New Blog

Unfortunately, this blog is closed, but the good news is I’ve opened another. You can view new posts here. See you there :)

Meditations on Love

Soaked.  Okay, not quite, but significantly wet.  Most things in my purse, that is–and there happened to be a lot of important things in there that day (or at least things important to me in some way): two signed chapbooks of poetry (one rather hard to come by), my Mini Connolly tarot deck (also rare-ish) and my little black writing book.  Everything’s still usable, but all of these things are now somewhat soiled and warped: the chapbooks a little bit bent, bits of paper rubbing off the covers; the black book soaked through the bottom (which is thicker than the top now), the ink bleeding; and the tarot cards scattered on the carpet from drying, the deck no longer uniform.

Basically, my boyfriend took a drink from my water bottle before our Ben Folds concert and accidentally twisted the lid on crooked before putting it back in my bag, where it got water on all of these things, and my legs, before I noticed.  It wasn’t until the next day that I realized how much damage it actually did (though everything’s still usable).  When it happened, I believe I mentioned it once, he apologized, I said, “It’s okay.”

I’ve been examining the damaged items all week–picking them up by the corners to squint at them, squeezing water out from between the black book’s pages, curiously poking my sad, warped tarot cards.  But I haven’t said anything to him about it.  It’s funny, but the whole thing simply doesn’t bother me.

We got lost on the way to the orchestra on Saturday, and were twenty minutes late, and it was fine.  In fact, it was great.  We also got lost on the way to the concert on Monday, were ten minutes late, and didn’t see more than a sliver of Ben Folds’s backside all night because the place was so crowded.  The thing I’ll remember most about that concert is sitting on the floor against a wall for over an hour, the two of us cuddling and making faces at one another.  The sound was pretty good.  But I had fun without it.

I figure that’s proof of love–not that I needed it.  But it was a nice way to reflect on the weekend, on missing AWP for Valentine’s Day (of all things), on the ways I am glad for it.  We ate good food and watched lots of Toradora.  I was given great, sweet love poems (one involving wolves) and all sorts of my favorite candies.  When he left I just wanted to send a piece of myself with him, so I packed some of the cookies I made (that he loved) in a plastic bag for his flight.  I can’t even explain the weight of my sadness when I realized he’d forgotten them on the bed, and couldn’t eat them.

That’s life for you.  Looking forward to more.

Why I’m a Recluse

Understandably, my friends get confused as to why I keep shunning them.  They invite me out, I decline 75% of the time, they stop inviting me out, I get confused and lonely–the cycle repeats.  Okay.  Here’s the breakdown:

First off, I’m an introvert.  Textbook-style:  I’m withdrawn, fairly reserved, and avoid socializing most of the time.  I get my energy from myself, rather than other people, and I don’t have much of it.  Even the thought of socializing makes me tired.  Spending more than a couple hours with other people usually makes me want to retreat.  I’m not a big talker, either, unless I’m really in the mood or feel strongly about the topic.  Basically, I’m psychologically designed to be alone.  This has been professionally confirmed.

Now, I stumbled upon a good (albeit slightly biased) article in The Atlantic that I urge you to read, called Caring For Your Introvert.  And yes, it’s all true.  And yes, it is often extremely difficult for an extrovert to understand all this (hence my urging you to read it).

That’s the bulk of it.  Now.  Take that – add clinical depression, low physical energy, insomnia, nocturnal mania, irritability, a busy schedule and a high level of ambition and you have a confusing melange of things that, when put in a blender and set in the freezer, create something that looks a lot like me.

So, it sounds like I’m making excuses.  I am – and they’re valid.  A lot of people would say, so what?  Make more of an effort to get out, get psychological help, try changing your habits, get over it.  A) I do, or have done, or have tried all of those things. B) People who think there are simple solutions to any of these problems do not have a clue what they’re dealing with.

So.  I apologize to my friends, acquaintances, co-workers.  I am sorry I’m so difficult to socialize with.  But this is important: it is not personal.  It is simply who I am.  Sometimes I can’t, because I feel tired, depressed, or distracted by my personal projects.  Other times?  I simply don’t want to socialize.  I like you.  I just don’t feel like it.

This doesn’t make me an ideal acquaintance.  But I have my moments.  I can be fun, I’m interesting, and I have a lot of good traits.  I’m reliable in most other areas of life (when I have deadlines, appointments, et cetera).  But I can not be counted on to attend social functions very often, regardless of how much I appreciate the invitations.

Advice:

I’m worth getting to know.  Learn to accept my behaviors, don’t take them personally, and keep trying if you feel it’s worth it.

I am more likely to socialize with others if:

• I am lonely;

• It involves low-key activities (like going to someone’s home, rather than going to a bar or partying with a large group);

• I have a ride there and a ride back and the transit time is short (lack of vehicle, lack of tolerance for the bus system unless necessary);

• and/or if it involves activities that I planned or recommended (I enjoy going to movies, eating out, and hosting the occasional low-key get-together at my apartment–movies, games, food, chats, et cetera).

I enjoy forging valuable relationships with people.  If you are looking for an interesting person to slowly acquaint yourself with, I’m an excellent choice.  But if you’re looking for someone who is naturally sociable and reliable in this manner, look elsewhere – I am not that friend.

Not so sleepy…

So, while it has come to my attention that in part I desire a more normal sleep schedule, I don’t need one.  This is troublesome in a way, but it’s also kind of liberating.  But tonight, right now, I know I could sleep.  And I’m not.  There’s too much to do, too much to think about.  It’s strange to think it, but when it comes to sleep – as my psychologist said – I just don’t want to.  And there’s not really a cure for that.  Hence I am writing at 4am.

I will probably sleep away the afternoon tomorrow, even though I want to go food shopping – we’ll see.  As usual I’m up all night shopping online, though not buying anything.  It consumes me sometimes – the browsing.  I have done more writing than usual, though, and been mostly productive these past few weeks.  In the meantime I’ve been waiting for my week off from classes (thank you, AWP, which I’m not attending), Valentine’s Day, a certain someone, a Ben Folds concert and some nice spring puddles.  I might be getting a little ahead of myself on that last one.

I found something of mine online tonight, old and forgotten, and I felt nostalgic for a moment – I’ve changed a lot since the time when it mattered.  I’m still just as dreamy as ever, though.

Maybe that’s why I won’t go to bed.

And so the earth keeps turning…

So – I’m back from winter break.  I wish I could stay it was great – parts of it were, and parts were more aggravating than anything.  On the whole I’ll compromise by saying it was interesting.  Some of the best things were lazing about with the boyfriend (watching movies and anime and King of the Hill, mostly), forming a long list of potential literary journals (also with the boyfriend) and getting him to submit, giving gifts to his entire family, eating gummy candy, rock candy and various minty ice creams, running around shouting in an empty parking lot to ring in the New Year, eating out, seeing Slumdog Millionaire and playing Citadels on a regular basis (much to my surprise).

And now I’m back in Pittsburgh – sad but excited at the same time to be writing again, et cetera.   I started yet another blog (just what I need, right?) for writing and related things, as a requirement for my nonfiction workshop.  I’m kind of glad – I think it will be fun.  Here it is, for anyone who’s interested: Paper.Fetish

And so I’m off. Back to daydreams of the world I want to create for myself – if only there came a day I had the time to accomplish all the things I wanted. That day, the sky would rain rock candy – oh the pain, the glory.

Daydreams

I’ve been overwhelmed lately. My workload seems to have let up, slightly, for the first time in weeks. I can’t wait for the semester to finish.

***

I’m daydreaming today. I used to do this all the time. When I do, my thoughts often bear a resemblance to this photo – whimsical and peaceful. Today, my dreams are of living my life the way I want, earning a living from my labour of love and being better for it. I hope I can. I have plans.

***

I’m getting a laptop before the holidays start. A nice, sleek little one I can love and take with me anywhere. I plan to write while I’m at the cabin for Christmas. And design a new website – self-promotion. Here’s hoping.

***

This song fits my mood today: ♫ Eisley – Invasion

***

It was nice to have the weekend back. For a little while, anyway.

Back to the shrink…

So apparently I’m a menace to myself and others (as per my own assessment), and as such am signing up for counseling again.  You know it’s gotta be good when you’re exhibiting 3/4 of the symptoms for depression AND bipolar disorder, including symptoms that contradict one another.  So perhaps it’s about time to assess what’s really going on, hmm?

That aside, I’m feeling optimistic.  Maybe that’s the euphoria talking, but I won’t pretend I don’t like it.  My tarot readings website is almost ready to go up, I’m ready for Halloween, I’m joining a writer’s group and I just got some new black pumps and two pairs of cigarette pants that I love: one shiny, black and leathery, one red plaid/tartan.  On the plus side, I’m keeping my splurging to a minimum (or trying).  And I do have a ton of work/homework, but I’m hoping my hobbies will keep it in balance.

I like this song, and it won’t leave me be. Listen.
♫ The National – Apartment Story

I’m still not writing as often as I should (granted it’s been a rough week in terms of workload).  I’d like to devote at least an hour a day, or maybe I’d do better with a couple hours three times a week.  I have so many things to write about, and just don’t commit.

I like this photo.  It reminds me of home, somehow.  Good old northern British Columbia, where the sky is always off-colour and fastened to the rooftops.  These balloons are dark like the kind I’d find in the living room on New Year’s Eve, with jovial slogans in silver lettering, or at one of my teenage birthday parties after I’d outgrown vibrancy.  Helium was always a rare thing, though.  There were no means for it, no room for the inconvenience, no need or desire for something so free.  Our balloons were always illusory, attached to the light fixtures or deer horns or curtain rods.  High as could be.  Tethered.

Interesting, that.