Pen. Paper. Me.

July 19th Paper. Pen. Me. Thought I might as well use all three in a productive way. I'm not feeling well. Maybe it's because i'm drinking more coffee then im' used to, eating more red meat then I should and maybe i'm not getting enough sleep. "My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin". Thank you Mr. Eliot, somtimes I can relate to J. Alfred Prufrock. "Have known evenings, mornings, afternoons/I have measured out my life with coffee spoons." Create! Help! Be! Do! Give! Respect! Why is it I can stop at red lights but can't...Why is it I don't speed yet....well, you know what I mean. How many times will I let the Rooster crow? Why do I feel Sunday mornings will take me to heaven? I love gardens. Green leaves and blooming flowers seem theraputic to me. They show tenderness because they grow, help me breath while completing a complex respiration/synthesis inside. "a simple necktie, but asserted by a rich and modest pin." I'm planning on buying a little greenhouse and grow my own herbs. Why? Self worth, Dignity! Enjoyment! Tenderness.

July 21th I am coming to the realization that our mind and thoughts are a lot more powerful then we percieve. The state of mind can make you ill, heal you, make you depressed or make you feel completely jovial. Why can we figure out complex mathematical equations yet stay in a state of melancholy for days? Daily tribulations seem so petty when a step back is taken. I remember in highschool, I had some pretty bad "low" spells and now, I can barely remember what it was that made me feel so hopeless; why I shed so many tears. I've probably spent half of my life worrying and the other half thinking about what I should be worrying about. Sometimes I get a feeling in the pit of my stomach and it makes me feel horrible. It is hopelessness in an actual form. It makes me feel sick, it aches. On the other hand, sometimes I can't stop smiling. I drive a little faster because my favorite song is on the radio and it's sunny out and I'm on my way to do something I love. Every day I learn what being alive entitles; what "living" actually means and I have found that truth remains consistant when everything else changes. I have accepted that some days are plain right-offs, whereas others are worthwhile lessons learned and the rest are there for fun and enjoyment; given to us to seize.

July 27th I often wonder if when I talk, I come across as who I really am. I read somewhere that when two people meet, there are actually 6 people present, who you think you are, who the other person thinks you are, and who you really are. First impressions don't mean too much to me; that is, if I make a good one, then it does't matter. Sometimes I feel like a parrot, sometimes a puppet, sometimes a fake. I sometimes wonder if when people meet me they remember only a face or a name or only the first letter of my name, like when your driving and something catches your attention out of the corner of your eye and when you turn to look, it's already gone and you've forgottten why you even turned your head in the first place. Or am I like that stranger you met in an airport, finding you had so much in common that by the time it was boarding time you felt disappointment because the conversation had to be left unfinished, never to be picked up again. Am I only "that girl in the cool glasses", "the short brunette" or am I "Amy"?

August 3rd Tonight I experianced a time that reassured my faith in happiness and hope. Sitting in an upstairs patio of a trendy coffee shop and after paying way too much money for what I was consuming, I felt peace. Something as simple as sitting in an uncomfortable rod-iron chair while talking to my best friend, made me realize how fortunate I am, how special the moment was and if, God willing, how promising the future ahead of me will be. Yesterday I experianced frustration and pain both mentally and phyically but in return I recieved pure and refined tenderness, unaltered true sincerity. Tears fell, but no longer had they left my eyes, his hand was there to brush them off my cheek. I suppose that this has nothing to do with luck, but rather, a part of a plan. He was a gift to me, my loyal best friend. Do I owe him the world? No, not necessarily, we live in it together fighting battles, crossing bridges and of course..drinking coffee. A night on a café patio has blessed me and I shall never forget it.

August 9th Vindictive. It's a word I wouldn't be overjoyed to be called. I sometimes wonder why I am such a word. I do not mean to hurt, criticize or sting but sometimes my words, powered by abger, shoot out like enemy arrows and no sooner are they released, remorse follows even when I know I intended to say what was said. It is frustrating when I am not heard, when what I say is taken the wrong way. If only when I speak, my words would be taken in their entirety and in their full intension. I hate having what I say bounce around like a rubber ball and never stopped to be appreciated. "That's not what I..", "no, I didn't say..", "I was trying to.." "no, that's not..", "not, no..", "I'm sorry", "Look, I'm sorry", "It must have been me". MUST have been ME!!! Of course it is, when is it not? The finger can never be pointed at who I am addressing. Sometimes enough really is enough. A sponge can only reach a certain point in saturation and when you keep pouring water on it, it's useless.

August 14th Sitting in a coffee shop, glancing up from my coffee now and then, I see some friends. We have all made the effort to arrive on time, fix our hair and add into the conversation. When I see consistancy, it makes me feel worthy; happy. Gathering to enjoy a Saturday morning breakfast, early in the monrning makes me feel like it's summer time all over again and when I look down the street, I'll see at least 5 lemonade stands. Nothing is forced, everything is natural and my coffee even tastes more bold and smells more aromatic because I'm laughing. We talk of marriage and how we are the last of our kind to have a hand without a ring. Half sincerity, the other half jealousy, but for now, we do have each other. Sure, it's cloudy out, a bit cold and humid, and sure there was an abnoxious parade that took place making everying wait 40 minutes, but down the road I won't remember waiting an extra minute at a red light, arriving two mintues early for swerving in and out of traffic. I don't know why i have to rush, when I always arrive on time. When it's all said and done, I will remember those who have hurt me and those who I have loved. Thus is life I suppose, to go through it and loving those around us who need to be loved. I read that in a Carl Sagan book once which I thought was rather ironic because he's an atheist and what he said is pretty much the basis to Christianity. Love. Eros. Philo. Agape. I think once could spend a life time on trying to perfect love and trying to define it in it's entirety but then again, I suppose that's what we should be doing anyhow. It gives me something to think about, well, something to add to all the things I think about.

September 17th A brand new school year has commenced and once again, I go to my post secondary institution to become a learned women inorder to prevail in a society so focused towards intellect and wealth. I bring my bag full of the cannon of studies and I sit in a democratic class learning about Susanna Moodie and how she became a Canadian yet remained a Brit through Roughing it in the Bush. Next I go on to study how to say "Yo tengo un libro" or "Yo es leyando una journal". Next I press on to a Critical Theory class where I am given a chaotic paragraph and am told to write a response in the perspective of a Feminist, a Black Man, a Lesbian who is blind, a child who has a red shoe...and so on. Ok, so I exaggerate but the bulk is true. I often wonder if my field of choice is the one correct for me. I couldn't imagine doing anything outside this field, but going to school for at least the next 10 years of my life..well...scares me, frankly. In my heart I want to write. Write children's poetry books with my own illustrations. This aspiration I have appears in my subconscious. In my dreams I am forever trying to reach my destination either by foot, bike or car and I never arrive. In my head I keep thinking "I have so far to go" and I never arrive. I fear my own procrastination is stopping me but in reality I know it's my lack of confidence. Who would want to read MY thoughts? How can I make a living with being a writer unless I become the next Shel Silverstien, Robert Munch or Roger Hangreaves? (all male, I might add). So for now, I continue to press on. I sit in my classes in hope that one day I will have a BA (hon), MA and Phd standing boldly behind my name on the front cover of my many books.

September 27th Where to even begin. My mind feels like a tormented sea, tossing and turning the little boat of hope every which way. I can see it nearly sinking and then it pops up to the surface as if proud just for a slight moment but then a powerful wave comes and crashes down on it once again, as if laughing at the futile toil the boat had made. Analogys are a perfect way in avoiding the real motive of things. In a black and white, pencial drawing world, I am not only sad, but dismal and heavy hearted. I was told that you can't belong to a place until you know you belong there. Does that make sense? I'm searching for something I feel I've lost...a sense of belonging. Where you're name has a face and personality behind it, not just a piece of paper. It's as if I am waiting on a train platform, watching each locomotive pass by. I see them come and go, but the main thing is, I see them go somewhere. I envy each and every person that can step on the train with absolutely no problem. Not considering where it's going, or those who know and are going some place in particular. I don't know why it scares me so much to step on, but it just does. Since I am the only one left on the platform my hesitation, apprehension, and fear grows stronger. I justify to myself why I shouldn't get on, and how even if I did, it would be the wrong choice. As my metaphor continues, today, I bought a train ticket which means in 6 days, I'll be getting on the train. I am scared. I keep saying to myself I've made the wrong choice. I have lost all confidence in my decision, one that I had made out of honor. I know it is not such a big deal getting onto a train, but when you are so used to standing still, the slightest of motion can make you ill. I usually like to end my journals with a mite of optimism, but this time my head stays positioned downward as I stare at my feet. All I can say is that maybe tomorrow I'll look up.