my neighbours are fighting

at least i think they are. their door has been slamming and slamming, shaking the entire building. and now i can hear darcy's raised voice outside my window, rising unintelligible above the flaming lips who are occupying my stereo at the moment.

i wonder what glue keeps people together. especially people who seem to disagree as often as my neighbours do. is it true that love must be passionate, aggressive, confrontational to be true? are there not other forms that are equally passionate and consuming, but less hard on us, our hearts?

there, the door slammed again and now there is silence out there. is someone set to sleep on the street tonight? another slam, that of reconciliation? vindication? frustration?

one time i was so angry i slammed the door of the freezer so hard the shelf inside the door broke. i've also punched pillows. which is safer. i have considered punching people. which is not safe at all and to be avoided at all costs.

i suspect the next time i fall in love it will sneak up on me like night stalks dusk. i have created safeguards against any sort of passionate sweeping away of emotion. that will happen no more. never again. never. too dangerous.

but in the end: who cares? what is the relevance? to make me feel less lonely? pshaw! lonely is point B. (Point A being that everyone you know will die, including you)

Today Marcus and I talked about the end of the world. He figures we won't have to live through cataclysmic change, but that our children's children will. and that life will be hard. they won't be prepared. they may not survive. i'm suddenly in less of less of a rush to procreate. and i thought i was a pessimist. but we both agreed that its not something to dwell on because, in fact, there's nothing to be done. our kind -- those humans -- set ourselves on this road a long time ago. the cards have been dealt. there is only the game to be played. in the meantime, thoughtful fun and celebration are legitimate means of resistance.

that's it! that's why. that's the why I've been looking for.

recriminations

is this totally irresponsible? this posting for anyone to see? to read? to guess at my intent? the frustrating bit for me is the space for misinterpretation. i guess that's it: misinterpretation. words are meaningful, yes. but they can also provide a screen against which anything can be projected.

having said that i want to make the following declaration:

I BLAME NO ONE FOR THE STATE OF MY LIFE AT THIS JUNCTURE EXCEPT MYSELF. ME. I AM RESPONSIBLE. I WILL STAND AND TAKE RESPONSIBILITY FOR ALL. AND IN REGARDS TO LOVE AND ROMANCE: IT IS STILL ME. BECAUSE WHAT IS A RELATIONSHIP WITH ANOTHER PERSON BUT OUR OWN INTERPRETATION OF WHO THAT PERSON IS AND HOW THEY CONNECT WITH OUT LIVES? THERE IS NOTHING TANGIBLE THERE. ONLY TIME AND SPACE AND BODIES TOUCHING. FOR ME THERE HAVE BEEN MOMENTS WHEN I HAVE LOOKED INTO ANOTHER PERSON'S EYES AND THOUGHT: YES, THERE IS SOMETHING THERE, I AM NOT SO ALONE. BUT THEN THE MOMENT PASSES. INEVITABLY.

PAIN IS AN INEVITABLE SIDE EFFECT. I WILL EXPRESS THAT PAIN. (BETTER THAN LETTING IT ROT ME FROM THE INSIDE OUT.)

I fell in love. it didn't work out. we will never speak of this again.

late night grant writing

this is crazy. staying awake so late. how can one have any sense of perspective? any sense of excitement? i continue to attempt to finish my work the way a teenage completes a book report. it's all last minute over here.

noah came over and tried to string my guitar. i say "tried" because he snapped on of the strings. "oh, I don't know how that happened..." Maybe while you were talking about how much living with your Mom is driving you crazy. Just a thought. So now I don't even have the solace of playing music. But I DO have the solace of listening to music.

Right now I'm all over Death Cab for Cutie. Kevin said i had to listen to this album eight times before it would really hit me. i love it because it makes me think of him. The other DCfC stuff makes me think of another who shall from this point forward remain nameless. (Why, why, why does he still invade my thoughts -- i think its because he isn't real... in the sense that he represents something to me. something unattainable. something better than here. now. mmmm. but things aren't really that bad. really. they're not. i just need to sleep.)

ok. i've bored myself to sleep here. I'm on the seventh rotation of Plan B. I love it. Of course. Night.

oh and!

sometimes I read back over my posts and think, "my god, was that me? that articulate poetic person? really. me?" i guess that's one use of a journal (online or off): helping a girl to keep track of who the hell she is.

unrest

I returned from the Gulf Islands Film and Television school on Saturday night. My sister and I went together. Our plan was to spend time together, collaborate and have a good time. All three missions were accomplished. We also managed to to some social drinking (prior to arriving at the school which is dry dry dry) and sleep depriving. Editing our documentary with a team of four people took close to eleven hours! The irony is that our documentary is about napping, something we did very little of during our process.

The unrest of the past week is transferring into the current one. I'm feeling my age. Where recovering from an all-night-all-dayer in the past would have been a matter of 12 hours of unconsciousness and a greasy breakfast, I'm finding it hard - at the ripe age of thirty - to shake this deep fatigue. Oh, I'm so tired.

It was also a shock to the system to adjust to being alone in my apartment again. This three room bachelorette seems palatial compared the logging-camp style of lodgings at GIFTS. But more than the space is what fills it. The week we attended was a mixed bag of youth and adults, though the youth did outnumber the adults five to one. There was ALWAYS someone around. Always action. Music playing, chatter, snoring, sleeptalking, creaking, you name it. My first night home I had to sleep with the TV on.

Being with my sister this past week was so comforting. And efficient! One would do the morning dishes while the other made the tea. We would shower in adjoining stalls, passing shampoo and soap over the top. We would toss ideas around and talk or be quiet or whatever. This, I thought, this is the kind of companionship I long for. Comfortable. Familial. Intellectually stimulating. Fun. Fun, we laughed a lot.

Seeing her off at the airport was sad. So sad that we live far apart. But in the words of my wise wise friend Itai, being apart allows us to enjoy the time we have together even more.