Caprice

Posted 6:03 PM
I'm reading a book about a Japanese man whose bestfriend is an Australian gay man with red hair and who's crazy about Audrey Hepburn. Eric is claiming that it's a gay book because he happens to flip to the part with some man ogling some other man...I think it's just his bad luck. Or maybe it's because of the patterns we usually look for.

You know how some things just happen to some people? A girl who sings in the band with me, Melissa - strange things always happen to her. She'd go to a club and there'd be a shooting or someone dying of alcohol poisoning in the bathroom. She would get lost in the middle of nowhere or use the wrong solution to put contacts into her eyes, or drop her cellphone into the toilet after she's peed in it. Another friend of mine runs into the number 13 A LOT. Iris's boyfriend John always run into trouble whenever he has a date with her.

Do some of us simply have "bad luck"? I always reasoned that "bad luck" do not exist; things that we choose to do have a probablity value of either going right, wrong, or extremely wrong. (See? I'm already leaving out the option of Extremely right. I'm assuming that it would be the best option, therefore the Expected option. This leaves me with 33.3% right and the majority of the situation wrong) Luck is something we make, and it's part of our attitude towards how things do turn out. When we learn to look on the bright side and turn the wrongs around to right, luck is always with us.

As human beings we have a tendency to recognise patterns. Look at the electric outlet you have on the wall. See those 2 vertical slits and the circular hole below it? We instantly recognise that as a facial expression, a little bit like Munch's Scream actually. Faces are the most recognisable patterns, and next to it, the human body. Take that theory and apply it to events instead of things, and you have the picture. To describe in detail what I did this morning:

I had planned to get up at 8 a.m. and pack my stuff, setup Eudora on Eric's computer, make a lunch, shower, head out the door before 9:20 a.m. and get to work exactly at 10 a.m.

Instead, a phonecall woke me at 7:20 a.m. and threw me into a series of restless naps. When I'm woken in the middle of the night a few times I keep sleeping and forget about what time it was and get very confused. The alarm woke me at 8 but I didn't hear it at all. Then I woke at 8:45 with a start because suddenly I have 34 minutes to get ready and I still had the same amount of things I needed to go through before leaving the house. I quickly got ready on my part, Eric made me a sandwich, I got his tennis game to work, I packed my dresses and my shoes, and waited til he was ready to leave, and we left at exactly 9:21 and missed my bus by 2 minutes.

I immedietely became sour and silent and not willing to talk and put myself in "leave me alone" mode, and no amount of coaxing could get me out of it - it only makes it worse. When I get quiet, Eric gets angry, and when he gets angry, I get even more quiet. So the morning bus ride became no more than a jabbering cocaphony of curses that fell on dead ears. After a while I started to strike back, and naturally E's famous last words are "this is pointless I don't want to talk about it anymore", and I walked to the part of the train where it would be easiest for me to catch the next train at the transfer point. I narrowly missed the doors closing on me but twisted my ankle and limped to my seat. Eric took my walked quick as running away from him instead of my just finding the car that is most convienent and didn't even bother to notice that I was injured for the rest of the trip and that I was going the other way.

So, if I am to recognize patterns and be cynical about the above, here are a few points:
1. I always get up just late enough to be late.
2. I always JUST miss the bus. By 30 seconds.
3. I always get into a fight with somebody in the morning
4. I'm never appreciated for whatever I do that is good, but criticized for everything else. Sometimes criticized for whatever good I do.
5. I'm always hurting myself. I'm one clumsy klutz.

Point is, those things were true as of 8 a.m. - 9:45 a.m. this morning. By recognising it as a "pattern" I accept those things in my life. But in my life I don't accept these things. I'll fight it. Which is why every morning I try the hardest to get up as early as I can. I try to catch the bus right before it gets there (and most of the time, I do), I try not to get into a fight at all in the morning (most of the time I leave the house with a kiss), I don't hurt myself half as much as I used to (big purple bruises on my legs are no longer a common occurence). And I remind the people around me of the good things I did and I show my work off to those who would give a damn.

I'm making my own luck.

Posted 3:17 PM
Tired.

My eyes barely stay open these days. I have times in the day where my ears suddenly ring. It couldn't be that I'm not getting enough sleep. I honestly am not working too much. In my opinion I'm not working enough. There's so much I'm trying to do, so much I'm trying to accomplish with what I have now and what I'm trying to make that my head hurts thinking about it.

I slept on a bus on the weekend, on that roadtrip to Elliot Lake. When we got up there we set up for a full blown rehearsal - we were all grumpy and tired from leaving Toronto at 7am. I could breathe up there though, something I barely do in Toronto. In Toronto I wheeze through my days, from the dust and pollen in the air.

I found a small bridge standing over a small river chocked full of weeds. It was missing a few boards and the rails creaked. When I closed my eyes sitting on it I could hear the water running under me and the wind above my head. I could not hear a car for miles and I was at peace. Like I was where I was meant to be even though I had to leave soon, to put on my dresses and sing under a spot light. The bridge doesn't lead anywhere; it was simply a passing place that was meant to be stood on. If you walk past the bridge it leads to a deadend, beyond it a swamp.

After going through a winding path, I found the spot where they took all the postcards for Elliot Lake from. There's a little opening there in the weeds, a big rock sitting on the ground, and beyond that, the lake. There is not standing space there for people, and it's quiet all around in the winter. When you look up you'll see trees, water, and to the left, the sun moving over a hill. I didn't want to leave at all.