thirst

two-lipped

Every day seems like the one before it. I wake up, shower, get dressed, eat (and usually indulge in morning tea), make my way to school (late), get educated, walk home, avoid my homework, usually indulge in evening tea, and finally retire for the night. On weekends I usually don't leave my house. I stay up late researching Yorkshire Terriers and Audrey Hepburn and Norway and sleep in the next afternoon. No job, no hobbies, no direction. Yet, though I'm neglecting my future, and in some cases, my friends, I'm the happiest I've ever been. This routine is comfortable and fulfilling for me right now. Sure, I might have potential to do more with my life, the opportunities are there, but it means nothing if I don't want to seize them. I rarely get angry anymore, I'm barely over-emotional, for the most part I'm on top of things. It was harder than I thought to move again, but I'm coping, and that's all I could ask for. My current situation is not cause for concern, I assure you. I'm fine. It must seem like so much of a problem from the way everyone perceives it, by the way everyone treats it. Not having motivation isn't contagious, it can't hurt YOU, only me. And I'm okay with that.

out of left field

See this guy? His name is Sondre. Sondre Lerche. He embodies what I look for in a man. From the place he was born, even, he exemplifies perfection in my eyes. Sondre Lerche has completely captured me. It's safe to say I'm as helpless as a tiny little fly in an web spun of delicate crooning and puppy-dog eyes. If I ever had the chance to meet him, I'm afraid of what would happen. In all honestly, I would probably crumple into a string puppet in his wake. My bones would turn to jelly, every muscle would lose it's will to hold me up. I might even faint! As far as saying something to him, I wouldn't even dream of it. I can't imagine what sorts of incoherent word-foam I would babble out in his presence. I mean, really though, look at him! He's an angel, any girl would be luck to have composure in front of him. It would be an absolute dream come true to see him play in Bergen, his hometown, to sing along and dance and gawk awkwardly at him. He just oozes sex appeal. He's also the only person that can describe the Norweigan language as being 'itchy' and pull it off without a hitch.

i never knew just what it was

This week has been wonderful. Landon Pigg's Falling In Love At A Coffee Shop is a perfect explanation of the euphoria I've experienced for the past while. It's so .. happy, for lack of a better word. I truly feel as if I've been smiling from the inside out all week. There's something going on lately that's tied the corners of my mouth to the stars, I can't stop beaming! Sure, my hormones have been off the charts, and I've received some news I could have gone without hearing, but the pros definitely conquer the cons. Case in point: on Tuesday, I celebrated the four year anniversary of the first day I stepped into my favourite place on this planet: Weeds Cafe. Can you believe that?! FOUR YEARS. I'm lucky to stick with something for more than four minutes now. That coffee shop though.. there's an energy about it, something I've always readily connected with, something I crave to share with everyone. To me, it feels like how I would envision home to feel, and I believe everyone should have a place like it. Everyone need a little Weeds in their life.

when in doubt, pinky out

When I'm presented with the old adage, "There are plenty of fish in the sea" I can't help but be reminded that there are also plenty fishermen, or in this case, fisherwomen, and plenty of them have excellent bait. It's a blessing I'm not swimming to actually catch anything, isn't it?

If I had a nickel for every time someone gave me a penny for my thoughts, I'd only have four cents. My opinion seems less and less desirable as the days pass. I think this means I need to start re-evaluating how I deliver my beliefs or I'm going to run out of coinage altogether.

I'm keeping this short for tonight. I still want to write about how the 'Year of the Rat' is so fitting, and give my review on Ratatouille, and justify why I'm writing down everything I eat lately. I still want to elegantly pour out my rationale for moving back, and work out why it's so hard to readjust. I still need to fulfill my obligation to stop writing so selfishly but the big bad wide world scares me and I don't want to stare it down just yet!

talking heads

All films should be absent of those 'cue the violins' moments. You know which ones I'm talking about, where the protagonist tells his love how much she means to him, and she leaps into his arms as the camera pans out to the two of them embracing each other. Or when the father tells his son just how much he's made him proud, and they shake hands and become men. Gag. I like indie films for a few reasons, one of them being that they're as realistic as possible when it comes to background noise. Sure, action flicks wouldn't be as great without the orchestra behind it, I understand that it enhances the film. It's just not required in every single scene, and that's saying a lot coming from me. I'll cry in almost every cinematic adventure I sit through, violins or not. Indie films are somewhat refreshing though, as they don't rely on the Hollywood ending, or a big budget to get their point across. How can you not love a movie like that?! Pure, pristine, simple. Take for example, Lars and the Real Girl. Once the credits started rolling, I realized I have streaked and lightly salted cheeks and a full heart as proof. The soundtrack for the movie was as effortless as they come: a collection of melodies and rhythms, and that's IT. It was filmed in Ontario, which gives me at least one reason to have pride in my country lately (still no medals, after ten days!). And it was just such a glimmer of hope that there's some decency left in the world, a few people who truly want to understand and enjoy every second of life that they've been given. I had high expectations for the film and I can definitely say I wasn't disappointed, just for a different reason. I thought it would be comedic and light because the plot seems so ridiculous, but I came away from it uplifted. It's hard not to, witnessing an individual overcoming true human tragedy through a microscope like that. I recommend renting this movie if you want to bawl your eyes out, or even just see the way a small town works in the time of need (I couldn't believe it). One thing's for sure though, Ryan Gosling knows his way around a troubled mind. It's terrifyingly convincing.

I noticed today that I seek refuge in playing the part of a makeshift daughter to the parents of my close friends. I can count at least eight family households that I've nestled into and felt more at home in than my own house. It's also becoming painfully clear to me that I avoid plenty of things I would rather not deal with. Here's my question: how do I recognize when to confront something when I've been playing mind games with myself to do the opposite?

teve: I can't stop starin'.

I think it's due time I take my own advice for once. After a couple lively discussions with two of the greatest people I'll ever have a chance to love, I've realized that I have plenty of reasons to smile and I'm going to start taking those into consideration more often. Their names are on top of the list, naturally, but preceding them are my talents and gifts. Namely: the power of words. I just advised the blonder of the two to continue writing, because he's just as gifted as I, (if not more so) and listed off a few suggestions for topics:

• turn on the news: succumb to something global, something universal
• write about Harper's apology to Aboriginal people regarding residential schools
• write about Obama, and how fantastic it would be if he won the election
• write about rights in Uganda
• write about unrest in Kosovo
• write about the disaster in Burma

Then, as a final thought, I concluded: put the pen to paper and slash it to pieces. Play on words? Absolutely. But I think I might have meant something deeper than that. Regardless, expect a more broad and selfless approach to what I write. This entire blog up to this point has been focussed on the person I am now, the person I was then, or the person I hope to be one day, and I've neglected the world around me. I have no idea how any of you have soaked in so much rubbish! There's more to Tesla than what you read about her or what you see, daily. Trust me. I might not know exactly who she is, but I know she has a whole head full of opinions to unleash still. Beware though, she might get you thinking too. GOD, here I go again, yabbering on about myself! ENOUGH.

Inhale. Exhale.

My best friend has stained-glass eyes when the sun hits them at the right angle. Some say eyes are the window to one's soul, I say hers are two-way mirrors. They noticed that I wasn't taking my own advice to heart when I reminded her to focus on the good things in life. I'm a firm believer (or at least I thought I was) that when you think healthy, you are healthy. If that's true then it's no wonder I'm feeling awful. My thoughts have poisoned my body for at least a week. The remedy? Healthy thoughts from here on out!

we've been the mightiest team

This picture sums up how I feel today: trapped. Except instead of being trapped inside of a neighborhood in the New York area up for reno's, I'm trapped in my own mind. I've forgotten who I am. It's the worst timing too, it seems like I have a never ending list of things to accomplish this week. Deadlines for assignments and friendships are zooming past me, and I'm unable to grasp one long enough to check it off the list. I feel like I'm trying to be someone I used to be, the girl who roamed the halls a few years back. Remember her? The girl who found being an 'all around student' an easy task. The girl who had concrete qualities and knew who she was. The girl with morals and values and pure thoughts. The girl with time to kill, and did she ever. That girl left broken clocks and watches in her wake wherever she went. I'm not that girl anymore, but I would do anything to crawl in her skin and be comfortable again. I think that's what I've been trying to accomplish. All I know is, if some waste-of-space corpse of a girl crawled into my skin and set up camp, I wouldn't be shocked. Appalled maybe, because that's disgusting, however fitting. I'm at the point where I need a vacation from myself, just to figure out who's inhabiting me.

Maybe this move wasn't exactly what I was counting on. Perhaps I cleaned the slate a little bit too thoroughly, and wiped out my identity with my past. I can say this for sure: I never used to be a quitter.

The thing that really irks me, though, is that I can see what I'm doing to myself. I'm removed, displaced, no longer one with my body and soul (clearly, as I'm clueless to who's roaming around with my skeletal system). From that outside perspective, it's mind-blowing how much of an enemy I am to myself, and even though I can see what I'm doing, I'm helpless to stop it. This is the wrong attitude and chastise me all you'd like but I truly believe that I'm lost and unfindable.

Yes, people change over time. It's impossible to move from one province to another, especially at this age, and expect not to change. I have changed, and I'll be the first to admit that I hate who I've turned into. I know can't get that girl back, but how do I get my motivation and ambition and creativity and inspiration to return? I do want to be found, I think. I'm just scared to rely on myself (whoever that is) to cast the line and reel me in. Lately, me, myself and I haven't been cooperating at all.

I guess I'll just keep floundering about in the pools of doubt and keep my fins crossed. Who knows, maybe this summer will be what I need to revive my little spirits for good!

yours is the Earth and everything that's in it

Picture this:

The scene opens to a woman in her mid-to-late twenties: lanky, blonde, with an assured air to her stride. It's nearing dusk, around 7:00, the autumn sun is nestled into it's hammock for the night. She's walking towards an apartment building, some thirty stories high, in the middle of an aged neighborhood in the heart of the city. As she walks, the leaves under her boots crackle and pop. Unlocking the door and stepping inside, her face softens as she effortlessly climbs a set of stairs. Passing an old man with a jovial grin plastered to his face, she smiles and asks him how his wife is doing. A joyous reply floats down the hallway. Reaching her door at last, the woman scrambles with her bag to shove the door open, stumbling over an array of shoes tossed this way and that in the doorway. The apartment is roomy and immaculately designed, very modern and clean. Abandoned mugs with the last dregs of primly brewed Rosie Lee and satin camisoles scattered around scream otherwise however, it is evident that the flat could use a good tidy. She tosses her bag on the bench facing the door, orchestrates her stereo to begin and kicks off her boots. A faint mewing is heard from outside the frame, and a pan of the camera reveals a black kitten poking its head out from the bedroom, then purring as it scurries to greet her. Picking it up, she gives its tummy a scratch and plops it on the kitchen counter for a final nose peck before putting the kettle on. With dismay, the woman drags out her finest tea set, realizing every other cup is in need of a scrub, and places a single sugar cube and single teabag in a single cup. Tea for one, solace in its purest form. A siren can be heard blaring past the kitchen window, but is drowned out by the lively jazz melody dancing across the apartment. Shimmying to her walk-in closet, the woman quickly ties her hair up and chooses a pale green mens dress shirt, size Large, from the stack on the left, and fishes out a pair of shorts from the pile beside her bed. As she dresses she recalls a time, many years before, when she was out shopping with a good friend of hers and declared that it would be her ideal in the future to sleep in mens dress shirts with exceptional thread counts. Silently congratulating herself, she sidesteps into the kitchen. She pours a champagne flute full of milk, placing it in front of the kitten. Perched atop a stack of literature, the kitten lapped up the drink and looking up, locked eyes with the woman. Whiskers wet, eyes like mirrors and a gaze as pristine as a spring bud, the kitten could rival any newborn. Content, the woman curls up on her leather couch, blessed with the beauty of the moment, and closed her eyes.

who will fix me?

The problem with being the person that everyone goes to for help is that when you need assistance, no one knows how to handle it. I take pride in the fact that I'm always there to help out any of my friends at any moment, I will drop anything and everything to listen and give advice and BE THERE for them. Regardless of what my current situation looks like, I can be there, and I will have something to say. I feel that it's my job to be the best friend I can. Now, I'm not saying that everyone should feel that way, being so selfless all the time might even be a bad thing. I just find it funny that for the most part, when I need consolation and positive thoughts at a particular moment, I can't find it. Sure, as the day drags on, there's no stop to the compliments coming my way, but when I hit bottom I'm not thinking of those. It's not the same when I'm telling myself to keep my head up and stay strong and be positive. It's not the same when I'm trying to convince myself that this will all blow over. It can't be fair that I'm only allowed to be comforted when it's convenient for everyone else, can it? Perhaps it was just bad timing. Probably, and I'm just overreacting. It's just .. the statement: 'I'll always be there for you' is hard to believe after it's been so solidly contradicted.

I feel very conflicted lately. Like that horse with the carrot dangling in front of it's nose, the one that keeps running and running and achieves nothing. It's like I've been trying to get somewhere and have apparently failed miserably, and didn't notice until today. It doesn't matter what area of my life I look at, I'm torn and getting nowhere because of it. However, I haven't been doing much trying at all now that I consider it, I haven't really been living. Just .. surviving. My marks are reflecting this, so is the huge pile of junk sitting in the middle of my room. I don't generate any inspiration on my own anymore. Something's missing, and I don't know what it is.

should i take that risk or just smile?

fluorescent adolescent

There's something so subtle about my life, some minuscule aspect that I know exists but I can't put a name to. It's a feeling that I wish I could describe, and analyze, and mass produce. Everyone should feel this feeling. All I know is, it's something within me. I feel it in the morning when I (eventually) reluctantly drag myself out of bed. I feel it when I brush my teeth and stretch my calves after breakfast. I feel it when I'm surrounded by good company and good food and good conversation. I feel it when a familiar melody greets my ears and lights up the fire in my belly. I feel it when I get jealous that someone has discovered something that I could take credit for. I feel it when I understand. I feel it when I pretend. I feel it when I hear the voice of the girl I owe my life to. I feel it when I'm down, I feel it when I'm up. I feel it when I'm sideways, stretching my imagination beyond it's capability. I feel it when I know I'm in the process of making a masterpiece. I feel it when I'm alone and the silence pricks my ears. I feel it when I write. I feel it when I haven't in a while and I know I need to. I feel it when I mourn those I've lost. I feel it when I look myself deep in the eyes and try to figure myself out. I feel it when I hear applause and I know it means joy and the genuine appreciation of talent. I feel it when I'm running and I want to give up but I push myself to keep on. I feel it when suspense grabs a hold of my lungs and squeezes them out. I feel it when I'm completely confident in my abilities. I feel it when I influence and inspire someone I'm close to, or someone I'm not, to be everything they can be. I feel it when tragedy strikes halfway across the world and I'm compelled to help, even though there's nothing I can do. I feel it when I brew up a single cup of tea to rival any English concoction, and it tastes fantastic. I feel it when I go a whole day without tripping over my words. I feel it when I receive a hug from someone who means it wholeheartedly. I feel it when I'm supposed to be focusing on my studies but I'd rather dance around my room to Sondre Lerche. I felt it when I did the splits for the first time. I feel it when I get embarrassed and the tips of my ears turn a shade of red comparable to ripe raspberries. I feel it when I'm complimented with a comment I've never heard before. I feel it when I get a letter or a postcard addressed to me and only me. I feel it when I insinuate uproarious laughter. I feel it all.

And when I do, the feeling is incredible.

I think this subtle, minuscule thing is a single fact filed into the Rolodex of my mind. I have the knowledge that I will always be myself and no one else rooted into my brain, and that I won't change for anyone or anything, living or dead. When I feel this feeling, my skin crawls and my heart jumps and I'm filled with the ironic comfort that I'm here for a reason, and what is meant to be will be.

i know you have a heavy heart

I've been such a bundle of emotions as of late. I don't necessarily feel wholly free, even though I do enjoy where I am right now. It's almost as if there's something constantly pulling me back, an opposing force that's entirely oppressive, and it's hindering me from finding solace in it's pure form. I fear that the thing that's bringing me down is also responsible for 90% of my smiles and laughter, which sucks, and I'm in the dark as to how to fix this, if I even need to. I just don't know what to do! It's even harder because when I attempted to explain everything, I'd talk myself into circles. And, to top it off, I have no one to tell that could do more than listen. Constructive feedback is hard to come by around here. I'm just .. I'm just not used to being one of two things. Relationships are foreign to me. I can't keep things alive, especially if my countless cactus's, lizards and frogs are any indication. (RIP) Giving all of myself to someone, and then to take in all of them simultaneously, is tougher than I had anticipated. It's draining me, I think. Doing all I can to keep someone else happy might be standing in the way of considering my own happiness, so is it worth it? This is all very risky business!

People say when you love someone, you know. I'm still waiting for the memo to arrive. The thing is though, I don't doubt that it's on its way.

On a lighter note, I'm going to follow suit of the general media and give kudos to Jason Reitman for his wonderfully constructed blockbuster hit: Juno. Unlike many films about heavy, real-life subject matter such as this one, Juno was approached with a fresh outlook, and captured the emotions and attitude of teenage life with a twist bang on. Ellen Page has inspired me to inspire, and that's a seemingly rare feat lately. To sum up the movie: cute, refreshing, and uplifting. It gave me hope in the world of film again. Maybe I could be a director..