"June 14, 2006
He says I am a jealous mess. I guess I am jealous - territorial? But I really don't think I am a jealous mess. I think I'm a mess, yes. But I was hurt , so sharply, that I don't know if I can recover from it. I think it will be one of those things that stick with me for all of my life. She and him have inflicted this torture into my heart forever. If I will ever get over this I don't see how I will be able to get through my parents' death, or anything else that is actually worth fighting for. I like things but as only places and ideals and visions. Being in small town New York is wonderful but even as I am psychically here, during actual time, I still know it isn't real and none of it is as wonderful as I see it. I guess the cynicism I maintain has started to push any perception of real beauty to the middle of my mind. I don't see how anything real can stay consistently beautiful. I am only beautiful when I am alone and cannot see myself. Nature and sky are always beautiful but your voice always interrupts it, whether you are there or not. It's a piercing, sharp voice."
Saturday, June 30, 2012
"July 2, 2006
When I was a little girl, I used to think that the further I put my face down in the water in the bathtub, I would dive into another world where everyone would be mermaids. And as I transcend from the bathtub into the other world, I would also morph into the other world, I would also morph into a beautiful mermaid. I am surprised I didn't somehow drown myself, from the times I tried, desperately yearning to create a magical bathtub. I would always pretend anyway. I used to be very good at pretending. I was never bored. I wish I could remember all the names of my imaginary friends. And all the games I would play with Leo [my teddy bear]. So many games I used to make up, and tell my friends. Erin ---- and I used to play the Ireland game, because we both thought we were Irish. So in grade five I made up a story of two Irish people trying to make enough money so they could go to New York. We would speak in (terrible) Irish accents and play it all day in my backyard. Then there was the ice game with Andrea -----. The best, and one of my favourite memories of my childhood is leprechauns, with -----. Hours and hours we would spend in my backyard, using my old tree house as a base, pretending to be leprechauns. We even wrote a little book with all the secrets and codes written down, and we buried it somewhere. Now my way of pretending is to run as fast as I can away from my problems and real life. I am really good at avoiding reality until the very last second. That's what I'm good at: pretending."
When I was a little girl, I used to think that the further I put my face down in the water in the bathtub, I would dive into another world where everyone would be mermaids. And as I transcend from the bathtub into the other world, I would also morph into the other world, I would also morph into a beautiful mermaid. I am surprised I didn't somehow drown myself, from the times I tried, desperately yearning to create a magical bathtub. I would always pretend anyway. I used to be very good at pretending. I was never bored. I wish I could remember all the names of my imaginary friends. And all the games I would play with Leo [my teddy bear]. So many games I used to make up, and tell my friends. Erin ---- and I used to play the Ireland game, because we both thought we were Irish. So in grade five I made up a story of two Irish people trying to make enough money so they could go to New York. We would speak in (terrible) Irish accents and play it all day in my backyard. Then there was the ice game with Andrea -----. The best, and one of my favourite memories of my childhood is leprechauns, with -----. Hours and hours we would spend in my backyard, using my old tree house as a base, pretending to be leprechauns. We even wrote a little book with all the secrets and codes written down, and we buried it somewhere. Now my way of pretending is to run as fast as I can away from my problems and real life. I am really good at avoiding reality until the very last second. That's what I'm good at: pretending."
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
old journal fragments; past lives
" November 13, 2008
I am in bed trying to fall asleep and I just heard a plane passing over above me in the sky and I had the strangest feeling of peace and happiness. Just for a little under a minute. I don't know why, really. Hearing planes fly by overhead brings me to other places in life I guess. Lying in bed in Toronto, even my room on Riverside Drive. You can only really hear planes fly by when you're only listening to yourself or silence. It also reminds me of my backyard in London in the fall, or the summer. Lying on the deck in the dead of summer, with Dudley asleep by the door. It is one of those universally familiar noises. It is always the same noise, wherever and whenever you are. It is such a peaceful noise. For some reason I imagined that plane flying through the navy blue French skies on its way across the ocean back to North America. I guess because that is where I would like to be right now. I can hear another one! It sounds like air and silence and beautiful sleep. I don't know but I feel flooded with fragments of memories of blinding sunlight from the summer sky in London, winter in St. John's. You only hear it when you stop listening. I feel so calm knowing home is so close."
I am in bed trying to fall asleep and I just heard a plane passing over above me in the sky and I had the strangest feeling of peace and happiness. Just for a little under a minute. I don't know why, really. Hearing planes fly by overhead brings me to other places in life I guess. Lying in bed in Toronto, even my room on Riverside Drive. You can only really hear planes fly by when you're only listening to yourself or silence. It also reminds me of my backyard in London in the fall, or the summer. Lying on the deck in the dead of summer, with Dudley asleep by the door. It is one of those universally familiar noises. It is always the same noise, wherever and whenever you are. It is such a peaceful noise. For some reason I imagined that plane flying through the navy blue French skies on its way across the ocean back to North America. I guess because that is where I would like to be right now. I can hear another one! It sounds like air and silence and beautiful sleep. I don't know but I feel flooded with fragments of memories of blinding sunlight from the summer sky in London, winter in St. John's. You only hear it when you stop listening. I feel so calm knowing home is so close."
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