i spilled maple syrup on my keyboard and now it’s irreparable.
my life just keeps looking up.
and now i will take a nap, wake up at 2 am and
WORKWORKWORK.
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it has just occurred to me;
i don’t know how to say sorry when it really matters.
if i can’t apologize when it seems like i’m supposed to, know that it’s because i’m too scared.
and ashamed.
and guilty.
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there is a tension here i cannot cure. almost tangible and absolutely frightening.
don’t you know how scared i am? of the future? of the present? of the here and now and the glances in my direction that tell me i’m a lost cause?
i’m sorry i drifted. and i’m sorry i can hurt you from miles and miles away and i know you don’t deserve this. and i’m sorry i’m too stubborn, too proud to say this to your face, because i love you even if sometimes it doesn’t seem like it. i love all of you and i don’t know what to do.
is it too late to fix things?
will summer air clear our lungs?i am unforgivable, and the greatest tragedy is that there is no turning back. trust and hearts are broken now, and tonight, i stare at blank pages and see things that are supposed to be written, but never will be. and even when you tell me it’s okay, and all is forgiven, i know they’re not. scars like this don’t heal so easy. sometimes they don’t heal at all.
there is a disconnect between us now. i am tentative to speak and i am bound in my own household.
tell me, where did i go wrong?
when i tried to cease the day?
when i started grasping at smoke?my existence is a selfish one.
carpe diem, carpe omnious.
cease the day, take it all.
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ice.
dug up one of my old journals today and found this excerpt:
04/22/09 – 5:31am
i don’t like the idea of investing myself in other people, depending on someone else to be happy. it seems almost weak to me. i hate feeling vulnerable. i much prefer the idea of ‘the ice queen.’ ethereal in her beauty, she’s unattainable in her indifference to the world. everybody wants her but she sends roaring chills their way, freezing them all out.
perhaps i just enjoy the idea of being coveted. i fear relationships but at the same time, it’d be nice to be in one. have a companion to help with the bad times. nobody really wants to be alone. but i don’t want to be weak either.
i’ve put up guards and walls and a cautionary chill. i abhor vulnerability and shed weakness like old skin. independent. alone. ice cold.
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do i confuse you? do you worry about me sometimes? do you think about me at all? when you’re lying there alone, staring up at your ceiling, listening to something obscure; some band you can name that i can’t. you like that feeling, don’t you? you say i’m too smart for you and you like it when you know i’m not. i don’t intimidate you any more. i don’t have you under my spell anymore. but whatever, you don’t have me under yours either. i’m scratching you off like an annoying scab, and maybe i’ll bleed a little, but i’ll get over it. i always get over it, but only because i have to. this is your fault; we could’ve been something, but this is your fault. we could’ve been magic and this is your fault. but i’m sorry. i’m sorry for all the touches i won’t forget and the eyes that’ll pierce through me somewhere in the silence, and the little hesitation when i hear your name. but to hell with all of this. i regret nothing. this is your fault, and i’m the one who’s sorry, but only for a little while. i’m not broken. you didn’t break me. summer will breathe new life into me, and come september, i’ll rise from these ashes, wholly new and perfect.
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dining fine, sipping wine.
had dinner at the wongs’ yesterday (photospread coming up) as liz was gracious enough to invite me over. hannah, her father and her cousin were there too, so it was a kind of joint wong-nakawatase thing going on (a regular occurrence, if i understand correctly); i was the welcome intruder.
dinner with the wongs is always great; the food is always good. that night was a carnivore’s dream (although mama wong insisted on giving me veggies, salad and potatoes); juicy steak, DELICIOUS lamb chops….i was absolutely dying, and by the sounds she was making next to me, hannah had reached nirvana or something. wine was poured into our glasses and we spent about 10 minutes appreciating and complimenting it; that was some damn good wine.
oh, to dine with the rich.
michael buble played softly in the background and i was one of the first people to clean my plate; a feat that i was heartily congratulated on and had earned me a permanent invitation to the wong dinner table.
after dinner, liz, hannah and i made our way to the balcony where we grabbed pillows and a blanket, lit some candles, put on some music and created an ambiance of romance in growing dark. i was supposed to meet john for a movie at 10:10, but the two ladies convinced me that i couldn’t possibly make it back in time, so i had to ditch those plans. curse those two vixens for proving me so fickle. but as it was, i’d already watched the trotsky and the cool night air was some kind of magic so i not-so-secretly didn’t mind staying.
we talked about love and life before heading back for dessert (amazing christmas pudding with special rum sauce) and after that, back to the balcony for more fresh air heart-to-heart-ing.
hannah (reluctantly) left shortly after that so liz, her sister steph and i watched a painfully indie film called ‘toronto stories’ which i kind of enjoyed.
i left after that and headed to mary’s and we caught up a bit before i headed home.
made it back at around 3 a.m, got naked and collapsed on my bed; it was a hot night.
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ohbijou – new years
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dialogue #8
me: othniel, why don’t you keep a journal?
othniel: because i’m not GAY.
me: i keep a journal…
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shameless.
half day today stretched on forever. i kept on looking at the clock and the minute hand was moving painfully slowly in each of my four classrooms.
english, philosophy, theory of knowledge and biology past by in a slow-motion blur of doodles, pen fights and incessant jests at my constant absences. thankfully, i managed to reconcile with most of my teachers, so the school day wasn’t a complete waste.made my way to western tech to meet thadea and nicky after that. their school day ends conveniently early, so i only had to wait a little while before catching them as they began to walk away from the school.
thadea told me she was bringing nicky with her to a funeral she was going to today, so we headed to nicky’s house in hopes of finding something mildly appropriate for him to wear. this turned out to be much more difficult than i had originally thought. he has no formal clothes and his pants are ugly, so we decided that he would wear my jeans.
he put on my pants, which miraculously fit, so we proceeded to raid his father’s closet in hopes of finding a nice shirt; unfortunately, his father’s wardrobe wasn’t much better. the best shirt we could find made him look like a pirate, which was fine by us, so, you know, we kept it.
trekked our way to thadea’s house where we would switch pants (i refused to be seen on the subway in nicky’s jeans).
as i tried on various pairs of pants (snake skin skinnies included) at thadea’s house, i accidentally stepped on a tube of blue acrylic paint she had left open on the floor and soon blue was everywhere; the floor, on articles of clothing, on her disgusting pair of crocs; everywhere.
it is a strange kind of friendship when you are unafraid to be seen unclothed in front of each other and this is the kind of friendship we had.
i was not wearing pants, thadea was not wearing pants (for reasons i cannot remember) and nicky was just sitting there watching. our hands were covered in the paint so we were too afraid to touch anything (save for tissue paper) to put clothes on and it was in this half-naked state that we did our best to clean up the blue paint (which proved to be a difficult and daunting task).
all three of us; shameless.
we kept breaking into laughter about how absurd the entire situation was. always; we can’t help but be ridiculous. it’s what we’re made of.
after cleaning up the paint, a nice shower and finding a pair of pants to wear, i headed downstairs and found the other two in the kitchen and we consumed mangoes (the best fruit in the world).
later on, after the two made their way to the funeral, i met up with elaha and we went shopping (i bought two shirts), had coffee and (she) lowered the self-esteem of various passers-by.
good day.
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“Germaine was a whore all the way through, even down to her good heart, her whore’s heart which is not really a good heart but a lazy one, an indifferent, flaccid heart that can be touched for a moment, a heart without reference to any fixed point within, a big, flaccid whore’s heart that can detach itself for a moment from its true center.”
– ‘Tropic of Cancer’ by Henry Miller
