jumbles and

a dream is a wish that the heart makes. how strange, and a lovely thought. my holidays have been sleepy. not the good kind of sleepy, the kind where i'm not tired for days, stay up 48 hours then am suddenly too tired to think. on christmas morning, i slept through opening presents, i came downstairs with only my presents left to open, and i sat and opened them amongst the fighting.
at least i got presents, at least i have a home ... i try to remind myself of the good things, you know? i chugged the champagne, it was wonderful.

from what i remember, my sleeps have been dreamless. and sometimes, i know i had a strange dream, maybe a beautiful dream, and can't remember what it was. i work today. the sudden shock of being jolted out of holiday-mode is very unsettling. again, sleep is what i lust for. and sometimes, i cannot sleep. i have medicine to help me sleep, when i take it, i usually write and the next morning i wake up and read it ... it's so strange. the medicine makes me go a little funny. that's alright, though.

i have nothing to say, really. nothing to write. even on this blog. i have writers block, and that is a terrible thing. i wrote my life as the alphabet, i wrote a suicide note, i wrote fanfiction ... how boring. perhaps i depend on other people's approval too much. when my photos aren't widely recieved, or recieved well ... maybe i'm very dependant.

guns with love

i spent the day in bed with a terrible headache. its funny, sometimes i like being sick, it gives me an excuse to do nothing. which i enjoy. i had another MRI yesterday. they are quite terrible. they're loud, and uncomfortable and vibrate and i dislike not being able to move my head/neck. in a way, i hope the results come back showing something devastating. i know that sounds extremely ungreatful, but perhaps it would serve as an explanation for my behaviour. it's not like i want to have some sort of disease ... but i might. it would be nice to die young. while i'm pretty and people still care.

i don't like arguments, or yelling or anger. i don't like to look at myself in the mirror anymore. i don't like what i see. if i had a gun in front of me right now, i would be dead. if i had a gun three years ago, i would be dead. if i walked upstairs to my beautiful bedroom, and saw a gun on my bed. i would be dead. ...and i want to be a detective, where you need 2-5 years of general duty policing. i doubt i would make it that long, with a gun inches away from my fingertips all the time.

but to see me on the street, with my nice clothes, pretty hair, fair skin and my smile, i don't think anybody would suspect who i really am. appearances can be so decieving. but, i would never dare leave my house not looking my best. i'm not sure why that is.

if you have a gun, be so kind as to send it to me? i promise i will only use it once, and the world would have one less selfish girl.

soho

i have a wonderful new picture in my bedroom. it's called 'friday night in soho' by michael bishop. it looks much more beautiful in person, than in the picture. i had never seen it before, when i walked into the store, and i had two other prints i was considering. then a wonderful quote, which for some reason i'm attatched to "there's no grass in soho" replayed in my mind. the man's voice who said it is raw and sensual, now i always hear it when i look at the picture. it is just magnificent, the colours are so vibrant and alive. i feel like im in the city. however, i am not. i'm stuck in this house, the noise and yelling only escalating. young children being rude beyond their years. beyond his years. i want the screaming to stop. i want the yelling and whining and selfishness to stop.

my only escape is my bedroom, where my lovely new picture hangs. is there any doubt as to why i'm so attatched to it? none in my mind. analysing it, it's because i want to escape. i feel myself, and happy, and calm in my bedroom. nobody else gets to control it, it's just mine. it's just how i like it. but ... i can hear the noise. i can hear everything, no matter where i am in the house. sometimes, i wake up in the night, with my earplugs in, and can hear snoring, or arguing. i really have to peace. and as physical space goes, my bedroom suffices, but emotional and noise-wise. i have nothing to myself.

i have also become lost in my writing, i have dreamed up characters, so beautifully connected and just a little off, in their own way. most of my day is thinking about them, this other spledid world i have created. it's not all good, that would be boring, but i'd much prefer to live there. or even fifty years ago. how cynical i have become.

smile

weekends are sleepy. but there has been construction in my house. new floor, new patio doors, new front door, new furniture. it's chaos and loudness. the floor is nowhere near done and the men are on a break now. they need to finish ... they don't need a break. i feel like i'm a creature of consistancy. i have a routine, i do things in a similar fashion everyday. saying that sounds boring, but if my life can't be controlled and calm at home, it can't be happy anywhere else.

my house itself is big. from the outside it's very big, but it's old and there are lots of rooms, and lots of doors. it's crampt and *could be considered cozy, but its not. my mum doesn't hang pictures on the wall, all the paint colours are muted and boring. there's tan, then beige, then seafoam green, then pale green, then brown. those are the only paint colours ... except of course for white. i'm so sick of it.

my life is just barely hanging together, i am so stressed, and pressured and unhappy. i don't know what to do with myself. in a few hours i must go to work, and smile and pretend like everything is fine. that's what i do when i leave the house. i smile. i'm compassionate to people i want to strangle, and smile at people who are rude. i walk on the sidewalk, and people look at me. and when i talk to people, i smile. it's a fake happiness, i don't want to smile. i want to crawl into my bed and never get out. but i will smile. just like i do always.

a longing

something has come over me, like a wave in the ocean, pulling me under. i can't breathe. it's so sleepy under the water. i am so tired. i lust for sleep. which is strange. i have so many ideas, and thoughts ... but i can't move. my eyes are being pulled shut. i'm kept away from the world. only swirls of noise and light enter my brain. shut the door. i don't want to here the noise, or see the light.

i drove the car in the middle of the night, 3 o'clock. it was so lovely. why wasn't i sleeping? i don't know. i came home and slept for hours. a day. something is happening again. my crazy thoughts of death and dying. it would be so peaceful, and lovely. but i cannot think that! how silly of me. but i do. it is there. the option of death. i have many strong pills saved up. i would go so quickly. how morbid.

when things are too tight, everybody is squeezing something out of my, so much pressure. talking and planning. but i am asking for help. i think i need some. it is MY life. but what is my life? is my life really just sleeping all the time? what happened to the beautiful girl i thought i was...?

no point, just thoughts

the smell of laundry detergent surrounds me. i don't like this smell, it gives me a headache and smells a bit stuffy. we should change that. i slept until three o'clock today, woken up by the vacuum cleaner, and my large mother bounding into my bedroom. doors are there for a reason. i think nobody in my house knows what privacy is. i certainly don't have very much of it.

at work i act so silly. like a stupid and shy little girl. perhaps that's why people seem to think i am in fact, stupid and shy. i am not, i assure you. my IQ is 148, but i really don't think that means much. crunching numbers and solving mathematics questions doesn't help you very much if you don't know how to apply them, or if you have limited people skills.

sometimes, i don't like people very much. perhaps it's north american people i don't like. we are all so selfish and rude. but, throw me into another country, and i would have friends and be enjoying myself in no time. perhaps this is just my 'escape' thing. i'm like a runaway. i want to get away from this life. but i'm sure that's been quite clear. i would like to run away, now that i think about it ... it would be so magical, i think.

ma maison

not a place i enjoy. it's full of high-pitched yelling, deep voices booming, and many accents flying around in the air. chaos and unhappiness. how desperately i want to get away. run to a big city - how cliche. but i have a plan. fly to new york, and work at a hotel/hostel in exchange for a bed. wonderful, in theory. i would spend my days wandering around, soaking up the magnificent energy. so many opporitunities, on the stage, in important businesses. if only i could be sure everything would work out. i am not a silly child, this is only a dream of mine - one which i will most likely not act on. but how wonderful would it be, to escape just for a day!

my travels have been lacking in my short life. england, scotland and amsterdam are as far as i've seen. mind you, they were sensational, and i wouldn't trade them for anything. i wasn't alone, though. i always was under a close watch, and lived by schedules. not my idea of travelling. i'd like to explore ghana, or tanzania .. relax in the maldives, and greece. perhaps sky dive in new zealand, and bungee jump in brazil. i'd meet wonderful people, hear their stories, take so many pictures ... india is so mystical, and russia would be so interesting. i'd hike through all of europe, taking in sweeping views of mountains, and the stories of old cities, then jet off to korea - i would understand them, there. spend a week in japan with some friends, and sail all the way to madagascar. we'd make our way to zambia!

then, once i've seen all my eyes can see, i would sleep. on a plane, perhaps. coming home to canada, but not to this house. no, i cannot travel far enough away.

a day in retrospect

yesterday, i saw the canadian flag draped over a window as a curtain. it was a big window, in a beautiful old house. the house had something marvelously bewitching about it. it had big brick pillars, and old wooden window frames painted white, which looked more like cream and were chipping away. the old trees had almost lost all their leaves and the grass was a deep green. i fell in love, and very much wish i could take pictures of it, for a shoot perhaps. maybe the rain helped make it seem more extraordinary than it really was.
the streets were like mirrors, reflecting every street lamp, break lights, the christmas wreaths hun on the lamp posts ... it made me feel like i was in an exciting place, a big exuberant city. however, in the car was a person who i do not care for. everything would have been better had she not been there. but why focus on the negative.

i stayed up 30 hours that day, and fell asleep last night at around eight. i slept until eleven this morning. it was wonderful. and refreshing. i had an excuse not to go to school, terribly repressing and trivial as it seems, i am stuck for an extra year there. how terrible.

l o v e

what a funny word, with such a varied meaning. when i think of love, i think of characters in a TV show. something that can't possibly be real, in my life. then i think how sad that is. like i am not capable of love. sometimes i feel like loving somebody else, really loving somebody, takes so much strength and self acceptance. but sometimes, people love in a way of fraud, like an addiction, trying to give themselves happiness through giving themselves entirely to somebody else. you can't possibly 'live for somebody', can you?

i want to fall in love. i want to find somebody who loves me, and we can lie in bed doing nothing but breathe. we will travel, and have a house, or apartment together. i wish i could meet somebody who cared for me so - but i already have! how silly of me to forget. then it is just me incapable, maybe because i know exactly what i want, and he is not it. why should i settle for somebody whom is not what i wish. i will find somebody who makes me weak, in a good way. where we can explore and laugh and be. i haven't found them, but i am still young, seventeen. if anybody my age has found somebody they feel that way for, i can only send them happiness, for they have what i want.

sometimes i wish i was in a TV show. the land of stories and imagination seems to perfect, sometimes. everything comes to a neat close at the end of thirty minutes, or an hour. maybe i am just lonely.

the noise and rush

a big city eludes fantasy. magical and whimsical, noise and thriving energy. i'm so ready for this to be my life. the noise i hear now, in my house, is hardly anything to dream of. i imagine that there is much worse fates of people, the gruesome world beyond my countries boarders. am i sheltered? perhaps. i am a dreamer, of course. how can i grow, and learn and become, in a house with walls which will never be broken. there is no art to look at. there is no comfort or softness.

with each passing day, my life seems to be slipping away. how tragic. i can see it running though my fingers, with no power, no energy to stop it. can noise be my defeat? how silly that sounds, but how true it rings. i wonder if i could crawl into the minds of others, what they think and how they feel. is it any different from me? if only i could.