave all of the lovers in the world to weep alone, flashing them memories of all that once was. Can anybody really keep it? Are we truly jealous of those who find the love we were all promised? How can it even begin to exist, is what I wonder most. Are we simpleminded enough to believe utter dependance may last a lifetime, do we need nothing else? The preciousness in being smitten is somewhat overruled by the fact that human nature is selfish. We find our 'other half' and every stepping stone that made us whole in the first place all of a sudden becomes a burden to this undying love. Enter love, exit reality. We only see these holes too late. By then we're in the corners of our own world, weeping at the best of times. I would like to apologize to every stepping stone I may have cast aside. Love means absolutely nothing when it casts the world aside, nothing when it is not selfless.

keep your enemies closer

2009-04-19T22:31:00.002-04:00

So he says, right? Well, he says a lot of things. They're there to make you melt, because they will, if you're not strong. Too big a part of me knows better than to fall for the things everyone else falls for. Competition is not my key trait, I cringe and shudder at the thought. It's the simplicity, I guess. The awareness that this all just fits together. Perfection. The bigger crock of shit on the planet, and we all fell for it. Somewhere between the novels and movies and media frenzy we were all trying to love or hate - we lost. We got sucked into the ideals of a screen, a song. Now the Seth Cohen's of the world have something better to exist for besides comic books and video games. It's like this because one day the guy your parents picked on in high school actually went somewhere in life by writing a hit, teen drama. Because he saw your parents, and noted every stupid thing they cared about, every unsolved relationship they were in. The only difference was, as a graphic novel loving wallflower - he never fit in. So he created a version of himself that could score the Summer Roberts' of our time. Enter indie rock.

He is...

2009-03-16T02:08:00.008-04:00

"I feel invincible"

Like Lucy in the sky. That was the majority of my weekend, who I was anyway. There's something restless that will eat at me for days, and I was hoping it could disappear somewhere here, with him. I bet the walrus weights so much, but we'd love him anyway. You're only as high as you fall. I would bet my life on that. The way we tangle, and fit. The way a kiss is always a little more than just that, the cheesiness of it all. There is still this wall of something. Like strength almost, because after today I might need it.

Don't be naive, and don't forgive. Please don't let me learn that lesson again. I don't want to walk into disappointment, I don't want to know its meaning anymore. Let me forget what it feels like to be cut down by the one thing you trusted to keep you up. Don't be like me. I would love to keep you in bed all day, soaked in dreams and perspired knees. But I can't promise to ever know where to put you afterwards. You can be the hallelujah in my mattress, but outside of it I can barely fit into my own skin. I want you to feel like the king of every sense and blood vessel. Every nerve. I would make love to you until the pillows didn't shade the sun, until clocks learned to work. Baby, with time you will see how well I can break. But the scariest part is realizing how well I could break you. A task that will go forever undone. Just keep me in your blankets, away from your past.

"I love you, always. Time is nothing"

2009-03-09T14:09:00.007-04:00

I almost find it sad, the way writers instinctually feel as though everyone likes being written about. I mean, that isn't my purpose of posting, just a mere case and point thing. You can't assume someone wants you to rip open your feelings about them on page, but you do it, because it's all you know how to do really. All I really know how to do is write, and not even significantly, or at least consistently well.

Some days its hard to breath without it, others it's impossible to imagine ever having it at all. They all knew somehow, even when I didn't. They knew where my head was, my heart, I guess. I wonder if it's all that obvious anymore. I like to pretend that monumental perfection wouldn't exist anywhere beyond where it is now. What could have been always seems a lot better than what is.

I wish I'd let myself be cut open again. I wish someone would try as hard. I wish I found happiness in the utterance of my name, comfort in the way someone could stay all night. I wish the granted I'd taken could come back to feed me, but once you bite that hand it isn't likely to return in your favor. I forget how to sleep now.

when you smile

2009-03-01T03:06:00.006-05:00

I have found the core of ignorance, the best manageable way of pretending something never happened. There is a place you get in your life where it just isn't about you anymore, where shit actually matters and what you say and do is attached to strings. He will pull on them as hard as he can until you forget what'll happen to the other side if you bend at all his way. I cannot cut these strings. They are held with such unexpected graces that risking them with no option is painful itself.

Why now? Why when there is so much to lose no matter where I turn. I don't want to hurt you anymore. Least of all do I want my happiness to be the cause. I wake up, terrified of my own skin, scared of how well my wall will choose to crack today. I'm weak in the strongest of ways. I need that trust again, the solemn instance where my life is set so concretely that being myself is all left to do.

I bend backwards for all of you. I bend to fit wherever your smile is, because I don't know how to hurt anyone that may save me someday. No one ever broke it down like him, at least not where I was aware enough for it to scare me. I never knew what fragile meant. "You must risk being completely cut open", and the risk alone has led to my fear of such things. He admitted that he could, that he might, that he likely.

Everyone needs everything in the way that it doesn't need them. It's science almost. The hope of want is unbearable. The want in skin and lips and nerves. Goddamn I'm nervous, so much lately. How do I react with your hands pressed into your eyes and your words hanging desperately in my silence. How do I know what to say to the one thing I'd never expected to hear, the one thing you knew could make me think. "I say that I don't think you're happy, because I hope you're not happy". That was the only warning, from then on you knew the questions would pour, you knew I'd have to hear it.

My head is gone away from you, it forgot and it lost whatever it had. You're so good at making me believe you, the mind trick of how I feel about you. It isn't there, there is something else for me and it's great. It's really fucking great. Please don't take that away, please.

like it's supposed to

2009-02-26T02:06:00.003-05:00

So I'm here, I'm here and it's crazy and ridiculous and my mind has got ahold of me. There is no downhill or uphill, there is this stagnant place I'm begging to keep. Every day is really cold, every day I'm wanting so badly of a future where I can be warmed by my own love. A confidence in someone else. There is no pretender to my happiness, no lie that can be told for it. I'm happy, I guess. Or at least I have this burning potential to be, but my cynical existence of the past while still has a grasping hold on my wall to stay up. He's breaking it down, piece by piece, and I'm not sure I'm okay with where they may take me. This is not safe. I am not safe missing him.

disaster area

2009-01-08T21:18:00.003-05:00

Right now, I wish this could be my diary, my story. But this past week I have throttled into the paranoia of jinx. By that, I mean if I am to explain to people, or merely type the upside of anything going on that it will take on my usual luck and turn to a piece of unicorn shit. So I'm stuck, you know? In telling you everything or nothing at all. I am the happiest and most terrified I've been in a very long time, so let me pace myself. But on the awful side of things, school starts again Monday. Also, I came to concrete realization about myself. It's sad, really. I'd rather be afraid of a man than afraid of losing him.

Just Visiting

2009-01-05T03:51:00.008-05:00

"You ever meet someone and just feel like, less alone in the universe?"

"Yes"

"I feel like I've been wasting my time on every other girl". That was it. There were so many different levels of serenity that had me, but that one I'll remember. It's the point in time when you realize what actually fucking matters. Where you separate the bullshit from the unbreakable smile currently residing on your face. It just happens, or it doesn't. This is the moment where I don't see how it can't.

I still love you lying down

2008-12-31T03:39:00.007-05:00

I'm looking at the wrong map, this is bullshit. Sick and tired crap. God dammit, I've been listening to all the wrong music all at the same time. You'll open my eyes to whatever my ears don't want to see. Man this is really fucked up, you're really fucked up. And better yet it does no fucking good. No musical inclination or literary goddess. Holy shit I'm cracking up. STOP thinking. Be your own, whatever the fuck you want. Well maybe, dear artist with no leash, you are exactly what I fucking want and the girl I hate to be can't tell you that. I'm only her when you're around. I swear you'd love me any other way. But she is mine. I trapped her in my nervousness and saved her to pay my debts. She is the hold, lock, shut. She is the fear in your faded footsteps, she is the obligation in your goodbye kiss. The only thing I ever knew how to do was be in love and stay in love and make people believe I was actually in nauseating love. Man, what I'd kill to have me back. Men are like dogs, but only really in the way that they can sense your fear. At least mine. It was one thing I could never hide. To be the girl so unafraid of how this all is supposed to go. To be the one who doesn't walk away when you kiss her cheek and wrap yourself inside of her. I don't know what it means. After the nothings and the too many somethings. I can't tell who is who or which is what anymore. I am nothing, a ghost of love I'd kill to give. Love too strong for the men in my bed.

the more I say, the less you'll think

2008-12-28T14:10:00.010-05:00

"I just want time to be myself, to fuck around. You know, before I have to take care of someone else"

"But, that is who I am"

I'm reading this Hemmingway book called "The Sun Also Rises" and honestly it's never something I would have continued past the first page had it not been Trevor who recommended it. It's solidly written, but I can see quite clearly why his literary style is so controversial. Half the time the book makes absolutely no sense, and it's as though that's the point. The fact that it's dated back to the 40s or something doesn't make the language any simpler to comprehend. But I've caught on and I'm actually enjoying it, however, there is a love in it I don't understand yet. Some forbidden nature between two characters who openly yearn for each other. I'm scared to find out why they cannot be together, and the cynical nature of the book tells me such circumstances aren't going to change. I'm not asking for a happy ending, I just don't really want to handle the one I'm afraid of in my own life.

Yesterday Dan told me I should stop thinking, and just do. You know, the advice of a lifetime you can never really follow. He says when I think, I convince myself that whatever I have isn't what I'm looking for, but if I stop I'll realize that it probably is. I mean, it's a vague assumption at best, but it's true. I realized this about sex. Of course that wasn't at all what the conversation was about, but last night I had some sort of epiphany on it that happened to involve some explicit activity. No matter the who or the where or the why; sex is always another thought process. I can barely count the times I've allowed myself to be devoured in pure physicality, sober anyway. Last night I realized, the only time I can really enjoy sex, is when the foreplay isn't about myself. When I'm focused on making him feel good, my mind is off in that concentration, and the joy I get in having the ability to do that. And then, and really only then, when he is so out of control that the only thing he craves is sex, can I let myself go. It works in and the same on the basis of emotional relationships.

Anyway, after an eight and a half hour shift on boxing day I went to smoke with Ben and his friends from Scarborough. Than around one we went back to my place and watched 'Heathers', but I kept drifting in and out of sleep. Than after work yesterday I came back to Toronto to hangout with Trev. He finally fixed my guitar and got exceedingly happy about it, so taking advantage of his good mood I made him learn 'Sink, Florida, Sink' and 'Play Crack the Sky'. By that I mean showed him the tabs and he learned it within five seconds of seeing them. We watched 'The Last Waltz', which is a dvd about The Band's final show featuring Neil Young, Bob Dylan, Janice Joplin, Eric Clapton, etc. I was thoroughly impressed, but I'd still argue that it isn't comparable to Woodstock (which yes, I did get for Christmas). So yeah, the usual, I will leave out the bedroom details in fear of who may read this.

"People have to really suffer before they can risk doing what they love."

2008-12-25T04:58:00.006-05:00

I know I just posted, and well, this one isn't really much about Christmas; though knowing me it could quite possibly turn onto that topic, hence it being Christmas day and all. I need a new direction. In life, in whatever the fuck I'm doing. It's 5 a.m. and really the only hour logic consumes me and I feel like myself, or the person I'm content being. The free one. I guess that's why journalism made sense, in the fine words of one of my professors, journalists don't have business hours. In fact, writers aren't exactly sleepers. But this structure, this going out and writing what the people want to hear, this building up; this isn't what I want. I grew up in a family that didn't follow any order, my parents didn't go to college. Now I see them and despite their good financial state, they have no organization, there were never any goals. My mom works a 9 to 5 job, she likes it well enough, but what does that even mean? I've read the stories she wrote in high school, I've seen the pictures of her as a gymnast and how inconceivably good she was at both. But she was in a rush to live, she found love and had kids and stuck out the rough patches. I had an unbelievable childhood. I'd be a liar to say I wouldn't love to just quit this all and be free from the structural chains. I hate that to do what I love for the rest of my life means going through four years of something I hate. I'm not cut out for school, I know that, I have always known that. But I'm good at it. When I want to be. The motive isn't there, I'm only here because this is where everyone with intellect goes, I am torturing myself for proof that I'm just as good. I am the first and probably the only in my family to be going to college, and the people and even the program is great. My brother is so smart, and he's wasted it on alcohol and having the world handed to him. I know I will never waste what I have, I would never throw away my love for art and literature, but does that really have to mean I must follow what everyone considers to be achievement? Writing a book while my baby naps and my husband plays his guitar sounds like fucking achievement to me. And you know what is really, truly, sad? That it sounds like naivety to everyone else. But there is always better. The poet from Ryerson structures their words a little more gracefully, the director a more clever thought, the photographer a clearer eye. So they sell more books, their commercial airs a few seconds longer, they afford a better lens. One day I would love to wake up and just do it. One day just go out and throw my talents at companies and see what the fuck happens. The greatest writers never studied Shakespeare. I'm as good as I want the world to see, not where their systems place me. Why bother with the stress of numbers and times? Because I don't want to be the seed of judgement, the one people can pretend they are better than because their number was higher. Never in my life have I made someone feel low just because a system told me I was better than they were. I can't conceive it. Maybe you think I'm lazy because I don't know how to fit into a place where you go to decide your future. I'm not looking for a shortcut, I'm just not looking to have every change of mind cost me thousands. When I think out loud in reference to why I'm here, they say "because you're good at it". No, I'm just half decent at a lot of things, I'm only good at what I love. I do not love this. Working for a newspaper for a few years, being the pest, following the schedules of wherever the action is; it isn't what I want. I'm here because one day I was reading a music magazine that has literally changed my life and all I could think is how fucking outstanding it would be to someday write whatever the hell I want about whatever band I want, or movie or anything. To have my opinion matter, or acknowledged by some punk ass teenagers who don't give a shit about anything else. To have my career be part of the easygoing scene of music, or something like it. But I accepted somewhere that if I were lucky I'd be writing online for some stupid Toronto newspaper with editors that fuck lead singers for interviews. I mean, shit, if I had this attitude all the time I'd be golden, but by morning the structure is going to eat me alive and I'm going to forget why I even bothered with questioning. So they give you awards, they give you grades they say represent something publishable. Guess what? They give those to me too, when I care enough. I am so far from jealous that it eats me alive. Because this loathe for the people that eat up the fact that they know they've done better, it's there to prove that I stand completely aware of their misconception of what better is. I'm not a goddamn journalist, I'm not an author and I'm certainly not a photographer. I'm a writer, I love art and I try my damn hardest to create it. Of course it isn't any better than yours, the reason for that is that no matter how hard you try, I'm never going to care as much as you do. I do not care how good structure believes I am. If it counts for anything at all, I am not trying to punish anyone. I am not placing the blame of my hatred towards ideals onto any given person place or thing. People live their lives as best they can and I am so happy for the majority that can do that the way they were taught to. I am not stuck between a family of no structure and a life I was meant to lead. I've just always belonged in the middle, without choice, without decision. Now it's my turn to really decide and I won't because being between never meant moving, not until now. I miss acting, I miss directing, I miss designing; I miss everything I won't ever be. The reason; I am too fucking afraid of my certainty that the world will tell me that there's better. But man was I good. There's somewhere I really need to be, there is someplace and someone that will help me prove the world my head created wasn't just the stupid idea of an artist. I am not waiting for the boy with the guitar to sweep me away and pay the bills. I'm not a blathering idiot heading nowhere. I am someone who wants to do something beyond the books, but refuses to do that if it means making the people trying to be the same thing feel lesser about themselves. I literally refuse to become the sort of person that made me hate what I once loved. Maybe I'll never reach any of this, but trying can only get me somewhere different. Somewhere else. Somewhere I need to be.

Anyway, Merry Christmas.

my headache

2008-12-24T18:42:00.002-05:00

I don't remember the last thing I posted, it's irrelevant anyway. This week I know I haven't noted anything on the day Connor and Dan decided to destroy my bedroom and take me to down a bottle of wine when I worked the next day. It was fun, though, to say the least.

Last night Ben came to pick me up in the God awful weather (not that I have a single resentment towards the snow itself, just driving conditions aren't exactly preferable). We went back to Scarborough, went to Tim Hortons, where I got my first encounter of a sketchy homeless guy lying on a table. Once we got to the mall I decided I wanted to see a more cheerful movie, so Four Christmases didn't start until 9:55 and it was about 7 at latest. We walked around the mall for what seemed like forever, and despite my dreadful headache I really enjoyed it. Scarborough Town is actually decent if not, dare I say, good. After a long wait we went to see the movie, which wasn't half bad, and back to Tim's. Where we established, despite the storm, he'd drive me home. Really because Ben is a sweetheart and wouldn't ever have me take the bus. Anyway, I had a really nice time and it sort of makes up for my potentially lonely Christmas.

Tonight my brother and I are going to drink up for the holiday, and if I can convince him, watch Titanic. Merry Christmas if I don't get back for a few days!

let it snow

2008-12-19T15:58:00.003-05:00

Seriously, the ground is covered and despite the complaints coming from every direction, I'm stoked. White Christmas? Hopefully. Anyway, there's been a load of nothing going on the past couple days. Yesterday I worked mostly, got my Christmas shopping completely done, and came home to watch t.v. and wrap. The bus driver at Yorkdale was a complete and utter dick, I usually just make it, so I always have exact change and just buy my ticket on the bus. Well when I tried to do so he coarsely told me "Go buy it in the station like everyone else", and when I rushed to do so he pulled away, leaving me to wait an hour for the next bus. Not to mention, I was wearing a santa hat for pissing out loud.

Anyway, due to the storm today I called into work and they said it was cool if I didn't come in. So I spent the past three hours 'napping', after being up so late photoshopping. Now I'm gonna go get ready for dinner with my old friends from here and be classy and drink wine.

hello cityscape

2008-12-18T01:01:00.002-05:00

After a dreadful and forced rising, I trained it to meet Trevor at Union. We shopped from about 2 until 6 and I was actually thoroughly productive, even though it meant dragging him into stores I'd spend an hour looking through. Apparently the boy is girlfriend trained because he never complained. So I got myself some new guitar strings and pegs, which means a functioning acoustic! Also I bought Ryan some H&M stuff and my mom a purse, and Dan a belt buckle I'm hoping he'll dig. So I only have a few more gifts to go. The best part of it all, I got Starbucks. Rexdale kind of deprives me of such things. Today I came to the difficult acceptance that I'm really all Starbucks coffees and pricey thrift shops.

I don't feel any different

2008-12-17T03:06:00.003-05:00

I'm home again, and for the first time it feels something like it. The comfort of a cornered gray room, Christmas lights and vinyl and prime acoustics. I'm starving, and now starting to realize what was with the drastic weight loss when I lived here. It isn't the laziness of going upstairs, more the lack of wanting to distract from what I'm doing. Which of course is nothing. The second is started to snow the warmth in the room really surrounded me, I'll never quite get that contrast of ideas.

Tomorrow I'm going Christmas shopping with Trevor, well sort of. He's the spawn of the Grinch. But I haven't been to Toronto in awhile, so in hope that there's still snow on the ground and it isn't all slush, I'm excited. I really need to get productive.

Anyway, I'm not in the mood to blog right now. But I figured this might encourage me to start up on it. Goodnight, dear void.