Not quite a rant.

Here's something I don't understand about adults.

How they can look at one old picture for half an hour loudly trying to identify everyone in the frame, then quickly flip through a few more pages and close the album.

But I look for more in a picture than names, and I thought most people were like me. I look for sentiments, emotions, ideas, the feeling depicted. And I'm down in the basement hour after hour blowing the dust off the ancient bindings.

Time for one of those tiresomely popular protest lyrics to surface in my writing. I hope I die before I get old....

Though, of course, I'm not exactly proud of my generation.

Notes from the field

The more happens, the less I write.

A couple of days ago I saw my stupid cousin, whom I missed very much, and we all went down and swam in the waves. I then became very worked up about Turkish University and the system in general.

Today I swam for a kilometer, walked on the hot sand in bare feet for another, and then came back -- all because of a stupid two-dollar blue beach ball. I was nevertheless very proud of achieving my quest. The moment I stepped on land after that first long swim was one of the most relieving in my life.

Let's look at words now.
English: cloud
French: nuage
Turkish: bulut

Well, the English word makes me think of purple clouds at sunset, distant lavender dreams. The Turkish word clearly conveys the image of white, puffy clouds in a clear blue sky. Whereas in French it sounds more like the dark, gloomy stratus clouds of a cold rain -- the only one that is not reminiscent of summer.

That's all for now. I'm exhausted.

OLT: The clock on this and the last post is seven hours behind. It's set to your time.

Nevermind the beasties. They're only humane.

Here. Well, where are you?

I realize that I have fallen into the trap of simply relating my life in my blog. This I-did-this I-did-that bilge is exactly the sort of thing which I told myself I would avoid writing. I have resolved to write more ideas and opinions and less description – I have always hated reading long description – though, of course, I am in Turkey and even day-to-day is interesting. (Backgammon in the back yard, swimming in the sea. My green dress, blowing….)

Flipping through ancient family photo albums, it crossed my mind that my mother was a far more interesting youngster than I can claim to be. Mom once told me of a feat she accomplished when she was a little younger than I.

“I saw a movie where someone had to pull a match out of a matchbox, close the matchbox, and light the match – with their feet. I thought that was pretty neat, so I taught myself to do it.”

“Wow,” I said, thinking of my inability to light a match with my hands.

My mother also translated a book into German, read most of a dictionary, skipped two grades, and attended boarding school for about five years. She performed her own surgeries, sterilizing pins to use for splinter-removing purposes. She became a sister at the age of ten, lived in several countries, graduated from school as a cardiologist and married someone who did not speak her mother tongue.

What truly blows my mind, of course, is how people can forget their childhood. Because when I see my grandmother at fifteen, I cannot fathom how many years and experiences it took for the girl in the picture to become my recently-turned-sexagenarian Anneanne. And I cannot understand how anyone could experience so many years without a great deal of change in character and mannerisms. I look back at two years ago with disgust and regret, because that was long in the past and I am so very different now. Yet my father is not too different today from the man who holds his firstborn of twelve hours in the corner of his arm while my mother takes the picture that will feature first in a photo album, and will someday astound someone I have not yet met.

On Sunday I discovered the value of my mother’s friend the Power Nap. Aside from those ten minutes, I was up for well over a day – allowing me to destroy my jet-lag in one fell swoop. Someday I may post pictures, because I wish all of you could see this beautiful place.

Tamam, gitmak lazim.

There go those waves again.

Later, dudes.

"It would be weird to be a cow." -James

Well, nothing to say really. I'll miss you guys, and I'll miss Kiwi, and I'll see you in a coupla weeks. I'll try and post in Turkey a bit. Travelling is fun, but coming home is priceless too. And I fear that these ephemeron years of high school will all too soon become no more than dust in a cornflower box. Ah...I really can't talk. I shouldn't be listening to this song, it's going to make me cry now. See you after the fourteenth, friends.

Peace.

Eyes on the horizon.

Back in Time

Me: "What I really hate is when you play something that you think sounds neat, and then you go, that sounds just like something else."
Neil: "It doesn't matter. It really doesn't matter."

So we left Alec and Alex on the metro, because we didn't want to face the heat and crowds on a day when we would have to leave early, particularly since everyone got to Alec's later than they were supposed to. And the first place we went was Ariel's sanctuary, the Berri-UQAM library. It's four or five floors high, has an extensive music collection, and membership is free. Oh, and it has a revolving door. Guess where I'm going this summer.

After that, we pretty much walked around with no idea where we were going. Upon finding ourselves in the gay village, we sought refuge in a metro station, where we attempted to walk down the 'up' movingsidewalkthing. And then we went to Monkland, and then we went to Isabelle's, where her dad entertained me by playing Thelonious Monk records and giving me E. E. Cummings poetry to read.

We then decided we wanted to go swimming, or rather Kelsey, Ariel, and Isabelle decided they wanted to go swimming. Which, as I should have predicted, resulted in me being dragged into the pool (fully clothed) by Kelsey and Ariel. (And I mean dragged. At least they took my watch off.) So we splashed around there for a bit, then went to the sauna.

Now, I have a problem with heat. I don't like it. But the sauna was fun because we just sat around in there and talked, and I like that. That's what I'll remember later. Talking with friends. Actually, leaving was painful because it brought to my attention just how wet I was. I ended up borrowing Isabelle's entire gym uniform.

Before leaving, Isabelle took us up to the sundeck, thirteen stories high at the top of the building. The view was actually spectacular. I could stay up there all day long. In fact, we did stay up there for a long time -- until some bizarre character on the street below us started yelling at us in thickly accented English to get off the deck. On our way down to the lobby, we ran into the same guy, accompanied by someone who may have been the caretaker, who told us "There is no more sundeck."

Isabelle replied that she had not been aware of this, but the two men didn't seem to take her seriously. Last I saw of them, they were heading up to the roof to "make sure there weren't any more"...obviously these two were not the sort of people to understand peacefully enjoying a view. And whether they had any actual authority over Isabelle is questionable, but better than a fight will be Isabelle's continued insistence on climbing those stairs.

Kelsey decided we were going to walk back to Montreal West from Isabelle's, and Isabelle decided she was going to accompagny us. That works out to walking more than the distance to guitar. It was a very enjoyable walk, actually, though poor Isabelle had to go back on her own. Walking on one's own can do strange things to one's mind, you know.

Then I had guitar, and, well, that was interesting. We didn't actually play a complete song. Right after we tuned, my teacher played a bizarre scale, and right away we started talking about modes. If there's one thing that interests Neil, it's music theory. So that went on for...forty minutes. (My lesson is forty-five, but it frequently goes very overtime.) Then he taught me a progression he came up with one day, and then I left via the fire escape at the back (the front door is blocked due to construction).

I love guitar.

Later on, I discovered how difficult it is to get the paint from the can onto the walls. That was wednesday.

Summer happiness.

It's over, and it was beautiful.

I'll do wednesday later. Thursday is too great to risk forgetting it.

Well, today was our last soccer game. I don't know what else to say. Well, actually I have a lot to say, far more than I could ever put into words.

My father took me to soccer, because he watched our last unthinkable defeat, and because he wanted to see us/me play properly. We discussed politics in the car (a completely different discussion from one you might have with Kaj, if also similar) while I ate corn. We ran into Em, Kaitlin, Amanda, and Amanda's parents on the road (they rolled down their window), which was a little embarassing -- not because of the little umbrella emblazoned with early Jean-Baptiste Quebec flags which my father wore over his hat and which I love, but rather because my face was covered in corn. Ah well.

We played the team we have won against several times before, but they brought up a couple of exceptionally good bantams (don't they know we're not good enough to play against bantams?). However, we stayed hopeful all throught the game. And one thing after another kept happening right. It truly was the best game, or at least the most fun.

Jenna showed up ten minutes into the game, after telling us that she would be lucky to make it to the second half. And Jenna, who is always amazing, played exceptionally well today. She played forward the entire second half. And that one play where she got through two people and made an incredible pass....

Cameron, along with some more of Em's friends, showed up at about the same time as Jenna to cheer us on. Picture five girls and three guys jumping up and down on the sidelines screaming, "GOMOWEST!" Nor were they our only cheerleaders -- Amanda was especially supportive today, as was I. After all, what is defence for?

They scored twice during the first half, but our goalie made several of her famous saves. Then, right before halftime, we scored, much to Amanda's and everyone else's elation. I was so immersed in the game that I didn't realize it was halftime until Amanda called me off the field.

My team. My team has never been better. Ever. I swear, every single person on that team is awesome. Everyone is friendly, everyone tries their best during games. I have never been so happy among a group of Montreal West people. Owing to a Lack of Monica (but I am convinced that the pep talk she gave me on Monday was the reason today worked out so well), no one but Kaitlin ("You have to score! You haven't scored all season!") was showered with a water bottle. (Mine was almost too hot to drink, after being left in the car for an eternity and a week. I guess it was sort of sterilized.) As it turned out, though, showering was not necessary.

Then...they scored again. It was not a good goal -- it bounced off the post from an angle. Or rather, it bounced in. Our goalie had no time, though she tried -- because, let me tell you, we have the most incredible goalie I have ever seen. She's not yet sixteen and she plays like a professional. She kicks clean across the field. She can stop a breakaway nine times out of ten. She dives, she lunges, and she can throw to someone at the halfway line. At one point she jumped to seize the ball at the very top of the net. Elise (provided that is how you spell her name) has to be seen to be appreciated. (Incidentally, she is also a great forward.)

We on Fence have one main obligation: Stop the ball. This is something I am not good at, though I am somewhat better at it than I am at shooting, dribbling, passing, heading, or basically anything aside from kicking it aimlessly across the field. And although I am good at positioning myself from a distance, when the action moves near me I invariably lose my head, scream like the raving lunatic I sometimes think I am, and charge toward the advancing forward. As I said, we are also cheerleaders, lifting the spirits of our 'mates. In short, the task delegated to forwards is to win the game, whereas the one 'fencers have to consider is not to lose the game. (Halfbacks are meant to run around and pass to people. Which can be fun.)

And defence involves a surprising amount of teamwork. Defenders posess a sort of telepathic communication. When one runs up to the ball, the others fall back -- a silent agreement forged on the spur of the moment.

Well, anyway. After that goal we became agressive. We moved up -- a lot. At one point Elise made a "save" a third of the way out across the field. And I managed to pull off one good play -- a fluke -- by kicking the ball into the arm of a girl on the other team. (Elise took the free kick).

And then we scored. And we jumped up and down like the raving lunatics we all are, deep down.

As if on cue, the skies opened.

Five minutes before the end of the game saw a score of three-two for westmount, the private school kids on the side becoming completely soaked through their uniforms, and my father standing close by, completely dry under his Quebec hatbrella.

Five minutes pass. The whistle sounds, and we basically go nuts. We charge across the field, jump on each other, and scream our lungs out. Breaking up the team was such a terrible thought that all we could do was scream for the joy of the season. Individual sports can be so unsatisfying. Even skiing. There is nothing like the warm, heart-bursting team spirit of a group of friends and neighbours. Nothing in the world. We lost, but we were crying with pure happiness, or perhaps pure sadness.

Our wonderful coach, Amanda's mom, gave us one final speech. We promised to play at the Westmount summer pick-up games on mondays and wednesdays and began planning a party -- which I will likely miss. And then we left. And now here I sit, drinking homemade lemonade from a beer mug. Ruminating, and reveling.

Sometimes all you need is friendship, love, and a few summer showers.

Transposing from a napkin

“When we started you out in piano, my initial thought was, ‘Wouldn’t it be nice if someday she could play Chopin?’ And now it’s like, mission accomplished.”

-Mom

Teacher: “You did very well. You were very professional.”
Me: “You were professional too!”

Tuesday at seven I was in attendance of that infernal interminable piano recital. I fail to understand why either the teacher or the pairs of students involved would agree to have the same piece played twice at the same concert, but we were nevertheless required to listen to two interpretations of the Moonlight Sonata, two portrayals of some piece called Glittering/Shimmering Waters, and two repetitions of that horrendous Kelly Clarkson Breakaway. Though, of course, the adjective “horrendous” seemed far better merited the second time through.

Now, some of the students playing even the most repulsive pieces were very talented. However, my teacher deals mostly with youngsters and beginners, which makes the few longtime pianists seem much better than they are – or so it is in my case. Because I have been playing for nearly a decade, my teacher sees fit to schedule me at the end of the programme, while my younger siblings feature closer to the beginning.

Were I sitting at the back of the room, I would have crept outside during the middle portion to seek refuge among wind and water (the recital is typically held at Stewart Hall, on a particularly beautiful stretch of waterfront), but unfortunately (cok maalesef…pardon my last-minute reviewing of the language) this was not an option. So I stayed through the entire monotony, drawing a duckphincorn on my program and trying to figure out how many years my music teacher had played Pinball Wizard at the concert (two or three, but not this year).

And during intermission, I rushed outside to watch the sailboats. I am especially drawn to catamarans – you know, the boats with two hulls, the ones that skim across the lake like water spiders. I stood outside writing on a napkin, standing on a flat stone by the water, my dark blue skirt (of which I am very fond) playing around my ankles with the wind.

Eventually I had to play, of course. I messed up the same part twice and had to invent some notes, but my hands weren’t shaking too much. I suppose something of this nature isn’t very high-stress.

Anyway, that was Tuesday. Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday are scheduled to appear soon. After that posting may become irregular.

the most idyllic eternity

Dust in the Night, Dust in the Sun

“But, Emma, will you remember being here with me, looking at the sailboats against the blue? Will you remember when you’re older?”

“I’ll try.”


I’m home now. I’ve changed out of Isabelle’s gym clothes, called my mother, settled down to write. My journey has once again transformed. I have not reached or passed a landmark, but have rather experienced a gentle change of scene on this great twisting highway – life. Because, Kaj, highways are rarely straight – and often interesting or beautiful. Of course, no two highways can be the same, and mine shall run wherever I desire. We may not be able to control traffic, but we can control, from our point of view, where we choose to travel. Of course, whether we control or choose anything remains to be seen – and hopefully will for a long time to come. Now, however, while my journey changes unexpectedly (and woe betide he who does not experience unexpected change), it is my part to look back at where I have come.

I’m warning you. This will be a long post.


Something happened last year. Something happened on the first day of high school. Something fell into place. I fell into place.

I always wanted to have a place. I speak not of a set, determined position in society or among a group of friends. I speak not of a certain character, a role I am expected to fill. I never wanted a defined role. I have never been an actor.

On the other hand, perhaps I did want a determined position. I was searching, if you like, for a determined place where I could be as undetermined as I liked. I would not limit myself to a niche, but I suppose I did want to be more…me. I am no more difficult to understand than most people – in fact, I am probably less so – but I never did really know myself. Do I know myself now? A little better. If knowing oneself means to feel more like a person and less like a ghost, then yes.

I refer not to quiescence versus a more talkative nature. I have hardly become louder. In some ways I have retreated considerably – I imagine that this is because the people I hang with at school now are far, far louder than I was used to. I wonder whether this retreat allows me to better reflect and understand this very confusing Me.

At the same time, however, I have become bolder. Bolder outside of a close-knit group of people. I will speak to others at school with no problem. I can talk to strangers – something I was never good at. Unfortunately, I have not improved concerning one-on-one situations. I find very few people easy to talk to when no one else is around, and I realize that I make for very awkward conversation with most.

Yet all this acquiring of ability is since RWA. In elementary school, I was shy. I was louder than I am now, but I was also shyer. I could not have been luckier to meet Jenna.

I have always felt perfectly at ease with Jenna. I find I can tell her anything, but I often don’t need to, because we truly understand each other. We also augment each other when there are other people around…it’s difficult to explain. She finishes my thoughts. Stop blushing Jenna. You know you’re wonderful.

Of course, I never felt any need to venture outside of our little line segment (with whoever else concerned, such as Preyanka or Rachelle…our little trios, such fun). And this is why I was difficult with strangers. And this is why I seemed louder but was shyer. And this is why, although it was terrible, splitting up for high school might have been a good thing for both of us.

Forced on and from day one to suddenly become outgoing and interesting, I was actually not surprised to make friends. I was, however, surprised that I managed to find such good ones. I know the oftener I say it the less meaningful it might sound, but you guys know you’re wonderful too. I could not ask for more supportive, more understanding, more interesting people, and the way you both talk and listen to me is amazing. More decent people than my friends could not be found.

So here I stand. Here I have come. Surrounded by people who care about me and who I care about, in school, at home, and in Russia with my fellow cacti. These past two years I have matured more than ever before. (There was loads of room for improvement. There still is.) And I am different. Different all the way through. I stand taller, I smile at the wind. I see through to the depths of the ocean rather than skimming along the surface.

I have discovered beauty.


I promised myself, once, that I would always remember who I had been, and that I would never become someone I didn’t want to be. I shouldn’t have worried. I think I predicted that a change in character would cause me to become shallow, cause me to lose my memory and my insight – but if I have any worthwhile insight today, it’s more than I did before.

So ends another year of school. I have despairingly few left, and I frankly don’t know what I’ll do when it’s over. Not because I love school, but because I seriously don’t look forward to having any purpose in my life, and also because I couldn’t bear to lose any friends. You are all so dear to me. And shadows stretch across the ground, and the sun sets in a million shades of glow

and the world turns.


Now, I realize that to go on about all the amazing stuff that’s been happening these past couple of days could possibly cause you to become suicidal, and I really don’t want to inspire anyone to kill themselves just because my posts are too long. I’ll write tomorrow, because I’m sure tomorrow will be less amazing.

Or I might write later tonight. Knowing me. Which I can almost say I do.

A million drafts, a million papers floating in the wind. There and then one drifts down to rest upon the banks of the river Inspiration. Where and when, waking from a deep slumber to Realization, and the sun shines down beautiful and gold.

Soccer ends...(sob)

Poor Jenna had to get gum surgery today. I think that ranks up there with Kaj's dust. Anyway, she couldn't play against the bantams and had to watch from the sidelines. Please come to the game, Jenna! We'll lose otherwise! Not to mention that with Monica in the Ukraine we may not even have a 'fence sub.

Hm. Well, the attic is underway. The paint is sitting around somewhere in the house. And this afternoon I spent with Emma.

Come on, guys. I can't write if I don't do anything. Well, let me try. Sometimes when you think you're forcing yourself all you're actually doing is breaking open the dam.

Mimic. Mimic me, and I'll do the same for you. I like the way your voice sounds; so smooth against the flatness of the day, like sliced bread -- smooth as the baker's knife (chop chop chop have a nice day). I like the way you can spread it out, and it never seems stretched, but rather grows, flows. The rain drip-drip-dripping into the pail placed under the leaky ceiling: a fond childhood memory. Hmm. I feel badly for my father, packing his life away in a box. My parents do truly sacrifice...everything. Watching the bird flying away into the distance and this is summer. A thick blanket of...what, exactly? Adrenaline. Velocity increased; fortunate among none; black and blue and black and blue and green. Crickets, crickets...chirp chirp chirp. Feeding kofte to the cat. Cok guzel, cok guzel.

When I return from Turkey/Italy, I honestly plan to be out of the house every day. Are there any ski hills open? I feel like snowboarding.

Have fun Monica, and I really hope you're better soon, Jenna.

Brainwave. Neurons connect; an idea is formed. Perfect.

here I am floating...again.

I finally figured out what my sleeping brain meant when it wrote the word, "Trunk." After two days of consideration, I realized that I was referring to how when we went to La Ronde on friday there were not enough seats in the car and Rachelle and I "had to" sit in the trunk. This was productive; few other things about today were. I have to get up and go someplace because otherwise I will sink into a deep vegetative state of measuring walls and surfing explodingdog.com -- as my recent, worthless posts reflect.

Why has everyone suddenly faded away?

Sometimes things ARE what they seem.

Sleep would be nice.

So are all numbers long-distance now?

The soccer game was terrible. When I'm famous teachers will make their students learn the date of Anne Malcolm's worst failure. June 17. 2006. I never want to talk about it ever again. Shrapnel.

We bought a chair for dad and hid it in plain view. Eventually my father will realize that there's an extra chair at the dining room table.

The bookstore and lunch with Jenna were fun. I'm so tired I'm going to fall down and have my head hit my keyboard. I've been like that since I woke up. I was supposed to go out with my parents and uncle and aunt but I can't because I would fall over and die.

Now I have to reprogram every number in my cell phone.

Summer is fearless.

Maybe this is what it feels to fly. -me

All I did today was go to La Ronde, so I suppose I'll talk about that.

Kyle and his friends got separated...poor Connor. The Monster and the Vampire were really good today. The best ride at that place is the teacups...if properly operated. We actually made it on the Goliath...after listening to those people behind us for ages. Everyone had the same bag as Rachelle. Lawrence and Joe, my and Jenna's invisible friends, made a couple of appearances. It was very hot. I sang under my breath most of the time. I thought about how much fun it is to hang out with good friends, and how lucky I am when it comes to the other people in my life. Oh, and the guy at the Moozoo place making shakes was really really nice. He's my new role model.

As Foster would put it...et c'est tout!

There was a song. And...someone else. Or was that all in my head?

Call me this weekend.

you've got to strike when the moment is right without thinking....

What I found on my post-it stack this morning: "Libido balances."

Never mind asking. I'm not.

Before I start talking, check this picture out. I've decided it's my new philosophy. http://www.explodingdog.com/january2/itmighthappenmonday.html

Soccer today was fine, although we were missing Jenna. I played midfield, ran like crazy, then came off the field and died -- but I didn't screw up! And losing 1-0 to the hardest team (Marissa's) is acceptable. I am absolutely exhausted. I did get the ball in my stomach, but it was nothing compared to Monica's flying head/stop/thing that knocked her onto the ground.

Speaking to my elderly neighbour today, I was reminded of the woman I ran into on tuesday morning outside of RWA. She was eighty-six years old (she told me so), she looked after a girl in grade ten (she was there to return an ECA form), and she used to write poetry (wrote one poem called Kindness. Young people need a lot of kindness, she told me. Not money, perhaps, but kindness. She then explained to me how kindness affects all sorts of people). My neighbour was speaking to me in much the same fashion. It's interesting to listen to people who are so willing to talk, particularly when they have interesting stories to tell.

Jenna and I went biking and ended up at Rachelle's after staring into a hole for about half an hour. (I fell in the hole. All the way through to China. You can see my bike tracks in the cement.) We met Rachelle's friend Elizabeth...there was then an interesting episode involving us trying to make Kraft Dinner (we wound up melting grated cheese over the pasta in the microwave). I asked Elizabeth, who is in Grade Seven at RWA, what she did for the invention convention. Something about an elevator. Then these really weird people came over and started asking questions about obesity.

Ring a bell?

Yes, well, I think I had better leave...mmm...now. I have to go write song lyrics on the wall.

Thinking of you. Again.

Another year packed away on a high shelf.

I spent most of this morning cramming four years into a box. I have two boxes -- one that runs until Grade Four, and one for 5-8. Someday I'll look through what I thought I had restricted to the bare minimum of my life chronicles and decide I no longer need any of it.

It's interesting how relative maturity is. I have always considered myself mature. Yet I have also always known that in less than a year I will look back and laugh at how naive I was. However, I believe any maturing I'm doing is slowing dramatically...I'm not likely to become much smarter than I am now.

Oh, and here's one of my numerous pet peeves: the word grown-up. Or the phrase, to grow up. Or the question, What do you want to be when you grow up? This annoys me because I really don't plan on doing much more growing up, and I am certain that some of my friends are far more grown up mentally than most adults.

Wait, you're thinking. She's contradicting herself again. How can you be more grown-up than a grown-up? However, I see adults and grown-ups as different -- the source of my confusion regarding this issue.

We have a definition of an adult -- a responsible individual who is aged at least so and so years. What defines a grown-up? Are we considered grown-up at the point when we peak mentally or physically? Or at the point when we settle down and begin to live in a mundane and routine fashion? The phrase grown-up implies a zenith, an epitome. A flower, for example, is considered grown to full potential when it flowers (and the reproductive systems begin working, by the way), because this is when the flower is most beautiful.

This may sound ludicrous, but I would think that the zenith of our lives would apply to the first idea -- which refers to when we are how old? Six? Eleven? Seventeen? Certainly at some point before middle age. Probably before we begin working. Would we refer to a wilting flower as peaking? No, the epitome must occur before the halfway point -- before we begin to decline. If we peak during adolescence, if we are grown before we are adults, the question, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" is therefore illogical and nonsensical.

My sister learned a piece on the piano in ten minutes yesterday. Seven notes, both hands involved. She impresses me more all the time. Now I must go and play chess with her.

if you need a friend, i'm sailing right behind

Tuesday Afternoon....

Wow, today was fun.

I decided that I would go walk around our usual bike route. Let me just tell you that it seems a lot shorter on a bicycle. It took me fifty minutes to go from my house to my house. Then I walked back to Royal West to try and buy film from Ms Smiley...whom I could not find. I ran into Alec and Ariel, then Jocelyne and Jacob, then Kelsey. We walked to my place, then all the way to Lafleur's (and back...Jacob and Jocelyne took the bus and ended up in Lachine), then we went to Jacob's...in short, I walked quite a bit today. Those guys in the park were such losers.

We spent most of the time talking about Kaj, of course. I officially love both walking with Ariel and hanging around with Kelsey. Jacob is awesome...I mean, he watches David Bowie in concert on DVD. And of course Jocelyne eats mangoes.

Jacob isn't the new Kaj though. Kaj is Kaj and Jacob is Jacob. That's all.

Going to La Ronde on Friday. Someone should call someone....

Soccer Practice

Our second-last. Five people showed up. We tried scrimmaging in the corner, but eventually gave up and joined the bantams. Em gave herself one shower too many. When I got home, I put on my in-lines and went up and down the street. Up and down. Up and down. I think I'm going to have to go to school tomorrow to pick up film. Sigh....

This is post #100. I feel so accomplished.

Last exam! Summer is here!

"Did you know my mom had a kid?" -Sophia

I didn't have a chance to post yesterday, which was too bad because I had a lot to say. I saw the moon, and it was gorgeous beyond description. Oh, and Ariel and Jocelyne showed up at my door with their feet covered in cement. And...JENNA GOT ME TO ROLLERBLADE! FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER! IT'S SO EXCITING! I fell...once. Those jeans are going to need repairing.

Today Kelsey and Isabelle came over after exams, and we made Kraft Dinner and played Risk. (I think I'm getting a little better.) Math was okay. And...today is my father's birthday.

I keep a stack of post-it notes by my bed, so that when I wake up in the middle of a night with a brilliant idea, I can write it down and go back to sleep. Sometimes, however, I have a hard time deciphering what my midnight brain pens when I look the following morning. Do you know what it said today?

Rope.

Another brilliant idea lost....

Now I shall go through a few of my great and previously unexplored ideas.

Lonely people blog. Well, it's true. The people who post entries about their lives are generally the ones who are not out there living. Being bored once in awhile is fine, but just look at the length of my posts.

Short short sleeves. They annoy me so much. I think a shirt should decide whether it wants to have sleeves. None of this wimpy hanging out in the middle business. Someone should start a protest. I'd support that.

Death -- certainty, mystery. My next public speaking topic?

Laces. Let's not touch this one.

Okay, I think I have to go find out what's happening.

No sign-off till I think of something.

How long can emptiness last, anyway?

My piano exam went surprisingly well. I messed up List Two, but my rain piece was really good. Then soccer was...really unremarkable. And I finally got rollerblades. That's going to be so funny. Everyone watched me trying them on -- and by everyone I mean Jenna, mom, Jenna' mom, Dayi, Duygu, and the guy in the store who may be a Doland.

That's all.

You had better stick around for a long, long time, friend.

Aaaand here's the moose again!

Actually, that wasn't entirely accurate. One thing did happen yesterday.

someone gave me a red beret

...which I have been wearing all this morning and which I wore all last night.

Also, this morning I played the magic chord and the music was better than ever.

Wish me luck with my piano exam.

Irradiated.

The post after the last one.

Nothing.

Happened.

Today.

STARS CAN FRIGHTEN.

It feels late.

Does anyone know where I can get my hands on some Floyd music videos?

Effects of being tired.

Piano: I played the same piece three times over before realizing that I had played the same piece three times over. I then forgot what I was playing.

Soccer: I let everyone past me, slid in the mud. The goal was my fault. Thank you Jenna for not killing me...I have to learn to rollerblade before I die.

ANFSCD. Jenna's blog is new -- congratulations on joining the addicts! Kelsey's blog has been re-entered into my list over there. -->

Also Kelsey is amazing for conversations, so you all remember that.

Now I'm going to bed to regain the sleep I lost. Hopefully not the dreams. Not just yet.

Cold fingers...can't type....

Went for a walk with my camera -- a comfort, though I know the roll will be awful. I'm not sure what those two guys who were waving at me were trying to say. It was cold, but i refused to wear more than a t-shirt. My hands are frozen. The overcast sky added to the mood I tried to create.

Where have all the floating poplar seeds gone?

Embrace the ice flowers.

Please rescue me from myself.

Hello. I don't believe I slept enough last night. I could only actually lie still in the attic, which has already, seemingly, become my peaceful haven. It was about one in the morning when I dozed off...of course, there are no curtains up there, so I woke up at five thirty. I knew trying to go back to sleep was pointless -- I have no ability to sleep, now. So I came downstairs and played music to myself for an hour.

I'm not sure what my posting is meant to accomplish, now (seven in the morning) less than ever. I think my confidence has just dropped again...it'll probably be back. Don't worry. And I'm sorry for always talking about myself, I really am. I never meant to be so attention-seeking on my blog, and I realize that by bringing this up I am making it worse, so I'll stop.

Why are some songs so short? I mean, two minutes is pathetic.

I'm not sure I'm going to be able to do more today than play soccer. I'm really not good for much of anything today.

I have no need of friendship, friendship causes pain
It's laughter and it's loving I disdain....

And do you know how emptiness feels?

A certain diluted emotion

I just finished playing Echoes (yes, all twenty-three and a half minutes of it), lying on the floor. I swear that’s the best therapy in existence. Use in moderation – effects best noticed directly after serious depression.

Well, I wasn’t really seriously depressed. Just suffering from withdrawal, I suppose. Today was – wow. I believe I shall merely say that it was a day of revelation. I had an amazing conversation with Kelsey on the way back from Kaj’s – if you haven’t already, go read her latest post. It’s disturbing but insanely beautiful. I would also like to publicly apologize for being such a jerk to Alec for two years. (And I would also like to apologize for never apologizing before.)

Though your happiness fills me with joy, it also fills me with longing.

–written before supper.
(The following was written at about seven forty-five.)

I played my soundscape again. For the first time ever, one of “my” pieces sounded better than it did when I first played it. It’s not really a piece, of course. Only a fantasy of chords, blended rhythms. And yet I am beginning to perceive patterns. Each time I play that one chord and the almost-melody flows out, there is more emotion in the torrent of sound. I might actually write some decent music someday.

After all, there's a first time for everything.

06/06/06

I was practicing scales. Then suddenly I wasn't. After half an hour of churning out my least favourite arpeggios on the piano, I quite unexpectedly found myself playing something I never heard before. I just kept going; I don't know what I was trying to play; all I remember is one chord. It was actually borderline good. A soundscape. I don't remember it, but I know if I go downstairs and hit that chord again, another world will open, like multiple buds on the same flower. A yellow rose, I believe.

Apologies. Studying does this to me. Sheer boredom interspaced with enlightenment (or what seems to be). Boredom is scales, and illumination rarely occurs. I just painted black my guitar pick, which I am training myself to use. I can convince myself I understand -- which only means I do not. Like the shadows on the wall...truth exists, even if we cannot reach it. Even if the cave is all we know, that does not mean there is nothing higher.

Let's add to that.

I hate Montreal West. But more than that I love it.

I hate it because there's nowhere to go hang out, and aside from all the twin stores there's really nothing at all.

But I love it because I can go walking down westminster with bare feet, wearing ripped jeans and my quasi-60's shirt, without telling anyone where I'm going, and people will greet me by name.

Innocence is not attractive. Everyone knows that rebellion is romantic, alluring. Coolness personified is living life on the edge. So please stop predicting that someday I'll rebel and break loose from my timid "conservatism." By daring to be undaring, I am the rebellious one.

Just had to make that clear in an effort to seem Not Normal. Allow me to continue with my absence of life.

I feel that I'm blowing every chance I'm given.

Please, don't give up on me yet.

The end of studying, or nearly.

Entertain me, great wonder of the Internet. Occupy my simple mind with idle games and uselessness...never disillusion us, or we might actually live.

Isabelle, perhaps you are a camel.

Illuminate my life with a few blinding shards of truth.

Half of exams over!

Kaj: "You have the most beautiful hair, Anne. (to Alicia) Well, actually, you have the best hair. Your hair is like a party. (to me) Your hair is like...a highway."
Me: "A highway."
Kaj: "Well, it's straight."

Soccer practice was good, except I officially hate goalie more than any other position in the world. And that was effectively what I was playing.

Tearing myself away from blogging, even so temporarily, has not been easy. I restrained myself from writing about my baguette addiction, about how I was locked outside in the rain for an hour on Saturday, about the game, about so many things. But today in the park (and such) was amazing fun. I just had to say that, because if I don't my head will explode and my fingers will fall off and that guy's car will catch fire and the moon will fall into a volcano and blow up.

Accept me for who I am not.

Albumatizing photos is hard work.

Proof that my family has become engaged in my uncle's business:
Me: How do I look like Tom? The three of us are all different colours.
Mom: Tom's a green olive, you're a pink olive, and Emma's a black olive.
Me: Pink olives are orange.
Mom: No they aren't. They're rare.

I had to run upstairs during supper (fourth time eating pizza this week. It was very spicy) to get that out before I forgot it. It's another indication of addiction. Not only am I blogging alone, but sometimes I just get these urges to blog, and then I can't stop myself.

Prepare to be, er, creamed.

The last day of school is:

getting to school whenever you like not worrying about uniforms or actually going to class signing yearbooks farewell barbecue promises to meet over the summer grads crying counting down shaving cream lots of hugs

It has honestly been the best year of my life, bar none at all. I don't think I'm ever going to be able to bring myself to throw out my yearbook, my drug awareness notebook, my agenda, or even my debating tabs. I love each and every one of the people I have spent this year with. Yes, Alec, even you. The shaving cream fight was unbeatable this year (must have been the music). After, we walked down six blocks to my place. I'm sorry if we left Kaj on Westminster. Alec went home and I didn't know what was happening. But we got a lot of pretty weird looks. (And the best: me standing in the middle of my street, picking up the full watering can and turning it upside down over my head.)

I really don't know how else to talk about today, except by saying that if I hadn't just looked through three AMAZING rolls of film, I would be sobbing my heart out. I know, I'll see everyone from RWA through the summer, but all I can think about is that day in October when they first posted the exam schedule and I realized that my life was flashing past me far, far too quickly.

To quote Kaj and other people's yearbook entries in various friends' books, I don't know what else to say. I really don't. I don't know how I could possibly say anything more.

I want you to smile at me.

(lol Kelsey. I realize I'm only fanning the flames, but it's sort of fun to see you struggle, attemptimg to interpret. Besides, I can't think of anything.)

At nearly seven

I have some time now to write. Later today will probably be occupied, and I think I'd better study this weekend, considering I haven't really started on French or Science. I decided I needed to get up early to take a shower (counterproductive on the last day of school, perhaps, but I don't care), so instead of waking up at six, my internal alarm clock gave me an extra half-hour. Which leaves me with an hour more than I would normally have, so here I am again.

I'm really such a different person on the soccer field. Well, maybe different is not the word. I'm so much more confident and spirited. Yesterday I ran so hard that I couldn't see any more. The other team is slow, and we can catch them. It was great for Jenna and me especially, seeing as we hadn't played in weeks.

Yesterday at lunch was incredibly funny. When Jacob was trapped between two parties, I thought I would explode with laughter, and they would have to pick my pieces off the floor. The three exams back-to-back were...hm. Alright. The story I wrote for English was better than the rest of the test. Kelsey was great during the math thing. I still haven't figured out what marcato is. I should go look that up.

Now, Ariel and Kaj had better come today. And Monica and Jenna had better come tomorrow.

Blanketing warmth of Being.

Blog time.

What a day.

To begin with. breaking news: the hut caught fire. I don't know who or how or when, exactly, but that will be circulating tomorrow.

I am so incredibly high. I have just played what was unquestionably the best game of soccer in my life. We won one to zero, but we played so well, and I played midfield and I didn't die, and I was singing and dancing and it was just incredibly beautiful.

And as for beautiful. The thunderstorm last night was unbelievable. Summer storms are beautiful. I sat on my bed, enrobed in my sheet, remembering a distant visit to a friend's house in Turkey. It's one of those bizarre chronic memories of mine, although all I remember is a garden, a lady in a chair by a table on a patio, perhaps a dog, and above all a gorgeous evening, lit by orange bulbs. Orange light under trees is enough to make me cry. (I think my mother thought I was strange. Of course, we knew that.)

Tomorrow. If anyone knows what we're doing, tell me. You're all going down, friends.

Might update later.

Are you trying to break me?