Sunday, September 20, 2009

Crossroads


I'm plagued by indecision; mind you, it's not a pressing indecision. I have the opportunity to get ahead tonight. Readings, presentations, and projects all swirling around in my academic calendar. But do I take the plunge?

My best friend visited this weekend. We locked ourselves in my room, baked an apple pie, and downed 4 litres of carbonated beverages.

I ought to do some work, and yet the allure of procrastination is ever-present. Tomorrow is my hellish day of school and employment. Perhaps tonight should offer some respite from the horrors tomorrow will bring.

Friday, September 18, 2009

Reunions

I had visualized running into Daniel mere moments before the encounter. I would be in the throngs of the mid-day rush outside of the arts building, amidst the Brittanies (two ts and a heart-dotted i) with their Balenciaga bags and Brunos with their bans-of-ray shielding bored eyes. I would call out his name, once "Daniel" and once "Dan" (for emphasis). He would smile and we would embrace. I don't know what inspired our meeting: fate or circumstance.

As it happened, I was across the street, juggling a large parcel and an umbrella (although the robin-egg sky did not necessitate it to be open). I smiled and stared, trying to catch his attention. I would have flailed my arms, had I an arm to spare. Instead, as the lights changed, I hurried across to catch him before he stepped into the street; a horns-blaring reunion was one I wanted to avoid. I caught him three steps in and dragged him back to the curb. I hugged him, my umbrella gently swatting his face, my cardboard package breaking into his chest. It was one of those moments that can only be described as supreme happiness and ethereal light.

I'd encountered a similar fairy-dust reunion the day prior. I spied him, Matthew, the object of my most frequent missed encounters ("I could've sworn it was Matthew...", "Doesn't he look eerily like Matthew?") outside the arts building, amidst a tidal wave of academically-ambivalent scenesters taking a drag between classes. This was most likely the muse to my imagination of reuniting with Daniel.

What was special about seeing Matthew was the silence. I said his name and smiled. He just walked up and put his arms around me. Silent. It was natural and calm and hushed. Everything became quieter. We had a small conversation, he invited me to see his band on October 1st, and we parted. And the Happy resonated through my statistics lab and followed me like a gust of wind all the way home.

Thursday, September 17, 2009

Chai Latte With a Side of (Blech) Heartbreak

What is it about warm beverages that inspires two people to divulge heart-ache tales about the cracks in their carotids? The tea lubricates the conversations that make some (like myself) a bit uncomfortable. My heart perspires (leaky valves) by its own volition; the new puncture wounds (sometimes self-inflicted) are best left to be healed by meaningful silence and sleep. And every once in a while, I'll rant to my hetero life-mate; but that's different.

Then why do two people blunder through a "broken-hearted" deep-n'-meaningful? Do I blame the ambiance of the café? The caliber of my company (the highest, assured)? One cup in and, before I knew it, I was gabbing about my string of rotten encounters with the reoccurring name (for the sake of this blog, let's call it Boy X) fiend(s) that have wreaked havoc on my heart-strings over the course of three years. Two years. Three years. A lifetime, as far as I'm concerned. Boy X is the nitroglycerin to my heart palpitations... No, he (plural) is the plaque on my arteries... Can you tell I'm not a scientist by profession?

Regardless, here I am revisiting the verbal blathering once again in a virtual setting. A journal is the saving grace of the human condition. I'm not sure what a blog is, besides addictive.

I'm listening to "Lua" by Bright Eyes.

Keys to the Kingdom

Last night I had a dream. I dreamed that you buzzed the apartment. You talked to my roommate. You sauntered up the three flights and knocked on the door. You tip-toed into my room. You sat in my white chair and waited for me to wake. And it was so vivid. And I was so happy.

I woke up (in lucid life) from the excitement. It was 2:32 am. I fell back asleep, smiling.

At 8:32 this morning, the buzzer wailed. And at 2:32 I had been certain that it was a dream. And at 8:32 I was certain it was a prophesy. It rang again, urgent. I dressed quickly and ran downstairs. No one was at the door. So I cried.

Listening to: "Girl in the War" by Josh Ritter.

Cloud Cult

It's what I'm listening to. Avoiding papers and forsaking meetings. Enjoying my new-found internet connection, cherishing being reconnected.

Molly has a song that makes her happy, no matter what. I know it's by Cloud Cult. I heard it once, watching her smiling. And ever since I've been on a quest to find it. I think I'll know it when I hear it... but I cannot guarantee that anything is etched in my mind aside from her smile.

I have a feeling blogging will be addictive: like caffeine, but less stunting. Unless we're talking about "life stunting" in which I become a recluse, addled by her surroundings.

I'm paranoid about my grammar.