monday morning

i overslept by about an hour, but that’s okay because my mind and body totally needed the extra rest.

outside, sunny skies and crisp temperatures. the morning hum well underway.

i quickly got dressed, slid into my tevas and headed out. no time for breakfast yet; first-thing-in-the-morning power-walks on days like today are always fantastic, so the sooner i hit the sidewalks the better.

pause. deep breath. cool breeze. fall in the air. wasps circling the pavement. menacingly, because they’re evil. step carefully.

i chose the shady side of the street, the cityscape laid out before me in the distance. a perfect vanishing point.

5km to the downtown core. past schools and stores and hotels and apartments and bridges and restaurants and folks walking dogs. 45 minutes.

i stopped at NPS, stood in line to drop off my TIFF order, then ran a few quick errands before getting on the subway towards home.

finished everything in two hours and walked through my door, satisfied.

breakfast always tastes so much better with a half-done to-do list for the day already under your belt.

still sleepy

please refer to the comments section on yesterday's entry to find out why the sleep monster and i failed to rendezvous last night.

we did cross paths briefly this afternoon, as i watched DVDs and did laundry in my parents' basement, but i steadfastly refused to nap... believing that i would store up my slumber for tonight.

and, right now, it seems to be working. it's 9:30pm and i'm about thisclose to heading to bed.

so, in lieu of an actual entry tonight, please enjoy a musical interlude instead.

mmmmnam nam nam,,, sleepy

an early rising + a full day of manual labour + a fantastic burger and yukon-gold fries for dinner + a delicious mint-chip ice cream cone from ed's for dessert + a hot shower + jimjams + some saturday night TV = a wonderful night's sleep.

one hopes.

a brain whisper

every now and again, i’m reminded that there are various planes of consciousness on which we operate. sometimes, we live in a “what you see is what you get” state, where we’re aware solely of whatever’s right there in front of us and nothing more. but, other times, there’s some part of us, way way way deep down, that’s living and breathing and observing on a whole separate wavelength. it’s the part of us that informs “intuition” or “déjà vu” or a sixth sense.

yesterday, i went to my nearby grocery store to pick up a few things. it was relatively early in the morning, the air was crisp, the skies were clear and i felt invigorated by the weather. as i walked through the produce section, i had this strange feeling that i might run into someone i know while shopping. i looked around, didn’t see any familiar faces, and carried on through the carrots and leeks.

i stopped at the pharmacy to drop off a prescription and discuss dispensing fees with the pharmacist. i browsed snacks, grabbed a bottle of grape pop and made my way to the blissfully empty check-out area.

i stood in the express lane and waited. in front of me was a slim young woman, back to me, with shoulder-length red hair.

that was the sole defining feature of hers that i could see.

and – for the briefest of flashes, for no discernable reason and like a faint whisper from my brain – i thought of one of my former neighbours at hell house.

she’d lived on my floor for a couple of years, was pleasant and quiet, and moved out shortly after the nightmare tenants began arriving. we’d pass each other on the stairs or in the hallway every now and again, and trade horror stories about the building, and yet i can’t remember her name. the last time i saw her was maybe three and a half years ago.

anyway, the red-haired girl completed her purchase, gathered her bags and started to leave. i directed my attention to the cashier, who was ringing in my items.

“hey, you used to live in my building!” came an excited voice.

i looked over and the red-haired girl had turned around to face me.

it was, indeed, my former neighbour.

whoa.

“i thought i recognized you when you were over at the drug store,” she said. “and at first i couldn’t figure out where i knew you from, but then i remembered: the apartment!”

we briefly updated each other on our new homes, and how nice it is not to live in terror anymore, remarked at the odd coincidence of running into each other and then went our separate ways.

i was kind of stunned, frankly. there’s no way, based on where i was standing or what i’d seen of her or how little i remembered about what she looked like, that i could have known she was who she was. no WAY. hell house is way across town, and this former neighbour (at the time) was moving to another apartment near there, so it’s not like i had any idea she lived in my current area.

yet, obviously, some part of me recognized her on an unconscious level. like my energy recognized her energy somehow. i don’t know how, but it did.

and it was totally freaky and bizarre.

but cool.

one of the reasons i love "scrubs"...

a random non-encounter + teenage art

earlier this afternoon i was on the subway, standing near a doorway, when two teenagers -- a tall, lanky boy with shaggy hair, and a petite odd-looking girl who clearly has a crush on him -- moved beside me to excitedly look out the windows as we crossed over a bridge overlooking the don valley.

he was telling her to look down at something he'd made. he said you could only see it from high up, that it would be on the soccer field way below the tracks, but he worried that they might not be able to see it from the subway car.

and, alas, they didn't. he wouldn't tell her what it was that she would have seen, but he'd promised something like "massive hilarity" or some other weirdly pretentious-sounding combination of adjectives. i was actually disappointed that his creation was obscured by the tracks, and wondered what it could be. oh well.

two hours later, i was walking back across that same bridge, heading in the opposite direction towards home, and i remembered the mysterious soccer-field art. so, as i neared the spot on the bridge that overlooks the pitch, i stopped, went to the edge and peered over to see if i could maybe see whatever was there to be seen.

i should have known.

below me, mowed into the grass, was an enormous outline of a penis.

all the old familiar places

familiarity breeds contempt. or, at least, that’s how the saying goes. and, when it comes to TIFF and me, that’s certainly been the case the past few years.

but this year i’m going back to basics, drastically slashing the number of films i’m seeing – partly due to budgetary constraints, and partly because i’m still smarting from the hellish experience i had at the fest in 2008. and it’s kind of refreshing!

by the time TIFF ended last year, we were barely speaking. i was ready to break up with the festival that i loved for nearly two decades, and all set to walk away without giving it another chance. it was thisclose to being over between us.

today, though, when i got up early and embarked on a very brisk 45-minute walk to the box office to pick up my program book and schedule, i began to feel a long-lost sense of excitement. the optimism was still a little cautious, but my mood was definitely buoyant. as i approached the line-up, and saw the familiar faces of fellow fest-goers, i started to get all nostalgic.

i thought about festivals gone by, and the process that lay ahead, and the theatres, and the line-ups, and the curious people i'd no doubt meet, and the festival friends i'd encounter amid the film-going. and i suddenly felt completely at home. proud of my veteran status. eager to return to this familiar world.

maybe it’s the fact that i know i won’t have to try to schedule 35 films over nine days, or the fact that seeing fewer movies means i’ll be much less harried and hurried when the festival unspools, or maybe it’s just that the adrenaline that accompanies TIFF is already starting to seep into my veins.

dunno.

but i felt quite happy as i headed home and began to pore over films. this is the feeling that i missed last year and the year before, and i'm glad it returned.

going into lockdown

lately, i've felt a little scrambled. or a lot scrambled, depending on the day.

like i'm making mistakes. more than usual. and that, in trying to fix those mistakes, i wind up making more.

i feel this growing sense of anxiety and uncertainty, and i don't know why or where it's coming from.

like something's not right, but i don't know what.

and part of me thinks that, until i get a handle on everything and figure some stuff out, i need to go into something of an emotional lockdown.

that i need to keep things to myself, and work on getting life sorted on my own instead of looking outwards for answers or approval.

because i know i already have the answers.

somewhere.

and i know the only true approval i need of myself and what i do is my own.

but remembering that is hard sometimes.

wandering in old hallways

i have recurring dreams about hell house.

they're not really nightmares, per se, though some are scary. and they're not exactly whimsical reveries, either. sort of a strange, somewhat eerie, consistently unnerving middle ground.

and they’re always the same in nature:

in the dreams, i no longer live at hell house – i’m conscious of this in the dreams, and know that i now live quite happily in my current apartment. but, in the dreams, i’m always going back to hell house (filled with reluctance) to get the last few items out of my old place... which, inexplicably, i've left there for some reason. sometimes the building in the dream is the actual hell house building; other times, the exterior is some foreign structure but i know it to be hell house.

the overall feeling in the dreams is always one of anxiety, dread and discomfit. in the dreams, i don’t want to go back to hell house, i feel afraid and i always wonder how or why i could have forgotten [insert item(s) i’m retrieving here]. i make my way into the building, and sometimes the hallways are the same as i remember them being in real life – stark, empty and mildly forboding. other times, the hallways in my dreams are bustling, foreign, filled with frightening strangers... and i rush to the door of what used to be my home, quickly closing it behind me.

in my dreams, i always still have the key to my old place.

once inside, the apartment varies in appearance from dream to dream. sometimes it’s almost empty, with just a few random items scattered around. other times, it’s fully furnished. in one dream, the inside of the apartment was actually this gorgeous, palatial, expensive, professionally decorated extravaganza with a deck and a pool and a kitchen the size of a small country.

regardless, some of my things are always still in it, as though i never really finished moving out and am returning to finally do so. yet, in every one of these dreams, i find myself in my old apartment, dripping with anxiety, and completely baffled as to how to get my things out. there’s always an unsettling sense of “why is my stuff STILL HERE? why didn’t i take it with me when i left?” seeping into my consciousness, and a profound feeling of helplessness about the entire situation.

and i always wake up, or the dream ends, with me still in the apartment. still trying to figure out what to do. still feeling uneasy.

last night, i had another one of those dreams. this time, the apartment building was hell house, and the halls were empty, and my apartment was the same as the way it existed in actuality. but when i got inside, the living room was fully furnished, just as it had been when i lived there, though the bedroom was completely empty. in the dream, i knew that someone else was living there now.

i went into the kitchen and opened the fridge and saw it filled with someone else’s food. and i wondered how quickly i’d have to gather my things – including big red, which was still right there – before the new tenants came home. i then found myself in the bathroom, staring into the mirror and trying not to cry.

then i woke up.

i have no idea what these dreams mean, but i keep having them. sometimes they come in clusters, and i’ll have two or three in a matter of weeks. other times, months will pass between them.

a dream-analysis expert friend of mine once took a stab at explaining my subconscious wanderings, and she said that a home/house in our dreams represents our lives. me going back to my former apartment to gather something i’d forgotten so that i can finish moving out represents me clinging to some part of myself that i really need to release... and that whatever it is that i’m afraid to let go of is something that brings me (in my actual life) the same feelings of fear, dread, anxiety and helplessness that hell house brings me in my dreams.

she theorized hat i need to release whatever that thing is in order for me to move on emotionally or psychologically in my waking life.

but i’m not sure what it is. or how to let it go.

so i will continue wandering those hallways until i do, i suppose...

ow

here's what i've learned thus far this weekend:

installing laminate flooring is an exhausting, painful and hugely satisfying undertaking.

my legs, back, shoulders, arms and neck are all killing me, and my knees look like someone took to them with a baseball bat... but the floors in YB's basement sure are pretty.

this is also why i loathe hot and humid weather: violent thunderstorms

toronto and southwestern ontario had a really rough evening. severe thunderstorms rolled through between about 6:00pm and 8:30pm, and brought with them tornados (?!), power outages and plenty of damage. thankfully, my neighbourhood is fine, and so is the area where YB and my parents live. but... wow.

this is what the storm looked like when it rolled into downtown.

and these are some photos and video of the aftermath.

this is why i loathe hot and humid weather

my apartment is 30ºC.

my hair is a disaster, regardless of products.

i am sweaty all the time.

i am uncomfortable all the time.

i have to put a towel on the couch so i can sit on it and watch TV without sweating all over my furniture.

then again, i have to limit my TV viewing because the set heats up and then heats the apartment further.

i have no appetite.

cookies and crackers and chips go stale within five minutes of being out of their packages.

anything i take out of the fridge promptly develops an ever-expanding puddle of condensation at its base.

my toothpaste is warm.

my shampoo is warm.

my sheets are warm.

my floors are warm.

i am WAY too warm.

back to the chateau it is...

leaving the chateau

today is the last day of my heat-wave stay at chateau beatrix. temperatures have dropped to a more manageable “really warm” from “scorching,” and i need to go back to my apartment tonight to open all the windows so that the steamy, stuffy air that’s been trapped within it might be blown out or away. then, tomorrow, it’s supposed to rain.

it’s been a nice stay.

when YB moved in here, and i saw how old the house was and spotted all the cracks and crevices through which all manner of mother nature’s six- and eight-legged creatures might crawl, i thought there’d be no WAY i’d ever stay overnight here in summer. but i saw nary an insect for the duration of my four days here, despite weather that would send even the hardiest creature scurrying towards coolness. dunno whether they decided to cut me some slack or what, but it was a pleasant surprise.

i’ve had cake for breakfast, enjoyed fresh homemade meals for dinner, and napped frequently.

i actually managed to get a heap of writing done today. likely because i rebuffed the sleep monster’s persistent advances earlier and actually stayed awake. it was a LOT of work for what will be very little money, but i can’t really be choosy at this point. and i’m grateful for the deadline-induced productivity. but now i have a throbbing headache, and i can’t take anything for it because i'm currently experiencing some unpleasant intestinal distress of unknown origin, and pain relievers will only exacerbate the problem.

my visit’s been quite tranquil and fun. it’s nice to watch TV at night and have someone with whom to watch. i think i re-hooked YB on BB.

the neighbourhood is so picturesque and quiet during the day that it just makes you want to sit on the deck with an iced tea and do nothing but watch the stillness. you know, if it hadn’t been so blazing hot and humid, i mean.

sleepovers are good.

hangin' with the 'monster

i’ve been staying at YB’s for the past couple of days because toronto has turned into a sauna… a cauldron of steaming soup… a giant skillet on which its citizens are frying… and trix’s house has air conditioning. i’m extremely grateful for the accommodations and am quite content to remain at the chateau while she’s at work, even though i’m essentially trapped on a suburban island.

while here, i’ve encountered a curious phenomenon: it seems that THIS is where the sleep monster hangs out during the day.
who knew?

every day that i’ve been here, i’ve succumbed to the sleep monster very quickly and for long periods of time right in the middle of the day. yesterday, i got up in the morning, checked my email, turned on Regis & Kelly… and then fell asleep for TWO HOURS. i wound up having breakfast at almost noon!

today? sat down on the couch just after 3pm and, within about two minutes, felt that familiar haze settling on my brain. i grabbed a knitted blanket, fluffed myself a pillow, stretched out and napped... for almost an hour and a half.

now, i know i hadn’t been sleeping well for the days leading up to my chateau visit, so it’s entirely possible that my body is just recharging and sneaking in extra slumber whenever it can.

but i know it’s the monster. and i’m fine with its off-hours handiwork.

haiku for a heat wave

body melting slowly

tears become steam, it's that hot

humidity blows.

sweatin' on a sunday

it's hot and humid.

so hot and humid that i have no appetite and can't sleep.

thus, i have fled to the suburbs, where i will seek sanctuary with YB at her air-conditioned pad.

that's also where i'll be watching tonight's sure-to-be-fantastic episode of Big Brother.

this mini heat wave is expected to continue for another day or two, so please expect similarly brief entries until such time as i don't actually melt when i sit at the laptop.

perhaps a haiku tomorrow...

a simple laugh for a saturday

it's really hot and humid here today, so i'm not inclined to sit at my computer very long.

here, then, is something i hope you enjoy as much as i did. (make sure you watch to the end, and thanks to SM for the link!)

dogs are hilarious. and so is off-camera laughter.

overhaulin’

sometimes, changes in life happen slowly. you start out at point A, and have no idea you’ve even been moving towards point B until you open your eyes one day and realize you’re no longer where you once were. sometimes your movement might be upwards, and other times you may unknowingly be descending but, good or bad, these changes are sort of organic. you don’t notice them. they just happen.

other times, change occurs suddenly. dramatically. it might be something out of your control that triggers it, or it might be a case of you finally reaching a long-delayed decision and just doing it. these changes sometimes come with bigger challenges because you’re aware that they’re happening as they happen. they might be exhilarating. or daunting. or scary. your brain might even resist.

but if that latter kind of change takes places under the right circumstances, and if you’re on board for new directions, new opportunities, new ideas and new dreams... fear can melt away to allow curiosity, exploration and optimism to slowly take over.

at the moment, i am experiencing that kind of change. or, more to the point, driving it. opening my eyes and unfolding the road map to my future. i’m not sure yet where i’m headed or how long it will take to get there, but change is going on and more changes are imminent. i touched upon this when i talked about hibernation about a month ago and now, even more profoundly than before, i feel the need to turn inwards.

more importantly, i’m realizing where i have let myself go, examining where i have abandoned who i am, and heading out on the road of self-discovery.

or, perhaps, self-rediscovery.

two things of note that happened today (in order of appearance)...

1. i was standing in line at the grocery store, behind a young-ish woman and her young (maybe four years old) daughter. they were chatting amiably with the cashier as she rung in their purchases, and they seemed to know each other. the cashier then looked at the woman and said, "so, i see you're expecting your second child!" :::::: awkward pause :::::: "no, actually i've just put on a little weight," said the woman, who then went on to explain that she's on some kind of medication that's made her put on 40 pounds. the cashier tried not die of embarrassment right there on the spot.

2. on tonight's Big Brother, i witnessed one of the greatest strategic moves since james devised the now-legendary "five-finger plan" back in season six.

pursuing perseids

at about 3:50 this morning, i woke up because i had to pee. (yes, this is evidently a new theme to the blog entries.)

on my way back to bed, i thought maybe i should look outside to see if i might be able to spot any meteors. earlier yesterday, i’d watched a weather network interview in which an astronomer mentioned that a particularly dense “cluster” of meteors would be visible right around 4am, so i decided to see what i could see.

i went to my bedroom window, pulled up the blind and stared at the heavens.

the skies were clear and, even though i live in the city, i could see stars. not as many as i might if i’d been looking up from a country field or anything (where i imagine the celestial wonders would be spectacular), but enough that i was able to find some on which to fix my gaze. that was the advice given by the astronomer – find a star, lock your gaze upon it, and wait for something to cross into your field of vision instead of darting your eyes around.

so i did that.

and waited.

it felt like i stood there a long time but, in reality, it was maybe a minute and a half. i was almost ready to pack in it when i suddenly saw it: a bright white spot streaking through a small section of the sky.

that was the first meteor i’d ever seen in my life.

and the moment felt very special.

as soon as i saw it, i wanted to see another. so i stayed there, searching the sky, for another six or seven minutes and witnessed three more meteors darting quickly in and out of sight. when i went back to bed, i did so feeling strangely moved by the experience in a very lovely way. not only because i beheld my first meteors, but because there was something so delicately extraordinary about those few minutes.

the city was asleep. there was no sound outside, save for the occasional rustling of the trees in the light breeze. everything was completely still – there were no cars whirring past, no people on the sidewalks, no birds flying by, no activity.

just me, at my window, waiting to spot a tiny speck of magic.

if i'm stuck for a topic, it must be a list...

* regrettably, fructis "wet and shine" styling cream leaves one's hair looking neither wet nor shiny. instead, it's like applying white glue to your hair and then expecting it not to completely glom together. this is what i get for picking it up at a dollar store. it was being cleared for a reason.

* the perseids meteor shower is happening tonight between 11pm and 4am ET. look up!

* i saw a great documentary about the sherman brothers, songwriters for classic disney musicals and animated films. if it shows up near you, i recommend it.

* TIFF starts in one month and i am surprisingly unenthused. which sort of makes me feel nostalgic for the days when i couldn't wait for labour day to arrive.

* we painted YB's basement over the weekend. it now looks like a cape cod cottage. which is a good thing.

* i bought a gorgeous pair of teva water shoes/hiking shoes. trix found them -- one lone pair in exactly the right size at winners (for the americans, think: TJ maxx)... and for $40 cheaper than anywhere else in the city. she said it was like the shopping gods dropped them on the store shelf (there weren't ANY other tevas for sale, at all) 10 seconds before she turned and went down that particular aisle. i agree. this is them, and they are super-comfy and super-breathable, which make them excellent for summertime walking.

* i have developed a crush on food network personality susie fogelson.

* i find home reno shows insanely relaxing to watch.

* on lou's recommendation, i've requested A Confederacy of Dunces from the library.

* i found out today that i accidentally paid my phone bill two days late last month (i'd misread the due-by date). i never pay bills late, and i have no idea how i managed to confuse the information printed on the bill like that.

* i have a craving for a BBQed hot dog.

* i remain fully ensconced in Big Brother, but i have remarkably little interest in the new season of So You Think You Can Dance Canada, which just lacks the pizzazz and excitement of its superior U.S. cousin.

middle-of-the-night thought

in the middle of the night last night, i got up because i had to pee. and, en route to the bathroom, a random thought floated into my brain:

the longer you spend in a room, the warmer the room gets.

i think i thought this thought because of the hot, humid weather, and the fact that a person’s body temperature can raise the overall temperature of a confined space like a bedroom.

but when i got up this morning, i revisited the thought, and realized it’s also something that can be looked at metaphorically, in two different ways.

one way is to focus on “warm” in a metaphoric capacity, and to consider “warmth” in its social, emotional sense – that “warm” means welcoming, comforting, supportive, kind, wonderful. so that, if you feel like you’ve entered a “cold” room (i.e., you feel awkward, out of place, separate), the longer you spend there – staying present, being open, relaxing – the warmer it might start to feel. or, perhaps, simply that your presence in a given room warms it on an emotional level if you give it enough time.

and the other way is to look at the room as a metaphor for any mental state in which you dwell – the longer you spend in it that head space, the more it heats up.

if you’re caught up in negative emotions and the gloom spiral starts spinning, problems or worries or anger or fears or what have you just get bigger and bigger. your thoughts starts to fuel their own oppressive fire. (this kind of ties in nicely with the idea of ”thinking time”.) similarly, though, if you manage to fill your mind with positivity and turn it into a “room” laden with good thoughts, those will feed on themselves, expand and get “hotter.”

the key is adding kindling to the right flames, i guess.

we're having a hurricane!

okay, not really. but it might as well be one for all the apocalyptic weather outside.

it's summer in toronto, and that means severe thunderstorms.

but this one, which has been going on for just over an hour, is one of the most bizarre and intense i've ever seen.

there is so much lightning that it looks like a thousand strobe lights exploding over and over again outside my windows.

the thunder just keeps rumbling and rumbling and rumbling constantly... no claps of thunder, just the potent vibrations that don't stop.

so far, the rain has been moderate, but they're forecasting "torrential downpours."

it should be over in an hour or so. until then, i am GLUED to the weather network.

i am cameron...

john hughes died this week. and, with him, a little bit of everyone who grew up in the 1980s. hundreds (likely thousands) of people have eulogized him, on- and offline, so i'll spare you more of the same and simply say why i loved his films:

i was always in them.

in each story he told, there was the misfit. the person who always seemed to find him- or herself looking in from the outside, or whose goofy demeanor or awkward fumbling became their most memorable trait. the great thing about john hughes was the fact that the misfit was always a key part of the story, providing comic relief in some cases, and tears in others. sometimes, his misfit was even the lead.

he never treated them in a second-class way, even if other characters did, and he always found the beauty and poignancy in their struggles.

in those misfits, i always saw myself. i still do. i am cameron, and ted, and brian, and drummer girl, and buck, and del, and wyatt. and, for that, i will always hold a special place in my heart for john hughes.

the clip below is one of my favourites, from one of hughes' best films, Planes, Trains & Automobiles. it's the last couple of scenes of the movie, so if you haven't seen it before and don't want it spoiled, you may not want to watch. the sequence takes place as steve martin and john candy (as misfit del griffith) finally, finally come to the end of the harrowing, frustrating, mishap-laden journey they began as feuding strangers... and realize the depth of their new-found friendship.

and if you have seen it before, no doubt you'll understand why i love it so and why it makes me cry every single time i see it.

a fleeting question

there is a large, old house in my neighbourhood.

and it is completely covered in ivy.

top to bottom, wrapped around all the walls, encircling the chimney to its tip, completely covering all the windows.

only the roof is free of the foliage. nary a speck of green to be seen there.

when the wind blows, the whole house undulates as if alive.

as i look at it, i wonder...

do the people inside like being enrobed so dramatically in nature?

how many bugs must live within those leaves, later finding their way indoors?

and are the windows covered in ivy to keep people from seeing in?

or to keep the people inside from seeing out?

weeeeeeeeird

i had to go for blood work today. i was meant to have it done on tuesday when i saw dr. textbook, but the massive line outside the lab was a serious deterrent so, because the test was routine and not urgent, i opted to return another day when, hopefully, there would be fewer than a million people queued up to be pricked.

when i arrived at the lab, i thought back to the entry i wrote in april -- about the mysterious time loop that exists there -- and tried to remember the amount of wait-time i’d specified. 20 minutes? no, that couldn’t be right. 40 minutes.

because when i walked in at 9:20 this morning and pulled my little bakery-esque number from the dispense (#32), and then sat down in the packed (dammit!) waiting area, i looked around and thought, “i am going to be here for two hours.”

the technician emerged from the blood-taking room and called in the next patient.

“number 23!” she yelled.

TWENTY-THREE??????

i looked down at my little paper ticket and felt my soul die a little. i was #32... which meant i’d have to wait through NINE MORE PEOPLE before i’d be called. (you’ll recall that last time there were three people before me and it took 40 minutes.) i suddenly had visions of being there until dinner, based on the speed with which i know they usher people in and out.

time, once again, c-r-a-w-l-e-d past, and i saw plenty of people fidgeting, checking their watches and craning their necks towards the door to the lab (as if their indignation might magically drift inside, frighten the technicians and suddenly accelerate the blood taking). a couple of folks eventually got up and left, muttering in frustration as they walked away.

for sure, i thought, today would blow my time-loop theory out of the water. there was no way i’d be done in...

“number 32!”

huh?

i checked my watch. holy crap. 35 minutes. numbers 25, 28 and 31 had gone M.I.A., so i was called in much sooner than i would have been had they stuck around.

at minute 36 my blood was being drawn.

by minute 37 i was pressing a cotton ball to my arm.

and at minute 40 i was standing outside the office, putting on my sweater.

the time loop stands.

i couldn’t believe it.

i still can’t.

the slippery slop

can we talk for a moment about Big Brother?

more importantly, the fact that – after two years clean and sober from this highly addictive, occasionally toxic, increasingly outrageous summertime reality show – i have been hooked on it once again.

but first...

used to be, the official start of summer for me was always marked by the season premiere of BB. i’d watched since its inaugural, comparatively awful, season... through the ass-kicking greatness of seasons two and three, the hilarity of the all-stars year and hung on (amid my own dwindling interest) right up until season eight, when the father/daughter combo of dick and daniele, and the overtly orchestrated feel of the proceedings, finally forced me to pull the plug. i didn’t even watch the finale that year because i really didn’t care who won and had tired of all the screaming.

i thought my BB habit, which had claimed three nights a week for three straight months every year, was done. i didn’t bother with the half-assed “spring season” during the writers’ strike, and never tuned in for one second of season ten last summer. i proudly proclaimed that i was over the show, and so very disappointed with what it had become. it had, like The Real World before it, gone from being a fascinating social-experiment-turned-game-of-strategy into a petrie dish of sexcapades and way over-the-top behaviour featuring people cast specifically for being extremes. no thanks.

i was sure that my sobriety would remain intact this summer. i had washed my hands of julie chen and the inane, hormone-fueled goings-on in the Big Brother house... until, one thursday evening a couple of weeks ago when there was nothing else on, i decided to tune in.

“just for a second,” i told myself. “just to see.”

really, i should have known better. because one tiny taste was all it took.

i didn’t watch the entire episode that night – i channel surfed – but when sunday night rolled around, and because my years in the BB world left me with intricate knowledge of CBS’s scheduling and the show’s structure, i knew it was nomination night. once again, my programming options were limited... so, rather than turn off the TV and do something productive like a sane person might, i flipped over to see what was happening.

and so it began. i watched the entire episode, and have watched every one that’s aired since.

i have fallen way off the wagon and jumped back on the summertime reality-TV horse. it was soooooo easy to do, too. i’m well-versed in the show’s machinations, and i know what all the key terminology is, so stepping back into the fray was simple. i know what a slop pass is, and how it works, and why people want one. i know what it means to “back door” someone, and how it’s done. the word “veto” holds special meaning in the BB vocabulary, and no one needs to explain to me what an “HOH” is. i know that if you’re called to the diary room, chances are you’re in trou-uble, and i know why the words “but first...” are funny.

*sigh*

i am once again careening down the slippery BB slope and it’s covered in slop. i’m picking sides, rooting for specific players (go russell! go michelle!), excitedly awaiting the coup d'état and cringing with glee at what sometimes comes out of the mouth of the chenbot. i will even admit that, last thursday, i set my VCR (yes, i still live in 1995) to record the live eviction because i knew i wouldn’t be home.

good grief. this is pathetic.

part of me is ashamed.

but part of me feels a curious sense of comfort, like i’m stepping back into familiar, albeit wildly dysfunctional, flip-flops.

oh well. only seven more weeks to go...

thinking time

occasionally, it’s good to take some time to do nothing but think. it’s a chance to curl up inside your own head. you can be creative, exercise your imagination, work through a problem, relive a past glory, juggle ideas or float away on a daydream.

but there exists a fine line between time to think and thinking time. because one is healthy and helpful, and the other quickly morphs into something seductive, destructive and counter-productive.

unlike time to think, thinking time often happens when you’re sick, or bored, or unemployed, or lonely, or sad, or otherwise in a head space not conducive to conjuring whimsical thoughts of joy and happiness and rainbows and cake.

thinking time arrives innocently enough, usually tiptoeing into your awareness at night, when the world is quiet and you’re alone with your regrets.

at first, thinking time seems like a harmless enough thing. you might even mistake it for time to think. so, you loiter in it for a while to ponder your existence. to look over your life. to wonder about your future. to rewind and replay events in the increasingly unforgiving cinema of your memories.

but therein lies the peril. when you dwell in thinking time too long, you start to count your flaws. you itemize every mistake, every shortcoming, every unrealized dream and every way in which you think you just didn’t measure up. you willingly obsess over “what went wrong?” or “how did it happen?”, or you play with a perpetual loop of what ifs.

thinking time tries to convince you that the glass is half-empty, that there's nary a single silver lining to any of the clouds in your sky, and that you are nothing more than the sum of all your defeats.

when you wade too deeply in the mire of thinking time, every critical thought you’ve ever had about yourself bubbles to the surface until you’re eye-deep in a swamp of self-condemnation. the weight of the disappointment and blame you place on your own shoulders makes you sink even farther until you're swallowed whole.

wandering alone in the sweeping desert of thinking time, it’s easy to get lost. epic dunes of past failures camouflage the horizon, and the endless plains of contrition seem to stretch out to infinity before you.

i have lost countless hours to thinking time. it’s consumed me before, gnawing away at my self-confidence and motivation, and leaving me to fester in its bowels.

if left unattended and unbroken, thinking time can very easily, very subtly become a siren, luring you to its suffocating embrace. but a steadfast refusal to succumb to its familiar song, and a willingness to accept your own foibles and fabulousness equally (sometimes punctuated by a swift but simple metaphorical kick in the head from someone who cares) can magically free you from its clutches in an instant.

i’m learning. i'm noticing more quickly when i’m slipping into its all-too-comfortable arms. i'm starting to bob and weave to elude its grasp. i’m getting better at fighting off its visits, and cutting short the length of its stays.

and i feel stronger each time i escape unscathed.

a day in a benadryl fog

i’ve had enough of my clogged sinuses, drippy nose and annoying dry cough. i’m going to the doctor tomorrow, and hopefully everything will be resolved thereafter. i sort of think the "cold" has either morphed into a sinus infection, or that it was never a cold to begin with.

in the meantime, YB suggested i try benadryl.

i resisted for a long time, because i felt i’d already gone through enough cold remedies, and my body was fed up with them. there’s only so much i’m willing to ingest in the name of relief.

but this morning, i’d had it.

i took one of the little white-and-pink allergy capsules and waited.

an hour later: ahhhhhhhhhh. a clear nose.

and extreme drowsiness.

i’ve taken more, as directed on the bottle, throughout the day, and all i can say is: it’s a bit like being halfway under anesthesia. sort of floaty and sleepy and hazy.

needless to say, it made writing a challenge, since all i’ve really wanted to do is lie down to sleep.

but oh what a sleep i will have when i finally do head to bed tonight.

which, given my current level of alertness (or lack thereof), should be around 9:30pm.

good things about sunday

waking up after a good sleep

fresh-baked blueberry muffins

sponge-cake batter

piles and piles of clean laundry

a brand new, perfectly perky, cotton sheet set

three boxes of kleenex

a ride home

coffee milk and cookies

home-renovation shows

a delicious turkey sandwich

carrots and hummus

a long overdue long walk with a good friend

walking

walking

walking

walking

sitting on a shady bench in a gorgeous park

people-watching

walking

walking

walking as dusk fell

over-priced ice cream

walking

walking

sunset over the city

walking in the dark

16.6km of ground covered

coming home exhausted but happy

a hot shower

pyjamas

reclining on the couch to watch tonight’s Big Brother

bedtime

500 posts ago...

this is my 500th entry on this blog.

five hundred entries. that’s a lot.

and, frankly, i figured it would take me longer than two-and-a-third years to hit that number. one glance at the sidebar on the left and you’ll see i haven’t always been diligent about daily postings. november 2008 and february 2009 were particularly lean, content-wise. but launching "the plan" back in march, and re-activating it in may has helped in the post-count regard.

i knew this milestone entry was coming up, but i didn’t know how to mark it properly. back when this blog hit post #100, i wrote a poem. but i didn’t want to recycle an old idea. this felt deserving of something a little deeper than just some fun, rhyme-y words.

then i thought maybe some kind of best-of/top-10 list would be in order. but i feel like i’ve done that before, too.

so, instead, i began reflecting on how much has changed in my life – and how much has stayed the same – since march 22nd, 2007, and my inaugural entry.

500 posts ago, i had just taken possession of my current apartment. i was still recovering from my years at hell house, still nervous and uncertain, still jumping at any sound in the night, and still trying to feel out how this foreign but promising space would become home. 500 posts later, it is a home i love. each corner, each tiny crack, every square inch feels warmly lit... feels like me... and i am happily settled here.

500 posts ago, i was coming out of four months of zero employment... but assignments were magically trickling in. it was a time of transition, when i went from being an entertainment writer to a lifestyle writer and, despite some initial reservations that this new frontier wasn’t really my cup of tea, i’ve sipped quite contentedly from that cup ever since. 500 posts later, unemployment reared its head again and has certainly worn out its welcome, but it's given me the time and motivation to explore new forms of creative expression. it's been hugely satisfying, and i simply have to believe that the latter half of 2009 will be more prosperous than the near-barren first seven months were.

500 posts ago, i didn’t know many of the wonderful, gifted friends who have filled my life since. i knew nothing of theatre in toronto, or cabarets, or opera, or salons. i hadn’t even met ericanddan or suffered through Nothing is Private yet. looking back, i feel like the colours in the spectrum of my experience were muted. 500 posts later, my circle has grown, my experiences have exploded into technicolour and my heart has expanded in ways i never could have anticipated.

500 posts ago, i was achingly single. but hopeful. 500 posts later, i am no less single, and i try to dutifully keep the candle of hope lit. loneliness has begun to envelop me in its cloak more and more often, but i’m learning to cope with the feelings and to better cherish the time i spend with family and friends.

500 posts ago, i wasn’t sure where my life was going. 500 posts later, i still don’t know. but maybe that’s okay.

500 posts ago, i loved cake. 500 posts later... do you even need to ask?

500 posts ago, i started this blog as a way of marking a turning point in my life. a fresh start. a new beginning. it was going to be a place where i could record what was happening and how i was changing. i also thought it would be a good way to force myself to write, and that, hopefully, i’d somehow be able to figure out my life and myself by documenting the peaks and valleys of my journey... for myself as much as for anyone interested in following along.

500 posts later, it’s remained all those things (i hope it has, anyway), but it’s turned into so much more... especially in the past nine months. it’s a diary and a confessional, a stand-up stage and an open-mic night. i’ve found myself loosening the reins and opening myself up, here and in general. as such, i feel like i’ve grown as a person and as a writer since march 2007, and that the process of journaling the joys and sorrows and wishes and doubts and pet peeves and spectacular delights of the past two years has been therapeutic and improved the overall quality of my writing.

the content of what i’ve posted in the previous 499 entries has veered dramatically between the frivolous and the heartbreaking, and i know not every post has been created equal. but i think i have produced some of the best writing of my life here. whether anyone reads it or cares is out of my hands... i'm just glad it exists.

to that end, i’m pleased with where this blog is heading and, if nothing else, i feel immensely satisfied with what it has become.

thank you for reading. here's to the next 500...