August 29, 2003
6:05 PM  ()
morris/mo: the brand new beatnik.
So, tonight will consist of Jeff S. and myself eating out and then going to a movie. I'm busy contemplating on which movie we should see. I'm stuck on some cheeseball movies (which will leave Jeff and I giddy as all hell afterwards, I'm sure). Here are my choices (that is if they're all playing at the same theatre, I have no idea how to work those internet showtime sites):
1. American Wedding Oh, just because. It's probably something I'd end up renting and laughing my ass off to anyway.
2. Freddy Vs. Jason I had no idea something like this was out. An 18A Horror movie with Freddy AND Jason? What is this? It seems worth checking out for the cheesiness.
3. TOMB RAIDER 2 Fuck off, Angelina Jolie is a woman I'd sleep with in a second. A definite must-see movie, at some point.

Now, if only Jeff was around his damn computer or something of the sort we could come up with a decision. And he could let me know which building we're going to. I have no idea what's going on. All I know is he's going to call me, and I'm going to walk my ass up to the new Mac's and he's picking me up there and everything goes from there. Insanity.

And I think my Dad's really interested in reading "On The Road" (Jack Keroauc). He seems excited to read it. My Dad. Reading Jack Kerouac. What is going on? I think Kyla's right, I blame Mars.

3:39 AM  ()
hey.
I just wrote something I tried not to write yet. It's all wrapped up wonderfully in a Microsoft Word Document, and it's 5 pages long so far. I have a few things I need to add to it, I just can't do it right now without sobbing.

Mom, I fucking miss you.

August 28, 2003
1:14 AM  ()
no jumping allowed here. no, no. just climbing.
Is it possible for anyone to tell me what I should do right now? No, no it's not. It definitely isn't. I should already know. I've gone through it already. But right now, all I can offer is what she has been offering me. A hug, an ear, tears, and cigarettes & coffee. This is absolutely insane. That seems to be all anyone has to offer. And I'm sorry. But it's enough, isn't it?

And I want you to stop apologizing. You have no need to be apologizing to me. I will never give up on you, dear boy. I will never, never give up on you. You're far too precious a person to me. And no, I am not angry at you. No, I am not frustrated with you. More with myself because I can't think of ways to say the words in different combinations, trying to twist them around and read them backwards just to see if I can make it more powerful. I can't. All I can do is listen, be an ear, a shoulder. And baby, just because you feel weaker right now doesn't mean you are less in my eyes. You are still you, you are my light, and you are in pain and I am right here. And I always will be ready to help you tough something out, just as you are with me. Far too precious a person in my life to ever give up on. Far too fucking excellent. My faith in you is as strong as my faith in my Mother. As strong as my faith in life, faith in future & past, faith in myself. We will figure this out, baby. "We will figure this out." Don't give up too fast on yourself, not so fast.

Then, what can I say to my girl? My wonderful girl who's life changed before her eyes. I can't say anything because I've never been there before, but I can do one thing: be there, as well. I am there. I will be there tomorrow, and the day after if you need me. She knows that, she knows that. They all know that. They really do, and I take comfort in that.

Dear Fucking Somebody: I have never felt the urge to hunt before in my life, but I want to hunt you. I want to hunt you down and rip your intestines straight out of your body and hang you from a fucking lamp post with your very innards. I want to rub your face in your own shit, I want to scream at the top of my lungs into your ears and I want to see them bleed, and bleed, and bleed, and bleed. I want to rip you apart. I want to rip your face and life apart. I want to see you hang, and hang, and drip, and hang.

Onwards.
I've been out of sorts today. It was hard to drive, but it was a task I needed to complete otherwise I would be kicking myself in the ass for it.

Sacha just stopped by for a cigarette, my Dad's sleeping upstairs. I wish I could fall asleep as fast as he does. Dad knows her Father, and I will have to keep him up to date in the mornings.

Uh. Holy Fuck.
And my boy. Oh God, the abasement his thoughts provide him is heartbreaking. I want to do, do, say, do. I want to lift it all away. My saying these things may not be meaningful, but they are to me. The passion and love I have for this boy, this life, this mind - it tears me apart not being able to wrap my arms around him and just fucking tell him everything's going to be okay. Right now, it's not okay. It's not okay. And it's not okay on my side of the country either. The weather's turning cold, Winter's on her way. Apparently Mars is close to the earth. I didn't know about this until today, until he mentioned it. And I love him, I love him. And I don't care about fucking Mars tonight, I care about him. I care about her. And I care about her. And I care about me. And Dad. And how I can't fix everything. You know what? That thought just sucks.

Kyla: "I found that many amazing and terrible things have been happening since Mars came so close to the earth." I'll fucking kick Mars' ass if I have to.

... I have to wake up early this morning. I have a doctors appointment at 11:45, and then I must rush to Calgary.

August 27, 2003
4:16 AM  ()
if i could play guitar like you, i would die three times over.
And to you, to you I want to say four million beautiful things. I want to wrap them up and send them out on wings so that they fly straight into your face knocking you off of your feet and also landing so softly like a bed of feathers to break your fall. I want to kiss your neck and lay awake with you as you sleep just under my wing. Even with you there, I feel protected, as I am protecting. I want to warm your feet when cold, and I want to one day try to make you dinner. That could be a frightening thought, but my Mum has a pretty wicked cook-book I want to take with me if Daddy lets me.

I keep catching a glimpse of movement in the corners of my eyes around the room, but it's never what I think it is, and nothing's moving. I'm probably far too tired that I've gone temporarily insane and I'm just looking for her whenever something moves. It sort of frightens me. I asked her not to scare me if she decides to pull a stunt like that, so I'm most definitely sure she won't frighten me or do such a thing. I think her soul is too far away to jump back in for a quick greeting, but her energy pumps through my fucking veins. That's enough for me. I can feel her, and that's just good enough for me. And then I think of how much she loved you, and how much she would talk about you with her sisters and friends. And then I think about how much I love you, and how much I talk about you with anyone I can - even myself. I constantly remind myself that I have something beautiful in my life, and I'm gripping tight. Just so you know. Last night I had a dream within a dream, my hands were wrapped in ductape so that they formed fists. As we pulled off the tape, my Mother's ring came apart. The diamonds came off with the tape, and I was heart-broken. The ring then fell apart in my palm, and I had no idea what to do. And then I woke up into the main dream, I woke up next to you. And you must have some sort of clue as to how comfortable that made me. I watched you sleep, and the sun was so warm. It must have been late morning, and your existance beside me was just too much and too wonderful. I was procrastinating. I felt like I had to wake up and quickly make a brunch for more than two, it was strange, but I didn't want to crawl out of bed just yet. So I just laid there, and I stared at you, and I watched you breathe. You have no idea how comforting that sound is, the sound of a regular heart-beat and normal timing inbetween breaths. I told you that when you were here. It was soothing, and it calmed me. After listening to her heart slow down and eventually stop, after checking on her numerous times to make sure she was still breathing and counting 8-9 seconds in between breaths was terrifying. It was all I wanted to listen for. Sometimes I swear I can still hear the oxygen machine upstairs, and I want to run up there and kiss it, and hug it and lay on the couch in the upstairs living room and listen and fall asleep. Such a regular sound, such a comforting sound. Like she's still in her room, still on the bed, still wanting to get into her wheelchair and scoot into the kitchen for a cigarette. Like she's taking a shower, like she's puttering around upstairs cleaning the kitchen, like she's pondering the moment she asks me to vaccuum the walkways.

I had her. I had her at the tip of my fingers my entire life, and now she's no longer at the edge of her bed, she's no longer asking me if her clothes match for that day, she's no longer driving me places and terrifying me with her overly cautious driving. No more walks along 17th Avenue. I went just yesterday and I wanted to burst into fucking tears. I didn't want to be there, but I wore a smile anyhow. I wanted to be with her, and I wanted her to link her arm in mine because she was so tiny and her feet hurt and she wanted me to slow down. Shit, she was beautiful. And now all I want to do is escape into the world of words and I don't want to come out. I want to disappear inside of you, and I don't want to come out. I want to wrap your arms around me, and I want you to fall asleep beside me again. Right now. Tonight. This morning.

I find myself, now, when I'm reading a book that I search for the Mother figure, and I pick her apart as though I'm looking for her. Do you know what I mean by that? I'm waiting for her to come home. I'm still okay, I'm not crying just yet, and I'm so glad she's not hurting anymore. But I'm still searching for her, and I don't think that will ever end. I'm eighteen years old, and I lost my Mother. Her ashes are upstairs in a box, and her energy is inside of me along with her strength, but her soul is up in the sky and she's a little girl again. I'll never forget when I let go of that little girls hand, and I'll never forget how she asked me just a couple of days before she died that every time I left the house she wanted me to come hug and kiss her (and I knew this was for a 'just incase' sort of deal, and that terrified me - but I did it) before I closed the door behind me, "just as you did when you were a little girl, Heather." And I did. I think there was once that I totally forgot and the entire time I was out I was dreading a phone call, and I was only going to the grocery store. And then my Dad called me, and I was afraid to answer the phone. He left a message. He wanted me to pick up carrots or something. I can't remember. It wasn't important. The part that's important is that it wasn't about her. I heard her voice in the background making sure that I was going to pick up what they needed. "Make sure you tell her to get suchandsuch, Mo!" In her cute mousy voice, and I could see her sitting at the kitchen table. Unable to stand up, but sitting there because she wanted to be there. And she brought you up so many times. One of the last things she touched was that book you let me borrow. "Lucky", by Alice Sebold. I'm being honest with that. It really was. And every time I see that book at your Dad's place I will remember. Your voice and your three days that you knew her must have really made an impression, and she could see the happiness in my eyes every time the phone rang and she told me it was you. I'm so fucking glad she knew you, Clifford. So. Glad. Incredibly. Honestly.

And it's a little too early in the morning for me to be awake, again. I have to stop with this coffee @ night business. Oh, but I can't.

There's a little too much weight on my shoulders right now, all touching a bit too close to home. But that's okay. It's okay. I can do this, right?

And I miss you, and I want you, and I hope to dream of waking up next to you again tonight. I think I might try sleeping in my own bed again, tonight. I haven't done it yet, I have not succeeded. It's almost like I'm afraid to. You know what, I probably won't. I'll more than likely lay on the couch and get through some more of my next book (I already finished one of them today and started the next, "Don't Sleep with Your Drummer") and fall asleep with the book on my face or something.

You know, you & Dad are all I have left.
And that's not supposed to be scary. It's just true.

August 26, 2003
11:17 AM  ()
feeling very selfish right now; wrap me up tight.
So far, Benni's paralyzed down the left side of his body. I was figuring out ways he could light a cigarette with one hand, and I came up with many, and then realized he was using matches. You definitely need two hands to strike a match. Unless you want to get creative, but let's not go there.

I guess I gave up on the William S. Burroughs biography, yet again. I'll get through it one day. It's not even mine, I believe it's Meagan's. My Dad's at work and I woke up with my feet just freezing cold. My dreams were comforting last night, and just before I woke up and opened my eyes and realized I was in the real world and I was the only person alive in the house guarding my Mother's ashes which are upstairs, I had a dream I woke up next to him - and I smiled, and his eyes were closed, and he was so very warm. I have no idea which bed we were in. But there was sunlight, and he was a bit older, and his skin was so soft and all I wanted to do was lay there and watch him because it must have been a Sunday or something, or a day off. I didn't have to get up, and I could watch him wake. I was disturbed by a noise in the dream, and then I actually woke up. Doggie wanted to go outside. I want a puppy when I move out, after a while I suppose. I want one with as much character as this strange dog I just had to let inside. He barks at me while he perches himself up on the patio furniture, and he shivers, looking at me like I just smacked his brain out about 100 yards. And he is comfortable in the most unusual positions.

What is this journal business? No one comments, no one can be that interested. Or maybe I'm just getting really peeved because it's getting really close to that time of the month. Either way, I'll bitch about it anyhow.

Anyone willing to help out with the design for http://egotastika.net, I really want it to look good for this writing insanity. Augh, and there's some other things I still need to do. There's about 10 people on 'the list' now, and it's just too cool. I'm sure there'll be more. This is fun.

12:27 AM  ()
...
New reading material to swallow me whole:
Don't Sleep with Your Drummer, by Jen Sincero (MTV Books)
Crazy, by Benjamin Lebert (translated by Carol Brown Janeway)

And a fly's life just ended before me. I didn't even touch it. It just, seriously, fucking fell from where it was hovering. Now, it's laying on it's back and twitching. Good God, that's depressing.

12:18 AM  ()
you were the one who inspired me...

August 25, 2003
11:31 AM  ()
let's get on with it, then.
Okay, so I could go out back and have my first cigarette of the morning and attempt reading this Burroughs Biography once again, and that's probably what I should do. Yet, I happen to be sitting right here still waiting for my Dad to come home. I should be getting in the shower so I can look half decent when I go to the bank today, I should actually straighten my hair. I should just fucking do something with myself, but for some reason I'm still parked right were I was before I started writing this.

I painted my nails yesterday for, basically, no reason at all. They look vile. They really do. And I slept on the couch again. My Dad's voice was so soothing when he woke me up this morning for the 5 minutes he needed to tell me that he was on his way to work, that he was taking Chico with him (doggie), and that he would be back soon. Alls I know is that it's half past 11, and the bank appt. is at 1:15. I need to do something with myself.

I ache all over. For him, for his touch, and my back just kills because I slept on the fucking couch again. I haven't slept in my own bed since he left. It's not that I refuse to, it's just because I'm not comfortable there. Mind you, I haven't slept in my own bed since before my Mom died. Clifford slept in my room while he was here, and I slept on the couch. I am far more comfortable on the couch, or at least I was. Now my sleeps are getting longer and my positions are getting a lot stranger.

I feel torn between two extremes.

3:02 AM  ()
teach me, for my eyes are full of helplessness.
I feel... dibilitated.

Someone called my cell-phone just after 2 a.m. I didn't answer it in time, they were just hanging up as I flipped open the reciever and answered a startled, "...hello?" It was a restricted # and I have no idea who it could have been. The only two people that call my phone, that I know of, that have restricted #'s are Sacha and my Dad. And I doubt it was either one of them. Must have been a wrong number. But that's still weird.

It scares me when you say things like that. I know I'm overly paranoid, but I don't even want to think about anything like that right now. My mind is far too off-center in order to even comprehend what that would do to me. Okay? I promise I will try to make this move sooner. I was asked, tonight, why I was still here after explaining your state. I sort of stared into space and went blank, I had no answer. I replied with, "I don't know." I have to make sure my Dad's okay before I leave. I can't... God, I don't fucking know. I want to get the hell out of here now, and I want to take him with me - but I can't. I know he wants me to move on and he also figures I'll be leaving sooner than planned. But I need to get the money first, I need a few dollars in my pocket. I need to be sure, and have him tell me, that he's ready for me to leave. I'm ready, I've been ready for years. But due to the circumstances, I'm not ready to leave him just yet - not until I know he, himself, is ready.

I want to make everything good for you, Clifford. I really do. Tell me how.

Dad and I have an appt. with someone at the bank at 1:15 this afternoon. Afterwards, I believe, I will be visiting Kyla in the good ole city of Calgary. I must apologize to her in advance if I am not upbeat and fun. I hope I have more energy later when I wake up than I did yesterday.

2:45 AM  ()
dwell in fine reverie.
You know, it's just because I love you so much that is impossible to explain.

August 24, 2003
3:33 AM  ()
all jittery & the like...
I just finished telling Kyla I was off to go zonk out on the couch or something. It really is far too late for me to be awake.

I upset you tonight, and I am sorry. There's a message waiting for him that he'll hopefully read before he heads off to work tomorrow afternoon. I hope to wake up before he heads out so that I can call him and maybe hear him smile. This is ridiculous, you know? I am trying to come up with some sort of solution - and I have it at the tip of my fingertips. It all depends on when. When.

Okay. I need to quit this disgusting smoking habit. I really do. I'm glad Clifford keeps harping at me for it. I'm a bad influence on Dad.

I am one worried girl today and I'm not sure if I can handle it right now. I'm, honestly, there for anyone if they need somebody to listen. But right now is a bit of a bad time. Whether it's a bad time or not, I'll still be willing to hear anyone out. But it's just so strange trying to come to terms with so much and then being handed a big bag of negative in the other hand as well. Right now, I am worrying about 3 different people. No, 4. Four of them. And it's probably a good thing because it keeps my mind occupied, but I'm tired. I'm so tired. All I want to do is sleep and avoid all that is bad and dream of days that were good and will be good, and days when I'll be able to call him up and invite him over for dinner or something - begging him to cook because I'm too damn lazy or something.

And again, I miss my Mom terribly.
Fuck, fuck. & Fuck.

3:15 AM  ()
hey, mom.
Fuck, I really miss you.

August 23, 2003
2:45 PM  ()
b&h have served me well.
I finally awoke at 2:00 p.m. this afternoon. What is that? I don't sleep in. I never sleep in. Mind you, it could be because I was up until 4:00 in the morning. But still, even then, I do not sleep in. Strange. Dad's got some lady coming over for some business insanity, and then him and I are going out for lunch. So, I showered, and now I'm sitting here in my white robe with a gigantic purple towel on my head.


Joey & I are going to Bateman on Sept. 19, 20, & 21. My Mother's ashes were slightly divided. We have our wooden box of an Urn with most of her ashes, and Joey has a tiny brass Urn with a bit of Mum inside. I didn't want one of my own. Anyhow, Mom gave him permission to spread the ashes given to him in Batemen, Saskatchewen. Why? This is where they used to live for years, Joey grew up there, and some of their finest years together were in that small abandoned town. I went up there in 1996 to a reunion, about 900 people were there. We walked around Joey's old school (which was now closed forever) and I thought I was going to be attacked by ghosts. It's an interesting place, and now that I'm older I can pick it apart and write it down a lot better. I'm excited to go. It's going to be weird, though. Spreading Mom's ashes... I think the trip to England next year will also be quite the experience (where we will spread the remainder of her ashes).


So, I've decided what I'm going to be doing with http://egotastika.net, and that is turn it into a community of writers. An e-zine of sorts. I think it'll be a lot of fun. So far I've got 5 people that dig it and are down with writing for it. A couple of them are really great writers, or seem to be, and I'm excited to get this started. There's a few things I'll have to set up first though, before I start accepting submissions and throwing it all together. I need someone to help me out with the web design, etc. I may need Joey to add another e-mail account (submit@egotastika.net, or something), etc. It's going to be fun though once it's up and running. Let's hope it pulls through and stays together.


Clifford's in trouble. Ahem.

August 22, 2003
11:56 AM  ()
don't leave me here all alone, again.
Things I have to do today:
First: Shower & dress, make myself look pretty for the first time in three days.
Second: Pull petals off of flowers, put in bowl
Third: Buy "silica" gel, sprinkle the powder on flowers and continue to make pot-pourri with the petals from the flowers we've recieved in sympathy or those that were directly sent for my Mother. This was Judy's idea (C-Dawg's Mum) and I thought it was great. So, this is what I'll do with them. I don't have the heart to throw any of them away, but they're starting to wilt and that's so incredibly depressing right now.
Fourth: Accomplish something that includes the exertion of a lot of energy, or at least do something that doesn't include me sitting down for many hours.


I started reading that book, and so far it's awesome. I just like how (almost) monotonous he's made this character, very distant from the land of emotion. Almost sarcastic. Her (narrator) boyfriend, right at the beginning of the book dies of a cardiac seizure before she comes home from work. She proceeds to get angry with him for watching too much TV as he lay in the chair just staring in one direction, she makes him dinner and he doesn't do anything. She becomes frustrated, and in order to irk him she turns off the television and walks away into the kitchen. She expected him to start screaming, and because he didn't she figured he was practicing some sort of calming technique and forcing himself not to unload. She began laughing at this. And then she realizes he's dead, and she tries to give him CPR, etc. She tries to revive him none the less, and after many attempts - she gives up. And then she calls 911. "Thanking her and hanging up, I waited for the dead boyfriend ambulance. Locating a pack of American Spirit cigarettes in his pocket, I lit one."


Ha, the dead boyfriend ambulance. I love it.


I haven't eaten yet, and I slept until about 10:00. I was supposed to go to the bank with my Dad this morning but apparently they screwed up anyway, so the appointments set for Monday at some time when I will more than likely be awake. I took another week off of work, I want to spend more time with my Dad, and I'm not ready to throw myself into the real world just yet where all I'll be doing is working, eating, and sleeping - oh yeah, and bitching about work to myself, friends, and co-workers. Le sigh.


Trying to carry on with yourself after feeling that ultimate comfort when he was here is extremely hard to do. All I want to do is sleep. All I want to do is ask Mom if she wants to take a mental health day with me and come down to 17th Avenue to spend some money on vintage clothing or go for some Chinese Food, maybe even that awesome Pizza place where we'd go just on 16th Avenue coming back from the hospital when she was going in for radiation treatment. When she was able to walk around and able to laugh, and able to just fucking go places with me. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck.


I miss her. This is the third time I've cried for myself because of this, the last time was when I woke Clifford up at 6:00 in the morning while I was sitting on the edge of the bed. Fuck.

August 21, 2003
10:56 PM  ()
september rays of whatever.
Dad and I haven't had a very good day today. He's waiting for Mom to come home, and I'm missing two people in incredible amounts at the same time. So, we decided to go pick up a couple of books. He picked up an English comedy, and I picked up "dogrun," by Arthur whatshisface (I can't remember the last name). He previously wrote a book called The Fuck Up, so I hope this is interesting. It's put together well, anyhow. I like the look of it. Ha. Never judge a book by it's cover, Heather. Oh, but I do.


Dad and I also decided that we'd go see a movie tonight seeing as our movie theatre here in town is almost falling apart and extremely cheap to get into. We sat down for "S.W.A.T." He enjoyed it, I fell asleep in my chair. Mind you, I've been drowsy all day. When I think too much I force myself to become that way so I can... sleep it all away. I've always been like that. Agh, strange day.


Tomorrow it's off to the bank and off to learn some strange things and do some more growing up. Clifford finally got his lap-top computer and ICQ at his Dad's. This is fantastic, actually. Why? Because if I call and it's busy, and he's the one who's online - he'll more than likely be on ICQ. This way, I can run to the computer and hit the caps lock button and type obsceneties and then ask him ever so kindly if he would call me when he's finished doing whatever he's doing (probably downloading his personal porn collection, I'm sure it will take years).


I'm tired, and I think I'll just go sleep now. I'm sort of hungry, though.

9:40 AM  ()
pinch, shove.
At some point, I want to turn this website into something interesting. I have to hook Ali up with a blog address, and transfer this onto another page (something like http://heather.egotastika.net or http://journal.egotastika.net), and then delete all the insanity on this index page and start all over again. I have no idea what I could put on it. I have no idea. I really don't. I remember my first website, and it was still just all about me and my obsession with Nirvana & Kurt Cobain. I was thirteen years old? Ha, with an e-mail address that was just ridiculous. nirvanaGIRL585@excite.com. How hilarious is that? I think it's quite funny. And then I found out what Hotmail was.


I want to change the template again. That will more than likely frustrate many. I don't care.


I don't like waking up in the morning knowing he's not there, okay?

August 20, 2003
11:12 AM  ()
you can trust in this, girl. 'cause loving is coming our way.
And he's on his way home now, and we've got so much ahead of us, and he's so beautiful to me. I love that boy with every inch of my body and soul. "One day there'll be a place for us."


Unexpected visit, a rushed visit, and it has been one of the best. It keeps getting better and better, and my Father told him that he'll probably seeing me sooner in Ontario than any of us had anticipated. And he's right. That just might happen. I will tell him why when I talk to him next.


I hurt so much without him, but I am so comfortable at the same time. Our lives are growing together, and I've never been a part of something so wonderful. My Dad just gave me some incredible information about my Mother's intentions with her possessions, etc. Her Will. I am amazed. I am fucking amazed.


My cousin Gale just called and thought I was my Mom. She didn't know about anything yet, so I let her know. She's quite upset. She had one minute left on her calling card, and it cut us off, but she was sobbing. She was very confused, and she kept telling me how proud she was of me because of how strong I sound. I'm glad she called, no one could find her so she wasn't able to attend the Funeral. This is okay, she's apologizing profusely for missing it. You know, I thought phone calls like that would really upset me, but they don't. I really like allowing the person on the recieving end of the phone or wherever the knowledge of my Father and I's well being, and the happiness that they should be feeling that she's no longer in pain. And it's like she's sitting right next to me with her arm around me counselling me through it, almost like telling me what to be saying. I feel like I'm smiling and looking into her eyes as I tell her story.


I'm ready to have a bit of a moment to myself (Dad's gone into Calgary), and I think I'm going to go upstairs and sit on her side of the bed where her Urn has been placed on her bedside table. I want to lay with her, I want to write pretty things to her. I want to smile and be with her. I want to feel the warmth she brings and has given me, I want to feel the strength of our hearts intertwined and our minds swarming each other with love and memories. I want to talk to her, and I want to feel her everywhere. I want to feel her in the tips of my fingers and her gentle kisses on my forehead. She's continuously doing this for me, and I wish I could just explain and tell it enough so that the person I'm telling can feel it all and believe it as well. But I am all I need, she is all I need for this.


Afterwards I will continue on with my day.
I am so happy. I feel so good.


I miss Clifford like crazy already, and neither of us wanted him to go. But our time will come, right? Of course it will. We already know this.


(Fuck, she's everywhere. Everywhere.)

August 18, 2003
6:49 PM  ()
wow.
First of all, a great big 'Thank You' goes out to those who came to the Funeral this morning. The few I know who read the website and I haven't been able to get in touch with quite yet, I want you all to know that your attendance did not go unnoticed. I saw everything (the coming and the leaving) from that "gi-normous" white truck-limo thing we were sitting in. Dad and I just weren't ready to socialize, it was wonderful to see everyone though. Wow, it was amazing. A lot of people loved my Mother, and I already knew that. But seeing all those cars and all those people was just so heart warming, I can't even describe it fully. Thank you so much.


Alright, now I'll continue on with my entry.
I was going on about how I wouldn't like the 'family gathering' (or 'wake' as some people were calling it, 'life celebration' - etc.) that was going to occur at my house after the Funeral. I was wrong. I figured Dad and I were going to be hermits, to be quite honest. But we were not, we were mingling, there was drinking, there was laughing, there was everything good and I remember someone saying that she (Mother) would have loved to see this. She does see it, she's right here, she's the one giving us the strength to laugh and enjoy our day.


Dad is pissed drunk. Haha. He really is, and he's enjoying himself. His sons are here (most of everyone left after about 3 hours, but the immediate and close members in our family are still sitting around smoking cigarettes and talking - oh, yeah - and drinking) and I'm here, Clifford's here, and his brother and wife are here. It's been great, it really has been. Dad had a bit of a moment, but it's to be expected. I did, and there's nothing wrong with it. He keeps apologizing to me for it when he 'slips up'. No, no. There are no slip ups here. He does not have to apologize, nor does he have to justify or tell me why he started crying. She was his wife, his life, his wonder and joy. She's no longer physically present. I can't imagine how that must feel. I know that I have lost my Mother, but honestly, I haven't really. I really haven't. She's still pumping through me like insanity and I love it and everyone's seen it. I've had so many people tell me I am almost an entirely different person (but not really), and apparently I look different as well. People are astonished by my strength (and I truly believe my Mom left that with me, she did, I know she did), and almost everything else.


I love my Mom.
Quite dearly.


And Kyla, I saw you today. Thank you for coming. I'm sorry I didn't come to greet you or say goodbye, I just didn't feeling like socializing at the church. It was not the time, but you are a wonderful girl. And Meagan, you too. Same goes for you. And Heather. And the boys (Mike, Adam, Craig, Royce, Kyle B) and Katie Duncan. Wonderful, wonderful. All of you.

August 16, 2003
11:03 AM  ()
everything.
Clifford arrived here in Calgary yesterday (surprisingly on time; I figured there would be much more frustration due to "The Blackout"), and I am very happy to have him with me. I am very comfortable, I've had a few more hours sleep last night that I do usually. My Dad is very happy to see him, and also feels the comfort with him here knowing that I'm at ease.


My brothers met him yesterday and they all enjoyed it. The entire Family (people I probably don't even remember as well) will be at my house on Monday after the Funeral.


The service at the Church will not be closed to other people who knew my Mother and would like to come say Goodbye. If you're wanting to attend the Funeral at the Church, contact me (e-mail below, or call the house, etc.) and I will give you the location of the church and the time the Funeral starts.


I have an awful cough and an irritated throat from smoking way too much for my own good. It's not very fun at all. I'm not happy about this. I want it to go away. Very badly.

August 14, 2003
7:01 AM  ()
You taught us all, again, Mother.
Rest In Peace, Mother.
November 9th, 1946 - August 14th, 2003


My Mother (Ann Laird) passed away at 6:20 a.m. today, and if I could explain what I felt when she took her last breath, as I was stroking her hair, then this world would be understood by all.


I can feel her running through my viens and all around me, she's still here, she's broke free. My Mother was the most beautiful woman in the world. Beautiful in all aspects. I loved her, and love her still.


I keep smiling. I'm not crying. I am so excited and so fucking happy for her. She's no longer in any pain. There are going to be hard times, and I still don't know what I'm going to do without her. But right now, she's inside of me and absolutely everywhere, and I don't think that feeling will ever go away. I love it. I love her.

Alright, Jamesy, pick me up and let's float away.

August 12, 2003
5:44 PM  ()
THISISNOTGOODBYE
The smoke from the fires has mixed in with cloud and this cloud looks as though it's reaching from far away, reaching and lingering overtop of the neighborhood, the reddish beige colours floating overtop of our home. It looks like this cloud is reaching for her, almost like calling. I was out on the top deck, and couldn't help but stare up into this cloud in search for something. In search for faces, for forces, for strangeness. Nothing, nothing but the dots and strings floating over my eyes - you know the ones. When you're looking so hard at something and your near sightedness kicks in and all you can see are the particles floating over your own pupils, thinking maybe it's some stringy ghost falling from the sky as you try to follow it. My Mother is dying. Our family doctor doesn't expect to be here after tomorrow, if she somehow miraculously makes it through the night. I am downstairs right now in order to explain this cloud, and to get some words out of me. Dad, and my brother are upstairs with her. The nurse occassionally checking on her and pumping her full of Morphine every 3 hours. They left me alone with her a couple of times, they needed a cigarette desperately. I am in need of another, to be quite honest. She jerks and her eyes widen a little more when she thinks she's seen something, earlier when we were all in the room she saw something that frightened her. She said, "Oh, Jesus" very lightly and tried to pick herself up in order to move backward, away from whatever she saw in the corner of the room. A little while after that, I heard her say "Who was that?" and "What's happening?" I was alone with her, and she jerked and her eyes widened, but she wasn't scared. I asked her if she was watching the television, she whispered a 'no'. I asked her if she was seeing things, she whispered a 'yes'. I asked her what kind of things she was seeing in hopes that she would be able to tell me everything and anything when we were alone because it was me, nobody else. In hopes that I would be the one who would hear every word, in hopes that she could say every word when I was there. She did not answer me. She stared off into space, just as she has been doing since she woke up earlier in the afternoon. There's chance that she may slip into a coma, there's a piece of paper on the refridgerator posted by the doctor that she does not want to be recessitated.


It's happening. I'm losing her, physically, now. Her body's shutting down, her respiration short, and her heart slowing. She's seeing things and people in the room who we can't see, and it's all in her mind, result of the drugs. I believe there's something here for her, someone (or more) are in the room with us. Although it's all being portrayed by only her mind, these figments of her imagination are there, protecting her and arriving one by one. I have no idea, really. I just like to keep in mind that she feels safe, but startled.


I may not see her tomorrow. And if by miracle she makes it through the night, I may not see her the next day.
You have no idea how lonely that makes me feel.

2:57 AM  ()
well,
Holy damn, that book was amazing and incredibly intense. Clifford, you have great taste in authors.

August 11, 2003
4:06 PM  ()
lay me down on the ground, and eat my thigh.
I have no idea where my brother is. He could still be sleeping, or he could have gone home. I will find out before I leave the house, I'll be checking for his car (for the first time today).


They're treating her like a baby, you know? They're treating her like a baby. I understand, completely, that she no longer has the strength to hold anything up for herself or do anything for herself for that matter, but why treat her like she's three years old? People, she was telling us not too long ago (about a week, actually) that she had to 'shoo' a bunch of you out of the house because you were treating her that way then, when she was capable of speech and there was 100% less confusion. She didn't like how you looked at her as though she was dying, either. I will give you all the credit you deserve for cutting that look out, you have done much better in the past few days. Ah, but when I told you earlier at the table she'll let you know what she wants and she looked at me confirming it to be so in her eyes and then looking at all of you to make sure you understood her, you disagreed with me. You all disagreed with me. She knows what everything is, she'll point at it, and she can bring up the many words (although very quietly, and for Christ's sake give her some time when she's trying to do this, don't try and finish it for her!) to describe what she's trying to get at. She's not stupid here, alright? She's just confused, and very slow right now.


She held my hand as she tried to fight the Morphine's infinite power over her. Her eyes drooping and her mind not knowing entirely what she's trying to figure out. She knew I was there, though, she knew it was me. And she'd make one gesture and I knew what she wanted right away... or maybe it's just me? Maybe I'm the only one who can catch on easily, or maybe there really is such thing as an extraordinary Mother-Daughter connection. I don't know, yet. But I do know that she's able to explain everything to me without words, and I do ask her to confirm it. And she does, with a slight nod of her head and a very small attempted smile that overwhelms her dry lips. I still think she's beautiful.


I don't know what to do with myself, again. My late escape has been reading. I sit out on the back patio and read, listening to all sorts of happenings on the Golf Course and the construction going on just down the street. It's not that loud, and it's actually quite interesting. Airplanes flying overhead every so often, wind picking up and wavering down. A storm's coming in, now. It was sunny and hot when I first went out there. I was so pissed off that my Mother was becoming frustrated because she was being treated like an infant that I had to come downstairs and bury my face in my book. I'm thinking of taking that book up for a cup of coffee, you know? The book and I have some serious silence to share. I almost want to write a letter to this author and tell her how much her writing is preventing me from lashing out or bursting into tears. I hate crying, although I always end up that way. Ah, but lately, her writing has been preventing my anger. I'm throwing all my anger into some of the characters in the book and everything outside of the book just subsides, disappears. I put the book down and I'm okay again. Quite fascinating, really. I've always been that way with books & writing. Mind you writing my own feelings down gets me all hyped up and lashing out at paper with a pen, my anger is written there to read and re-read. With a book it just sort of deteriorates and vanishes completely. Until something else comes up, of course.


I've eaten two things today.
1. A cup of Strawberry Yogurt.
2. A sandwhich from Mr. Sub.


Oh yeah,
3. A beer. Although that doesn't really count as food. And now, I think I'll go load up on coffee and nicotine because I'm feeling like ruining myself for the night.

August 09, 2003
11:19 PM  ()
colleen made me dance.
And I went to the reception, everyone asking how I was doing and how my Mother was doing. I had two drinks and decided it was time to go home, catch my Mom before she went to bed. Oh, and buy 6 Sleeman Honey Brown at the liquor store around the corner from my house. Yes, this is what I wanted to do, and I wanted to offer my Dad some. So, I did this. I also bought another pack of cigarettes. The same kind my Mom smokes, just incase she runs out. Mind you, I'll go through mine much faster than she'll go through hers. I've smoked two packs in two days. A pack a day. It's like I don't stop. I must taste revolting but you must understand, I don't know what else to do with myself.


My brother wants me to watch movies with him. I want to get drunk. And I'm going to. I'll be up until late/early (whichever you prefer), so what the hell? I asked Twi how things were going with my Mom. My Mom is confused and she's having major memory loss. She didn't know what day it was, she didn't know who my Dad's brother was, etc. She didn't know who her nurse was who was in just 2 minutes before to see how things were going. She's funny though, it's just from the Morphine.


So, Nicki was married today. Her daughter is beautiful and is the spittin' image of her. And I seriously mean that, they look exactly the same and her daughter's only about 6 or 7 years old. I want a beautiful daughter one day.


Anyhow, Clifford just got home and I really want to spend some time talking with him seeing as our time was cut short last night due to my Brother wanting to go get Pizza.


Yes. I love him. Very much. Clifford is my world. He's the only one I am able to focus on, everything else is just trembling beneath me.

7:22 PM  ()
okay, brown eyes.
I just finished reading Alice Sebold's memoir entitled 'Lucky'. Clifford allowed me to borrow it, so I'll have to get that back to him now. The book has left me so angry and relieved at the same time. So angry that I'm listening to Atreyu and ready to just tear down the happiness of anyone who stands in front of me, and so relieved to know that she's okay. Ugh, when I started reading about her heroin encounters I was quite upset with her. At that point I didn't feel sorry for her, or feel what she was doing around that time wasn't powerful at all. It seemed like a chore to her, something to do. Whatever, I'm going to read her next book now (which I bought yesterday at Extra Foods for $17.00 instead of printed $30.00), 'The Lovely Bones'. Clifford obsessed over this book for a while there, and I remember the first time I was out there he made me read the first two sentences, "My name was Salmon, like the fish; first name, Susie. I was fourteen when I was murdered on December 6, 1973." Pretty hectic, huh? I thought so.


I'm still using the very same ripped-in-half subscription to Guitar Magazine that Clifford gave to me to use as a bookmark. I have many proper bookmarks, but I'm far too lazy to find them. Or maybe I'm just incredibly cheesy and like to think, "Aw, my boyfriend (who's in a band, no less) loves me and tore a subscription to GUITAR MAGAZINE so passionately in half and gave one of the pieces to me, how fucking romantic. Now, I will watch the sunset and weep." Haha, actually, the sunset part is something I wouldn't mind doing right now.


She's okay right now. She wants it to take her quickly.


I am to attend a wedding party for two hours tonight. And I'm going to leave in forty-five minutes (at 8:00). I may come home earlier. Nicki's gotten herself hitched and Sacha and her want me to show up to say 'hi' and mingle about with Jenn and her boyfriend. The last time I saw Sacha she said she's going to give me a look wanting to know what's happened. She wants me to nod or shake my head depending. I will shake my head. If I were to nod, I would not have been able to make an appearance.

August 08, 2003
4:12 AM  ()
15.5
I'm too fucking scared to sleep.

August 07, 2003
9:17 PM  ()
two rainbows.
And I can't stop telling her how beautiful she is. And my head aches tremendously, no matter how many extra strength tylenol tablets I take. Soon you will be suffering no pain, Mom. You are beautiful. You are beautiful. You are beautiful.


I spent the last hour talking to Sacha about everything and nothing, and I let myself cry for a few seconds. I've spent the last 5 hours out of the house. I talked to Jon Treseng, he came to mind a while ago when I really started thinking about it. I saw him there, and I asked him if I could talk to him. He offered his ear, and told me he could be reached at the same telephone number. That was nice of him, very nice, but I just wanted to ask a heart to heart question with someone who has done this before, who has experienced this kind of tragedy at a young age. I had to, and I apologized for bringing it up, but he was helpful. He told me what I wanted to hear and what I've been telling myself. "What did you do when your Mom died?" "I did nothing." This relieved me a tiny amount, so this really is normal. This is to be expected. "Just be with her," he said. And I will. I am. I'm sleeping beside her tonight on the floor, where I always slept when I was scared as a child (which kind of makes me wonder because I used to be terrified of what lived under her bed). I left the house tonight because she told me to, and I wanted at least an hour to myself. She's okay right now, she's sleeping. She's resting. The pain is under control. I most likely won't call Jon until some time later, just to let him know how things are going I guess. I just had to ask him, and I don't know why, I just wanted to know if I was doing this right. I guess. There's no answer to that, you can't do this right. I was shaking when I sat down with them at the booth, and I was shaking when I left, but I left with some sort of strange satisfaction.


I am so angry.
I'm going back upstairs now, I just had to write something.
I wonder how Joey is.

August 06, 2003
5:36 AM  ()
sore palms and - i'm getting dizzy.
It's quite early in the morning, and I still haven't gone to sleep. A story to tell.


When I decided to go to bed around 1:30, I decided it would be a good idea for a cigarette and I got myself thinking. I went straight into another anxiety attack as soon as I layed back down on my bed. I tried listening to music, but it didn't stop anything. It didn't make it worse, and it didn't make it better. Finally around 3:00 I took my headphones off, and I started to calm down. I rolled over and over and tried to get comfortable, and I could hear my dog whining outside of my bedroom door trying to get my attention to let him in. I let him in, and I began tossing and turning again. He finally curled up beside me and I turned the bedside light out. I was too afraid to try and sleep with it off at first. I was afraid of the dark, and that's quite embarassing. I'm not usually afraid of the dark, it's pitch black darkness that I'm uneasy about. My blinds were open so that when I did have to wake up for my 8:00 shift this morning the sun would help me out of bed. So, there was moonlight. Tossing and turning again, and then I started to itch. My palms especially. I rested my eyes and kept itching spots all over my body that tried to start pestering me, and my hands. I could feel my left hand swelling because I was digging my nails into my palm so hard. I'm surprised I didn't draw blood. At exactly 3:55 I heard my Mom putter out of her room and into the kitchen. I turned on my bedroom light and went straight into the bathroom. I felt like I had obsessive compulsive disorder, I washed and scrubbed my palms until they were sore (just incase there was something on them irritating the skin - highly unlikely, though). I went upstairs and into the kitchen. She was out on the deck having a cigarette. I scrubbed my hands again in the kitchen sink and then grabbed the ice pack from the freezer. My left hand was so red. She came inside, and asked me why I was up. Oh, she looked happy to see me. She was bright eyed and really quite awake. She was in a good mood. She was talking to me. I told her what was up with my hands and she said she was watching something about 'that' on television the other day. "What did they say about it?" I asked. "It's from stress," she told me. I knew that. I know that. I just want it to stop.


And then we both sat down at the kitchen table and she worked on her, as she called them, "stupid and easy" crossword puzzles (she completes them in fucking seconds, she's amazing with them). She asked me to make us a sandwich, so I did. Ha, she showed me how to cut tomatoes... yeah, I don't do much cooking or anything like that. So, we shared a sandwich and we laughed at the tomato because it was definitely not ripe enough yet. Then she said, "Let's go have a smoke, then. I'll have half of one." And out we went.


"Is there anything you want to talk to me about?"
Is there anything you want to tell me?
"Not really. We do have to start talking about this now though, I'm becoming a lot more open with it." She's not afraid anymore, she told me. She's accepted it. I told her I've been accepting more now that she's told me herself what is happening to her. We talked about her funeral, she talked about really wanting Clifford out here for even just a couple of days when it happens. I want him there (here), but I believe that is up to him and... well, yeah. That's up to him. "When it happens, I want you to buy a black pant suit. Dress pants, you know?" Ha. I thought this was funny. It was good, and we complained about two of her stupid sisters, and we talked. We talked. She's talking. She's talking!


Oh, yeah. And before her and I went outside she told me to call work and tell Ryan I wouldn't be coming in at 8:00. "Tell him why, too. Don't let him think you're not just coming in because you want to spend time at home." The only reason I won't be coming in is because I will be sleeping. If I had to work today I would not be going to bed at all. I'd just pull an all nighter and tough it out, because honestly, after only 3 hours of sleep I would not be able to drag myself out of bed. Especially right now. My ehxaustion level is way the hell up there and that ... would not go over well. I probably just wouldn't wake up. I'm impossible to wake up when I'm fast asleep (Clifford would know this).


Well, yes. And stuff. I'm starting to extremely light headed and my hands are starting to itch again so I think I'm just gonna go sit on the couch and watch television and try to control my breathing. Jesus. That was cool, though. My Mom's awesome.


I can't sleep because of my stupid hands.

August 05, 2003
7:53 AM  ()
single out, blow to pieces.
I'm not working with Melissa this morning. I want to work with Melissa this morning. I should go upstairs and visit with my Mom before she goes back to bed and before I head off to work. I should get something to eat. I wish I could get rid of this taste in my mouth right now - eat something. I wish I had never started smoking. I wish my hands weren't so dry and irritated. I wish I didn't have to work today. I wish my socks actually matched today. I wish I had money for a new pair of shoes. I wish I was working with Melissa today, I want to talk to Chris and find out some more about this dispatching job that may start me at $15 p/hr if I end up getting hired. I want to find out where it is in town, I want to know the name of the company. I wish I wasn't so tired. I wish my Mom didn't just give me 5 cigarettes - I'll put them back. I have my own.


I wish Kyla wasn't so down on herself.

12:39 AM  ()
ringing. running. crying.
The following was written yesterday evening at DT's Diner while smoking heavily and trembling due to too much caffiene intake.


August 4/03 - I can't waste this piece of paper. I just found it in my bag along with pages among crumpled pages of my jabber. I've brought two CD's along with me and my discman to suit my mood. Sigur Rós & Radiohead's "Hail to the Thief". Sigur Rós first.
I hope writing & thinking about my Mother doesn't send me into another anxiety attack (like last time). It's 5:04 PM. I had to leave the house. I'll let them eat dinner together. I'm not hungry, anyhow. My food consumption is very low, I've sort of replaced eating with cigarettes (lately they haven't been my own, I finally bought a back of menthol 100's) & coffee (or iced tea). Sometimes a bowl of ice cream. --> (The entire 4 tracks of this CD makes me & the world feel/seem so beautiful, and depresses me 75% at the same time.) --> I walked into the bedroom when I got off of work to come say a few words to her. My heart broke as soon as I laid eyes on her. This, today, was the palest I've seen her. The most out of breath. The tiniest I've seen her. The weakest. She almost looked terrified. She's almost too exhausted to be terrified. The ropes are tightening themselves, it seems. I am terrified. I want to sit her up, dress her, help her put on her shoes. I wonder if her God would allow me to walk her to the clouds. I want to go with her, at least half way. I want to kiss her fingers and her palms, I want to walk with her. (Only in dreams, I suppose.) And when I let go of her hand, I'll be letting go of a little girl. I'll kiss her cheek, I'll straighten out her dress. I'll kneel down and look straight into her big brown eyes; kiss the tip of her nose. I'll watch her skip, or run, or dance away. I won't go until I feel that she is in good hands.


One day I'll see that little girl again. Up in those clouds or in my child's eyes.


I'll never be able to let go. I will never fully recover. But, when I finally accept the fact that she is gone and she's left me with a feeling os security, I will be okay. I will stay just for her. I will move on just for her. I will make sure to take care of everything the best I can, just for her.


And she'll be climbing trees and catching lady-birds. She'll be playing with my hair.


This is all still so very hard to accept. But this is helping, I need to get this out somehow.


I will try my best and my hardest for my Father. I promised him everything will be okay. I must keep that promise.
(Mom? Help Dad stay around, okay?)


And when will I feel good about myself again? How pretty do I have to make myself in order to feel good again? How much longer does my hair have to grow? How many more Iron pills? How many more dollars do I have to earn? How many more years do I have to age?


My balance is failing a bit.
I want this town to be abandoned. I want it to rain. I want to fall onto my knees in the middle of the highway. And I want to scream as loudly and as long as I can. I'll let the sky drop tears for me as I walk the streets aimlessly. I want everything to age one thousand years before my eyes. I want to see buildings fall to the ground. I want to see collapsed houses and rusted bikes on the side of the road. I want to see grey clouds and crooked street lights. I want to see traffic lights dangling, I want to see the remains of what used to be vehicles collided and mashed together. The only sound I want to hear if the patter of a light warm rain, and the wind blowing papers inside corridors. I want to see open doors, swinging as though trying to get loose and barely creaking. I want to see holes through wooden floors and dirt covered carpets. I want to see nothing.


Remember when I used to hide int he racks of clothing at the mall? Remember how scared and frantic you would get when you realized I was missing? Behind my silence, I am just as scared and frantic as you were then. You're barely speaking and I can't hear you. I don't know where you are.


I miss you already, Mom. I wish you weren't so quiet, Mom. This isn't like you. You're never this quiet. Let me hear that laugh of yours. Can I make you laugh? I'm scared to do anything, just incase I hurt you somehow. Fragile.


You know that warm cozy feeling you get during the winter? Dim lit lights and fireplaces? I'm having that feeling right now.


Okay, now what? Maybe if I dig my nails a little deeper into my calves I'll come up with some sort of answer.


My cheeks are flushes, I am too warm. Yet, my hands feel as though they've been placed in a tub of ice for hours. I can barely feel the tips of them. It's 6:20 now. I haven't really stopped writing. Surprisingly, my wrist isn't aching just yet.


And that hum just has me floating, so close to soaring above my own head. Looking down at myself from all different angles. Freeze. Shot. Freeze. Shot. Freeze. Shot. Freeze. Back down. Up again.


Okay, you thieves of life, you murderers. I can take you all on from up here. I'm hard to catch today. So fuck you, and fuck you. I could slit your throats as many times as I wanted to... but you'd never fall. So, what use is this? Back down. Maybe I should try to direct a music video?


I will never leave my mark on these grounds. I will blow away in the wind. I will have no gravestone. I will not be recognized. But the soundtrack of my life will forever be heard, whether they know it or not. Forever be heard. All these words may become meaningless trash, but the songs I've fallen in love with and felt so deeply will always be playing somewhere. I'll live through those sounds and I will beautifully haunt ears, and ever so secretly. I will be the dust on your armchairs and on your shelves. You will all be the dust on my old books and in my clothes.


It's cooler now. Maybe because the table of three that was sitting beside me has left.


[Debris: "I'm up in the clouds - I'm up in the clouds, and I can't - I can't come down." "You left me alone." "I will eat you alive." "There'll be no more lies."]


The coffee is cold now. My fingers are warming up some. I don't really feel like I am here right now. Where else could I be? Alright, help me with this one.


I see water draining like a whirlpool down a sink, straight into the pipes.


I see lost house keys.
I see clothes and ashes all over the floor.
I see walls too close together. Ceilings too low.
I see broken faces on dolls.
I see dry grass and dead trees.
I see the fires that are surrounding so many lives at this very moment.
I see a red sunset and a red moon.
They say it's from the smoke.
Maybe there are no fires. Maybe I just light far too many cigarettes. Maybe that smokey haze over the sun and moon is truly my fault.
Maybe I haven't really left.
Maybe I am the thief of life.


Or maybe I really am sitting here listening to music and trying to drink cold coffee from the bottom of the cup.


I am irellevent.
Amazing.


And a boy once sat right there, directly in front of me in that very chair. I felt good about myself then, and I couldn't take my eyes off of him.


I guess, seeing as no one's said it to me yet, I'll just tell myself:

Everything's going to be okay.
Life will treat me well.

August 03, 2003
10:38 PM  ()
oh, the free candy & the diet coke.
Alright, so I just got off work and - wow. That was just stupid. Seeing as it's the long weekend, and 3/4 of my city (it's more of a town, we're dubbed a city for some reason - population thing, I guess) are away some place else partying it up. So, this leaves me with 1/4 of the city's population in town, and maybe 1/16 of that for customers. I was very bored. And as I just finished telling Sharon, I felt like shooting myself in the feet for entertainment. And now she's being a doll and helping me seek for Clifford. I was really hoping he'd stay at his Mom's house tonight, but uh, I called - and no one answered, and I'm really hoping no one was home. Ack, that would not be good. Ah, I'm so cheesy and giddy right now. So happy to be at home. I work again in 10 hours. This is okay, I can deal with this. I am content with things right now. Surprising, isn't it? Anndd... Kat's cell is turned off. Ha, I wonder if she's even with them. She's probably sleeping or something of the sort. Oh well, that was a great and exhausting attempt. I think I am finished the search now. That's a shame.

Uh, I don't know what to do with myself now. I suppose I'll just... go outside for 10 minutes or so, and then go to bed. Lame.

August 01, 2003
11:51 AM  ()
i almost need new glasses.
It worked. I talked to him. It wasn't thrown back in my face. I feel better. I'm still majorly depressed, but I feel better. There's a few people now that I'm going to talk to, I have yet to figure out who, in order to get a couple of answers from. I need to put my mind at ease, I need to relax. In order to do this I need to figure out what else I need.


"I say it to the boys and whoever else I end up talking to about him. I wish he was just down the street or in Calgary, because then Heather would have someone to hold at the end of the night - especially through this." - Dad, last night.
Clifford, my Dad and I both thank you very much. Cool, huh?