Sometimes I have fantasies about what I could do with the extra drawer space when my boyfriend finally leaves me for Hong Kong.

Is it wrong to say finally?

Kick in the Chest

I've been hearing so many sad stories about people from my hometown. Suicide and rape have made appearances in these stories but the most prominent has been crack. I've heard of old friends whom I've lost touch with being "casual" crack users if that's possible. My good friend Gord recently had a visit from Keith, his best friend from grade 7 and beyond high school. Keith whipped out a crack pipe and started smoking it like it was normal behaviour and in Gord's apartment. Keith is a witty, attractive, together guy from a good family. What the fuck is he doing? I guess it's not news to me that he thinks he's invincible, he's always had a healthy ego. I'm just floored that he'd be so stupid. I guess he wasn't paying attention when Nathan died from a heroin overdose. Needless to say, Keith's visit was a kick in the chest for us. I haven't seen Keith for 5 years but I'm tempted to kick down his door and let him know he's breaking our hearts.

My best friend Kate also had a recent visit from an old classmate. Alice showed up on Kate's doorstep strung out on crack, dressed in rags with nowhere to go. Kate hadn't seen her in years and didn't think Alice would even know where she lived. I guess someone had pointed it out to her once and it turned out to be the only safe place she could go. Alice had been wandering the streets for hours in flimsy torn rags in the freezing cold after being tossed out of her last crash place. Kate gave her some new clothes and a warm place to stay until she could catch the next bus home. Hopefully her family hasn't given up on her. She had recently finished a six month stay in rehab that obviously wasn't long enough.

Hearing this shit makes me want to visit these people and do what I can to help them through it. Alice and I never really knew each other well but I still want to do something to help. She also mentioned another of our old friends who may or may not have a crack problem. I've asked my Dad about her since he's mentioned seeing her recently. He said she looked healthy and was doing well at her new job. I have hope that Alice was misinformed.

It's sad enough seeing strangers down and out. It's even harder when you knew them before they fell apart.

Ah the 9th

It passed as expected. Isabella-Stella and I have been visiting. Her glass still gleams with 60's charm, her three foot system still a trusty conservation practice. She's a practical ornament. A beauty with function. So sexy she gets two lovely names.

Good Kind of Tired

Nice and sleepy I am. I've taken on a temp holiday job sorting packages for the Christmas rush. It's good to work. I rather like being useful. Can't say I'd want to do this job for very long but it's definitely tolerable enough for a few weeks. I'm also getting a lot of exercise so I can justify extra turtles and toffee over the holidays. Chocolate's just too dangerous for me to not have rules.

mmmmm...zzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Awesome Art

Most of the gorgeous gothic and faery art on this site can be purchased through the Gothic goodness (www.begoths.com) link and The Gothic Faery Store ( http://www.gothicfaerystore.com/) link on the right.

You can purchase the dolls at either site but if you go to the begoths site you can join the Crypt Club. By joining you can get some good deals and some products that are only available to members.

Be sure to check out the art page at the begoths site if you like horror themed art.

Cocaine is Asinine

I hate cocaine. I also hate heroin. And I hate all those other stupid drugs that have nothing to do with thought exploration and perspective. Or they take your perspective to a place that is asinine. I've never done any of these drugs but I've heard stories about them. Drugs that pump you up or shut you down. I think the only time I ever really fought with Audrey was when I gave her hell for trying cocaine. She never did it again.

I've been the only person at a party that wasn't snorting cocaine. Many times. Too many times.
I've been told that cocaine is like being given a confidence boost. And I believe it. Hanging out with a bunch of coke heads is like hanging out with a bunch of scenesters or hipsters or whatever the fuck they're called. But I suppose a lot of 'sters are probably coke heads. Maybe that's what makes them 'sters, I don't know the details on that scene.

Anyway, they're all flying on confidence thinking they're the shit. Always talking about music, fashion, whatever, but never slowing down long enough to have a thoughtful thought. They talk and talk, seemingly trying to out-cool one another all the while trying to inhale their own face. It's not cool, it boring. And the constant sniffling is annoying. Everyone's ego is flying about the room, untouchable. Including my own, because I didn't shove shit up my nose. And that makes me THE SMARTEST PERSON IN THE ROOM.

How many parts?

I always worry that girls are going to think I'm hitting on them if I try to make friends with them. Partially because I've never initiated a friendship with a girl before. They usually happen because I hang out with their brother or their boyfriend. And partially because I'm part lesbian. But I'm never on the prowl since I have a boyfriend. And I've never had a girlfriend so I wouldn't know how to pick up a chick anyway. Maybe when my boyfriend leaves me for Hong Kong I'll figure it out and go find some hot chick to make out with.

Rusty gets oiled

First of all, the boyfriend comes with me to the party. This was unexpected and delightful. Fucken finally, some participation. He even enjoyed himself so I can cry "bullshit" the next time he uses some lame "I don't like people" excuse to get out of a social occasion. I think he especially enjoyed asking the cab driver to pull over to let me hurl out the door after our 5am departure. As long as you make it outta the party before you puke, it's all good.

We arrive at the party and almost immediately get handed a bubbler by this couple I've met many times but don't really know. They were regular customers at the video store where I worked. I always thought they were the shit, based on the little I knew about them. Plus she would always wear jewelry around her head like the Childlike Empress in "The Neverending Story." I love shit like that.

I crack a beer, take the bubbler, chat a bit then have a sit down. I realize I haven't smoked in two weeks when it hits me that I also haven't properly socialized in more than 6 months. And then it hits me. People mill about around me, I exist on the edge of conversation. The couple from the store sit next to me as my boyfriend and I discuss the awesomeness that is Stan Lee and his soapbox. I'm not sure they're on the page with the topic. The boyfriend impersonates the exuberant Stan Lee, they laugh.

I'm caught in a daydream. I worry that I'll never be able to relate to anyone ever again. I'm too far gone into my social retardation. I sit back. The girl half of 'the couple that are the shit' turns to me and says "I'm kind of lacking in social skills since I never go anywhere. You can probably tell, eh?" HA! Awesome. That is precisely what is going through my mind at that exact moment. I didn't tell her that she channeled my thoughts but did tell her I wouldn't notice because I too am socially rusty. My freak out ended there. Nice.

After that we existed in connection with one another while her awesome boyfriend told me they would always try to get my till at the video store because they thought I was nice. See, I excel at being pleasant. Therefore I am awesome. And they are awesome. The rest of the night she would occasionally react to things I said or did. She would turn to her boyfriend and go "see" because I kept doing/saying things she did/said/agreed with. Too bad we're both too socially inept to know how to start a friendship without seeming too forward. Well, at least I am.

The rest of the party was awesome with me being my old party self. Even right down to me drinking whatever leftover shitty beer I could find in the fridge, hence the hurling. The rad couple left early for work purposes but I continued to shoot the shit and philosophize with some old co-workers, customers and entertaining new cohorts. I had a bit of a rough start but I only spent about a half hour being a gimp. After that I was socially capable until I sat in the comfy chair. Good times. And the boyfriend and I are fairly certain we know who to look for if we're interested in being swingers. (Not THE rad couple but another rad couple). Possibilities are fun.

Revenge

I love revenge songs. I only know three, but I love them all. I need to find more so I can make a revenge compilation. I will give it to assholes and they will think I am their friend. Then they will listen to it and feel the need to look over their shoulder when they walk down the street.

The three I know, in no particular order are:

1.) The Mariner's Revenge Song by the Decemberists
2.) Waitress by Tori Amos
3.) Buenas Tardes Amigo by Ween

I probably know more but I'm too daft and daydreaming to realize they're about revenge.

Severed

My sober time has given me a lot of time to reflect on the things I normally don't think about. Like past relationships that no longer exist. One such relationship was with my best friend in high school. Audrey and I were together as much as possible for 5 years. We met when I returned to my hometown to finish high school in grade 11. It was basically the two of us with a bunch of guy friends. We tripped out together constantly, could out-smoke all the boys and had a fine time of it. We eventually had more girls join us in our debauchery, but Audrey and I were the mainstays.

We had our own language. We could look each other in the eye and know what the other was thinking. It wasn't uncommon for us to be on opposite ends of a room with the both of us bursting out with laughter at the same moment. It confused our other friends but they got used to it. Sometimes we'd let them in on it, though they wouldn't always get it. Audrey and I were very close and we became close with many of our other friends. We were a tight knit family, but I guess that happens when you share and philosophize and bare your soul with the same group of people night after night for years.

I found my old autograph page from my grade 12 yearbook. Audrey wrote a note in her typical fashion. I can hear it now as she would have spoken it.

Okay Eve,

This is how it is.
EVERYONE KNOWS MAN!
So hey Eve are you gonna miss me?
Well I hope so, cause I'm gonna miss me too.
Well have fun when you move but not too much man.
Like you said Eve it's been papers and mold and everything in between babe.
Well you're fucken cool babe, and you better keep in touch cause if you don't, I'll die.
Have a good future with lots of drugs man.
We're gonna end up living in the lonely desert with Jim Morrison's spirit.
With all of our ACID.
Love ya always Man,
Audrey

(Yes, we were mildly reminiscent of Alice and Chris in Go Ask Alice. We also lived in an isolated small town - we were behind. It was the 90's but it was also very 70's)

She was a year behind me in school. I went away to college while she finished grade 12. She came to visit and I came home every holiday. I ended up dropping out of college (business school - I just wasn't interested at the time) and moved back home for a year to figure out what I wanted to make of myself. Audrey and I were still the best of friends. She even went to the same school as me when I went to film school. We had an apartment together and would tag along to each other's class events.

But something happened very early on that year. Audrey began to get very strange in her intoxication. She was becoming a mean and uncontrollable drunk. She wasn't drinking excessively or anything but when she did she would be rude and obnoxious. She started trying to pick fights with me. She would jump out of moving vehicles(slowing for lights) to get away from us (our other hometown roommate and close friend, Russ). She would get on a chair in one of the rougher bars in town and start making fun of people on the dance floor. She even once smeared ice cream all over our kitchen. Partying with her usually ended with Russ and I struggling to keep her out of trouble.

After the winter break Audrey didn't do too much partying, instead concentrating on her studies. I didn't try to pressure her into it, I just let her be. We'd also lost a good friend to a heroin overdose. He was the only one that had been involved in such serious drug use but it still made for some heavy soul searching. I wasn't doing too much on the drug front, at least not to the excess of high school and the two years following. I knew that Audrey needed to get away from that lifestyle. I also had suspicion that she was feeling very separated from her family. She came from a very close family with 3 brothers who all still lived at home. I was fairly certain that some of her destructive behavior came from that separation.

At the end of the school year it came time to pack up and say our goodbyes. I had decided not to go home for the summer and check out small town Southern Ontario for a while. Audrey and I had a nice evening talking about how we were great friends and we'd miss each other and write and call during the summer. I never heard from her once that summer. I called and she wasn't home, I wrote and she never wrote back. When I got back to school I found her in the cafeteria. She was pleasant but distant. She ignored me the rest of the year under the pretense of always being in a rush to get somewhere else.

I know friends grow apart but she was very deliberate at separating our ties. I suspect she felt the need to lose me as a friend to get away from the drug atmosphere our relationship was born in. I just wish she would have told me. I would have understood, she was my best friend. I was confused and insulted for a long time until I spoke to one of our other old drug friends. He said she didn't have anything to do with him anymore either. He ran into her when she was with her boyfriend. She exchanged pleasantries but didn't even make any introductions. He was one of her best friends (and still one of mine).

We've all moved on from our days of excess. We still enjoy drinks and some bud(I'm still trying to moderate this one). Maybe even an occasional mushroom trip (like once a year occasional). But no more chemicals. I'm still good friends with 3 of my old cohorts but they live in Winnipeg and Edmonton (the ones in the peg get up to far more trouble than I do these days).

I guess in my reflection I can forgive Audrey for not telling me why she cut me off so suddenly. I can forgive her for making me feel unwanted and insecure. I just hope I'm right about why she let me go. I hear she's married now and back in our hometown close to her awesome family. I hope she's happy, although I doubt she'd be unhappy. Who knows, maybe she'll show up for the 10 year reunion we planned for this summer for our small family of friends.

Social High

I almost fell off the wagon last night. I had to convince myself that if I smoked I would waste my whole high thinking about what a weak loser I am. Which I would have cause that's how I think when I'm high alone. I think about how much time I waste being high because I never get anything done when I'm high. But if I just stopped thinking about how useless I am then maybe I wouldn't be useless. Oh, it's useless. I'll just keep quitting for now. Except for Saturday. I'm jumping off the wagon on Saturday.

That's right, I've been invited to a party. Woooooowhoooooooo! I can smoke at a party. I'll be too busy talking my face off to let my paranoid thoughts creep in. Plus, how can I be wasting my time at a party? I won't be. So it's all good. I should lay down some ground rules. Like no smoking unless I'm being social. But if I really really want to smoke alone then it has to be on a weekend and after dark. That should be good. Then I won't be smoking too much so when I do, I won't feel guilty about the time suckage. But with the exception of Saturday, I have to stay on the wagon till Dec 9th. Ground rules come into effect after that.

Rock Star for Hire

Turns out I've been preparing all my life for rockstardom. All those years spent ingesting LSD, mescaline and mushrooms while sitting in a haze of smoke. Top it off with film school and I'm about qualified for nothing. Who knew you couldn't get by on good looks and a 100% track record for talking people down from bad trips. Are there any jobs out there for daydreaming and being pleasant. I'm quite good at being pleasant. When I used to interact with other humans I was told as much quite often.

Too bad I couldn't get a counseling job based on my experiences as a shit head. Talking people down has made me rather good at helping people talk through their anxieties. Unfortunately I didn't notice this skill until I had already gone through school. Now I can't afford it. Plus I have a comic book to write and I don't want to sit on it any longer. I've had this particular story brewing for 3 years. Plus I have two more full on epics that I hope to someday get to write. Man I suck. I get so stressed about having no income that I waste so much of my unemployment not writing.

I'll have to talk myself through my anxieties about having a shit job. Otherwise I'll harp on myself for never trying hard at anything, all the while depressing about the crappy minimum wage job that I will eventually have. I worked in a video store for awhile and got so down about my dead-end situation that I had no creativity. I'll have to constantly remind myself that my comic is the reason for my low-responsibility job and the key to bettering my situation.

I've always half started and abandoned everything. I guess I've been conditioned on the instant gratification of tripping and just being alive in this era. I'm such a lazy shit.

Who the Fuck is Harrison?

Why do I have to go to a big store to get the big peanut butter? I don't like the big stores. They have big racks filled with annoying celebrity rags. I'm just here for the food man. It's like commercials at the movie theatre. I'm just here for the movie dammit, not to decide on birth control. Show only previews at the movies and put recipe books in the racks at the grocery store.

If Harrison Ford didn't make 20 million for three months of his life then maybe they wouldn't have to sell advertising time at the movie theatres. Maybe if rags with his face plastered all over it weren't in the grocery store line then he wouldn't have to pay so much in personal and home security to guard against papparazzi culture destroyers.

Remember when you were a kid and there was Han Solo and his look alike ancestor was Indiana and you were like "Who the fuck is Harrison?" Famous people are too famous. It doesn't matter how well they play the part, I still just see Tom Hanks stranded on an island with a volleyball.

There's one reason I have come to prefer serial television to film. If they play the same character for long enough I can see them as that character rather than some dipshit actor who left his wife for a garden tool, punched out their assistant or made a sex tape with a waiter.

Thank the Gods for T.V. on DVD. At least I don't have to see commercials or entertainment news at home.

Buffy Speak

You know you're starved for interaction when a small conversation with a stranger brings a sense of relief. Today I was sitting in a coffee shop being a dork and reading my very first Buffy the Vampire Slayer novel, when a woman my mother's age leaned over and apologized for interrupting.

Her: "Is that a Buffy novel."

Me: "Ah yeah, it was $3 at chapters so I thought I'd give it a try" (As if to justify my dorkness)

Her: "I just love the show, I didn't know they had books out. I was so sad to see it go."

From there I showed her the list of novels at the front of the book and told her about the comics. It was a short conversation but I felt an odd sense of relief. I guess it was that someone actually talked to me and about a subject I enjoyed. Most people just stare at me and make me uncomfortable. Maybe it's my black and blue hair or my faerie with butterfly wings necklace (cause it's awesome).

But back to Buffy. Although it's my first Buffy novel (The Book of Fours) it's not my first Buffy related read. I've read The Philosophy of Buffy, a collection of essays. It's a good read although there were three or four essays that I would argue or shorten to a paragraph. I've also checked out a couple of comics; an Oz side story (just OK), Tales of the Slayers (good), and Fray (entirely excellent as it was written by Joss Whedon). I'm such a dork that I have the same haircut as Fray except for the colour (hers is blue with red).

Joss Whedon is one of my heroes. The man is a storytelling genius. He created an entire universe with storylines that could tear your heart up or make you bust a gut. His characters are so enthralling they move his stories to places mere plot points could never take you. His character archs are so amazing that you sometimes find yourself stunned when comparing a character's first appearance to their last. Look at Wesley in season 3 of Buffy as a frilly women's blouse and then again in Season 5 of Angel as a hardened warrior and spell-caster. Everything that happened to that character affected him and created a new man. Look at Cordelia in Season 1 of Buffy as snobby shallow bitch then in Season 3 of Angel (specifically in "Birthday") and you realize what a hero she's become. This is the level of awesomeness I would like to achieve in my writing.

I also love that these shows (Buffy, Angel, and Firefly) are like watching live action comics. I sometimes like to envision each frame as a comic panel. And who can complain when Buffy started using the scorpion kick in season 6 (Trinity's signature move in The Matrix). Joss Whedon's shows are like my security blanket. I can watch them to keep me company or to take my mind off the bullshit. I've converted so many people who thought Buffy was stupid because they saw the movie or thought the title was stupid. My boyfriend's a bigger addict than me. I once lent Firefly to a friend who put off watching the last episode for weeks because if he watched it then there would be no more Firefly. Another friend bought me the soundtrack to the musical episode for lending her my entire Joss collection. I'm leaving a wake of fanatics wherever I go.

Note for skeptics: If you decide to give Buffy a try make sure to watch the first two seasons before deciding if you like it or not. Just watching one episode won't cut it for a skeptic. Build your character knowledge first. Season 1 is a bit fluffy but is much stronger when you watch it again after seeing a few more seasons. My boyfriend was convinced it was going to suck so he didn't like the show until halfway through Season 2. But he kept watching because he figured there must be a reason for my liking it so much. Now he loves it and enjoyed the early years on second viewing when he was more open to it.

My one compliant: (possible spoiler alert for people with deductive reasoning skills who haven't watched Season 6/7 yet) Who the fuck is Kennedy? As if Willow would date her. She's annoying and rude and in no way seductive. Willow is a witch and Kennedy has no charm. You can't attract a witch without any charm. Now Tara, she had charm. I don't care for the Kennedy character but I think casting had a huge part in the character suckage. Is the actress some producer's daughter or something? Join the We Hate Kennedy Club. Blech.

Past Life Regression Therapy

I have read this book and now I want to be regressed into my past lives. I want to know where my soul has been and what it's kept along the way. What lessons have I already learned and what have I failed to learn? Do I have any soul debts to be repaid or collected? How many lives have I lived?

The Meat of a Dream

Yet another strange dream. I was at a Wiccan ritual with many people. There was some sort of circular ritual with a waterslide that ran the circumference of the circle with the entrance to the slide at the south. I did not enter the slide, I continued to walk around the body of the circle. The ritual seemed quite normal to me as though I had participated many times before.

Instead of finishing the ritual I sat down to eat. I piled my plate full with mostly roast chicken. I had two drumsticks and a breast. I started to mow down on the meat all the while thinking about the fact that I'm a vegetarian. I continued to eat the meat feeling that I was taking necessary action even though the more I ate the more disturbed I was by my own actions. Finally someone sat across from me and took the last drumstick and ate it. I thanked them for helping me out.

I have an idea of how this dream may be interpreted. The circle represents the circle of life and the waterslide is the access to jump into it. I have passed on jumping into life. Instead I sit down and partake in activities that are against my beliefs. This could represent my relationship with my boyfriend. I continue to exist in this relationship with a man who is fueled by negativity and believes that anything good in life is entirely fleeting and only a distraction from life's ever mounting pile of shit. I do not agree with him and we argue about it occasionally when he gets to be too much to handle.

I have been in this relationship for two years and feel quite stuck. I am filled with worry that he will succumb to destructive behaviour if I try to remove him from my life. I do love him and he is my best friend but he definitely hasn't helped me maintain a positive outlook on life. I am working on reviving that in myself and from time to time it does rub off on him. But I think my dream is telling me I need some help. Either I need someone to take part in my boyfriend's life to help him see some good or I need him taken out of my life so I can continue to work on myself. I wonder if that person will come along soon. I hope it's my boyfriend finally deciding to deal with his responsibilities, problems and emotions.

Doomed for Retail?

I'm about a week away from flirting with the pizza man for free slices. I see the way he looks at me, I know I could do it. It's proving to be quite difficult to find a non-film job when you have a resume stacked with film experience. I suppose they all assume that as soon as I get a call for film work I'll be quitting to go back to the glamour of film. Yeah right.

I've stated very clearly in my cover letters that I am leaving the film industry and I've still only gotten three interviews. Maybe they can't fathom what kind of skills I may have honed chasing after actors all day long. Maybe I am doomed to a life of retail. Catering to the delicate egos of actors does put me in a good position to deal with the demands of customers. But dammit I don't want to!

For my next attempt I've tried a new approach. Along with my resume and cover letter, I've attached a short story. It's the story of me, my writing and why I want the job for which I've applied. I'm sure alot of employers will read it and ask themselves "Who is this clown?" But I'm not going to worry about it. An employer who responds to the story is more likely the type of employer I'm interested in working for. It's a good story too. It's kind of like a kids story.

I've actually only handed out one resume with the story. I'm quite certain about what I want my day job to be, I just don't have any experience in the field. I just think being a baker would be perfect. Waking up before sunrise and being home before lunch are two big bonuses. Add on the meditative work of baking, the working with my hands, the not sitting at a computer so I can do it when I get home before lunch to write the afternoon away. Top it all off with the yummy smells and treats to be made. I just love making things. Having something to show for your time spent like a script, a piece of art, or loaves of bread and trays of croissants is mmmmmmm.....satisfaction.

Poor poor Batman

Batman, I'm coming over and we're going to hang out, maybe drink too much coffee and eat chocolate and peanut butter.

Boredom or Mono?

I know what Wayne Campbell was talking about when he said he thought he had mono for a year but it turned out he was just really bored. Most of the time I wish I could fall asleep in an instant and dream through the boring moments. At least my dreams are more interesting. Too bad I couldn't just go into a coma and wait it out. But I suppose that wouldn't work since you have to create your own fun. Man, I grew up in an isolated northern town and I've never been as bored as I am in Vancouver.

Sometimes I think about stopping and chatting with the people who ask me for change. You know, ask them their story. I don't have any money to give them since I'm presently unemployed but maybe they wouldn't mind having someone to shoot the shit with. I could definitely stand to shoot some shit with someone other than my boyfriend. I suppose I could afford to take them for a coffee and chat out of the rain. Maybe next time that guy tells me he's gathering some food items together I'll ask him what's up.

I should really work on learning to approach people. Hopefully once I find a job I'll be interacting with the people. My problem is that I hate small talk. I hate all the stupid useless questions that people ask each other. "Hi, how ya doin'?" "Nice weather we're having." "Blah blah blah." I'd rather just launch into a real conversation with passions, emotions, ideas and such flying everywhere. Half the time people don't even wait for the expected "oh, I'm good" or whatever they use as their standard wall they've built to hide themselves. It's like you really have to know someone to give them a real answer. If they're not your best friend you've given them too much information.

Having said that, I've become the queen shut-in. I offer nothing to those I barely interact with. I hardly even look people in the eye anymore. I think I do it subconsciously to avoid mundane chatter. I even speak quietly with few words as though to signal how difficult it will be to talk with me. I know I will have to get through countless conversations filled with small talk until I finally meet someone who intrigues me. Maybe I shouldn't have taken all those psychedelic drugs in high school and college. Maybe then the norm wouldn't be so damn boring to me.

Oh well. Too late now. I guess the next step will be to make a point of looking people in the eye. Not smoking the bud all the time should help with this step. Then a job. With a job will come money. With money, concerts and trips to the comic shop will be afforded. I can talk to the people at the comic store, although they'd probably think I was weird if I asked them to go for coffee.

Animal Guides

I keep having dreams about animals. It may be in direct relation to my currently reading Anansi Boys by Neil Gaiman. It's about the Gods who have a human and an animal form. But maybe not. Maybe there's another reason I'm dreaming of animals. I am going through one of my biggest personality changes since puberty. I must do some dream research.

Last week I dreamed of a large boa type snake in my apartment. Last night I dreamed there were small furry animals all over my apartment. People and animals also kept peering into my patio windows. I wanted them to just fuck off cause I was naked. I didn't try to hide my nudity but I wanted them to go away. It was the small rodent like creatures in my apartment that bothered me the most. They were there for a reason but I couldn't figure out their purpose. I finally picked up a possum and held it in my arms. In doing this I realized that the animals were there to guide me. Then the possum turned into a little girl with blonde wispy hair. She clung to me like a small child but I seemed to be aware that her intelligence and mystical abilities were far superior than any other human being. I then drifted into consciousness and dreamed no more.

2 Days in the Fog

I think it's about time for my annual break from the bud. One of my longtime friends will be visiting me for two days so I will schedule my break upon his departure. I must drag him down to the New Amsterdam Cafe for a spliff to send me off to sobriety. I'll start with the usual month and go from there. That'll put me back on the bud by December 9th.

Shit, I better go hit the bong.

Paranoid Delusions

I am a chronic pot-smoker. I have smoked enough weed that paranoid delusions are a part of my personality. These delusions generally get in my way of having an enjoyable existence. That and my lazy-ass self centered boyfriend who would rather wallow in his own misery than even attempt to participate in life. But that's a whole other bag of bullshit.

No, today I want to make mention of my turning my paranoid thought-processes into a useful writing tool. During one of my usual stoned daydreams gone wrong it occurred to me to step outside myself and test my perspective. I love changing my perspective but have a hard time doing so when I keep to myself for long periods. I need to discuss my ideas and my delusions to either work through them or hear how stupid they sound when I say them outloud. But last night I managed to come up with a new way of gaining perspective.

While thinking my paranoid thoughts, I shifted gears and attempted to change my personality for a short time. I pretended to be someone other than myself. I thought about why this new "me" would be having these thoughts and how she would allow them to affect her. In this character I allowed the paranoia to be real with a valid reason. From this experience I found my anti-hero, the title character of my graphic novel. I spent 5 solid hours writing last night.

Hopefully the next time I spend too much time in my own head I can regurgitate the experience into a short story or another character perspective. Maybe this whole idea of not having any friends close enough to hang out with will turn into a new way of writing and some needed psychotherapy.

Oh, but I so miss the me I get to be when I have friends.

You're Never Too Drunk for Spellcheck

Ha ha, spellcheck wanted me to change Motherfucker to motorbike.

What an asshole.

Well that was a motherfucker

But I've been drinking so I'm finding it hard to care. I wrote some stuff and then there was a crash. But I'm ok. Not a scratch. It was probably all bullshit anyway. I think there was some humour, but whateves, I'm over it. My boyfriend's in the other room watching the commentary on Sleepaway Camp and giggling up a shit storm. It's probably Judy and the most spectacular 80's side ponytail ever sported.

William Gibson

I have a crush on this man. Is this odd? I've never read any of his books. I just happened to attend one of his events at the Vancouver International Writer's Festival and now I lust. I've never crushed on a man old enough to be my father. Yes Patrick Stewart has a certain appeal but it's more of an angular composition thing. The eyes, the brow, the baldness. You know, like a captivating painting.

William Gibson had a strange aura about him. I was drawn to him. Like that pull you feel when you finally meet someone who seems to be on the same page. Only they know each sentence for it's underlying meaning with the same perspective as you. Funny that he and I do not share similarities in our writing (he did read a chapter), in style or subject matter. There was just something odd though. I couldn't take my eyes off of him (well, for very long. Spider Robinson was also speaking).

I suppose we could have known each other in another life. We'll probably meet again if that's the case. It shouldn't be too hard for our paths to cross, we do live in the same city.

Down and Out with the Dolls

I just finished watching this awesome little indie flick called "Down and Out with the Dolls." This movie rules. It's about an all girl band called The Paper Dolls who move in together and try to make it in the Portland rock scene. It's got Kinnie Star and Lemmy from Motorhead. It was directed by Kurt Voss who also did "Sugar Town" and "Where the Day Takes You."

This movie drew me into the story and characters and really captured the essence of the indie rock lifestyle. And like the film "The Anniversary Party" it made me feel like I had attended the party too. The 6-pack of Shaftsbury 420 I just drank probably helped. (Although, said 6-pack did not help in creating an imaginative and articulate review.) There's also a character named Alcoholly. That's some funny shit.
I wouldn't recommend this movie to people who like all their films to be shiny and flashy.

http://www.dolls-themovie.com/

Underdeveloped Interests And The Birthing Of A Bad Attitude

Long lists of interests were always easy to come by when exploring the caverns of my brain. I had too many to tend to them all. Too many it seems to pay special attention to any particular one of them. So many, that my interests went un-pursued never to become full-fledged talents or abilities. I didn’t ignore my interests all together; I had a few that stood the test of time. I had a real interest in music and singing for a long time but never had the courage to fully pursue it. I sang with friends, I was quite comfortable singing karaoke; I took voice lessons and guitar lessons and practiced often. I was confident with my abilities (to sing) but I wasn’t confident in becoming part of a band. If I sing in a band, I would be demanding to be heard. I would have to have something real to say and to say it with poetic grace.

Even with my lack of confidence I managed to attempt the answering of a few classifieds. One audition (which went quite well) and a few calls to various lead guitarists ended in nothing. I began to get distracted and ignore my abilities. I worried about who I was and what I wanted to accomplish. I thought of my interests and the importance of each one. I had too many interests to feed. I’ve always wanted to do so much that I’ve neither accomplished nor mastered anything. I needed to concentrate on one. The heavyweights were singing and writing. The latter ended up weighing more.

Film was an interest for which I went to school. This interest stemmed from my desire to write. Visual stories run through my head all the time, it was a natural progression to have an interest in screenwriting. Film school was a great experience for me to learn the art of getting the pictures out of my head. I sucked at it while I was at school but I’m glad I learned how to write a crappy scene with crappy dialogue so I can recognize it and avoid it now. Having gone to film school left me with a subconscious feeling that I needed to get out there and work in film. I spent time and money on school; I should get involved in the industry. It didn’t seem reasonable for me to get a regular 8-hour day job and work on my writing. I worried that I would have a script and no connections to get it out there. Fuck. At least I would have had a script. Probably several.

Instead I worked my way through the non-union shows to a film office. A year there earned me two back-to-back post-production gigs getting me the necessary connections to the union. After that I had 3 very fun years working with a lot of great people in the Toronto film industry. But I was really just falling back. I had a career as a support worker for someone else’s stories. I was distracting myself with a career as an A.D., something I enjoyed doing for a time but had no passion for. Here I was, fully involved in the film industry leaving myself no time to master the craft that brought me there.

My decision to take a break from the film industry coincided with my move to Vancouver. I had ignored my writing too long and constant walkie talkie use was taking it’s toll on my ears and brain. After spending more than a reasonable amount of time getting settled as an excuse to avoid finally getting my shit together and writing, I ended up back in the film industry. I had become unexpectedly in need of a job and the Vancouver film industry was (and still is) starving for Production Assistants. With my name on the union list, I was getting regular calls for film work. I found a job simply by answering my phone. This did nothing to cure me of my newfound lifestyle of complete and total laziness.

Here I was again spending all my time at work. I had a lot of downtime while working but the distractions were too numerous and frustrating. I could not write in this environment. All day long on the walkie I listened to people get shit on for doing their job. Why show people respect for their hard work when you can belittle them and keep them ever searching for approval. Why treat people like human beings when you have a delicate hierarchical structure to maintain? It wasn’t so negative in Toronto but I was working on kid shows and more homegrown productions. I was also an A.D. rather than a P.A.

Not only is the job painfully boring and unchallenging, it seems that P.A.’s are not worthy of respect and need to be reminded of their insignificance on a daily basis. I was ususally reminded by other's actions but I was also told several times that I was "just a P.A." I made an effort and smiled my way through it. I continued to treat everyone with respect and do whatever I could to help on set and off. But the day came where I’d had enough. I was tired of being treated like a lesser being. That morning after several displays of disrespect from various crew members, my outlook changed fast. The instant I let myself get angry was the instant I stopped smiling and closed up shop for catering to assholes.

I managed to keep my anger in check whenever I was reminded of how little I mattered. I did however perfect an expression that says, “You are an idiot and an asshole. I have no use for you. Get away from me.” I also managed several smart-ass comments without any backlash and the privilege of being avoided by the disrespectful party. Clearly I called them on their unnecessary contempt of me. Even clearer was my newfound hatred for the film industry and my inability to survive in it with this attitude.

The longer I stayed in this environment the more my creativity suffered. My ideas stopped flowing, my muse abandoned me because I had abandoned her. My brain was turning to oatmeal and my work ethic was suffering. The negative environment I had lazily drifted back into was the culprit in the case of my missing magick (see first posting). My attitude turned to shit and I became laconic to acquaintances and possible new friends. All that wanted to come out were angry complaints. I avoided talking to people when I could; I had become disinterested in them anyway. With my positive outlook gone and my newly developing anti-social personality, I was beginning to lose my mental defenses for dealing with the world’s sorrows.

My P.A. job finished two weeks ago. I can now rest comfortably with my decision to leave the film industry permanently. Luckily I discovered how awesome comics were a few years back and shifted my writing interests. In comics I can write visual stories without having to deal with actors and the politics of film. I know there will be politics wherever I go but I have hope that they will be a little less immature and self-centered than the film industry.

I’m working on repairing my negativity and developing my interests. It starts here with emptying my brain of it’s thoughts and getting into the habit of writing. Further repair will come with a day job and being treated like an equal to my fellow workers. A little respect goes a long way. I’m also looking for work that challenges me and keeps my brain too busy to mellow into negativity or inactivity. I have a job interview tomorrow for a position that will teach me skills that should prove valuable to my writing. Hopefully enjoying my day job will help me to enjoy people again. This in turn should lighten my spirits and call back my muse. I have notebooks full of ideas that need to find their voice. I also have a singing voice that refuses to come out to play and remember her full potential. Time will tell.

Write first, sing about it later.

Misplaced

I seem to have misplaced my magick. I suppose it's still there, I've just misplaced the means to extract it. I've always been out of place, on the fringe, slightly off-kilter from the rest. I've always rather enjoyed it, but being misplaced seems to offer no joy. My magick seemed to disguise itself in my out of place nature. It came out when I spoke. It would spill over people, taking them aback. They would point thoughtfully at me and smile like I'd given them something rare. Sometimes it was what I said, sometimes it was how I said it. Sometimes it would be a simple gesture or expression. Whatever it was, it gave them a new perspective, a new way to appreciate something or someone.

I still have my own way of seeing but my soul has been heavied. I am shrouded in negativity, broken by a bad attitude, depressed by the weight of the world and often embarrassed to be human. There have always been horrible things in this world and there always will. These horrible things make us strong, they are the building blocks of our humanity. It's how we deal with them that determine the strength of our humanity. I have allowed my weakness to creep in and create a negative space for it to wallow. I have let these horrible things distort my perspective and give up on society. After much thought and inner turmoil, I think I may have found a way to dig out my disappointment.

It's no secret that our differences are what make life interesting and our stories worth telling. Our stories are our most powerful means of connection. Our stories are the only thing we actually own. Awake or unconscious, they come with us everywhere. They can be real or made up. They can be shared or kept to ourselves. They can make others laugh or cry or they can keep us company when we are alone. Stories can keep families together, tear friendships apart, connect strangers, or put someone's mind at ease. Without our stories, we would never grow or have any character.

A story can be anything that expresses the running commentary in your head. A simple thought, a painting, a joke, an expression. Your stories get you out of your head and put you into the world. They spread you around and get you involved in life. Here is where I've found my glitch.

I am a very social person. Well, once upon a time I was a very social person. I was the girl parked at the kitchen table with a beer in hand telling my stories to whomever would listen. They would often be about my life, my friends and family. Sometimes they would be fictitious, sometimes they would be drug related as I shared some grand hallucination or philosophical conclusion I had stumbled across. The larger groups would get the comedy as I'd save the dramatic or tragic for a smaller more personal audience. I had a way of drawing people in and giving them a comfortable place to share their stories.

Everything changed when I moved to a new city. I no longer have any friends and it seems I don't know how to make any. I guess I've had a good run of luck with friends up to now. I've lived many places and I've always had friends. Looking back on it now I've realized my friendships were built-in, easy access, just show up and they'll be there. I grew up in an isolated northern town. Small towns breed large groups of friends. I was lucky enough to have grown-up with a plethora of strange children that I never felt like an outcast. I am still friends with many of my weirdo hometown friends but I've lived apart from them since leaving high school (I've been 10 years gone).

Then there's college. Stick around long enough and you'll find someone to shoot the shit with. The first time I went to college, I went with friends from home. The second time, I was in a film class of thirty, you tend to get to know each other quickly. After college most of my class moved to Toronto, including me. Built in friends. I never once even had to make an effort. Now I'm in Vancouver. I've been here a year and I have no one to tell my stories. I've been living inside my head bouncing my ideas off of my own grey matter. Thoughts yet to be fully formed are bastardized by negativity. My fetal ideas are over-incubated allowing them to be mutated into fuel for a bad attitude and an intolerance for stupidity.

This new attitude of mine has made me completely unapproachable when I am alone in public. I walk the streets making little eye contact, barely cracking a smile, offering no opening for a possible connection. I tell no stories so I have no friends. I figure it's time to get my stories out of my head and onto this page and hopefully cure my self-inflicted disease of the mind. Once I revive my magick from being beaten into submission by negativity maybe I can smile and make a friend.