Guilty

I'm really bored right now.

It is Friday night, 11:07, and I am all dressed up, sitting at home. I haven't been out in a while now because of my pending money situation, but I was making an exception tonight- I decided I would go meet my sister Angela and a couple of friends for the birthday celebration of an aquaintance of mine. Plans were dinner followed by many drinks in the Old Port. So I decide to be budget-savvy and skip the 40$ meal. Problem is, they are still eating right now, and therefore I'm sitting here waiting for the heads-up, too overdressed to join my roommates at a bar before. I think I might just go there if the girls take too long.

In the throes of boredom, I decided to call Andrew. He was at his girlfriend's house, who enthusiastically shouted ''Say hello to Anne!'' when he picked up. This just gave me the guilt-shakes. I hate the feeling that I might say something that will end their relationship. Because when it comes down to it, despite the fact that I am jealous of her and annoyed by her idiosyncrasies, I do actually like her and I think she genuinely likes me. Though she is probably cautious, she doesn't think I am the enemy that I am. At least that is what I have come to believe.

And so knowing that I am going on this trip in 2 days that might change the course of the friendship between Andrew and I, and might destroy the bond between the two of them, is starting to make me feel really bad. The worst part is, I don't even know if I really want to be with Andrew right now, at this point in my life. I am more afraid of losing him to someone else in the long haul. Maybe I should just see how things turn out.

But then again, as I have already realised, keeping my mouth shut for too long may lead to never taking chances. But if Andrew really feels the same way as I do, will he let things get that far with his girlfriend?

Maybe. He may just really think I don't have those kind of feelings for him, and push his own aside. Women tend to be better at deciphering their emotions, so maybe I need to give him the incite to decipher his.

AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

My brain might just explode.

I think the only reasonable thing to do here is wait and see what the trip is like.

The only problem is, I don't know enough about love or life to know if things should always start out seamlessly. By voicing my feelings, will that just interrupt the flow of things.

Oh and another thing, Andrew has planned this night out for us (''us'' meaning him and his girlfriend and their posse) on the second to last night of my trip. Which means that saying anything before that might make things bizarre.

Oh my God, am I overthinking this or what?

Shit, I forgot to mention a huge fact- Andrew told me his roommate is gone, and now he wants me to move in for the 3 months until the lease expires. And then what? He leaves to move in with his girlfriend? I will not put myself into the same situation again- moving in with someone I have a crush on. NEVER AGAIN!

xx
Anne

Jitters

I have this really uncomfortable feeling right now... like I can't unwind.

I slept at my friend's house last night. Let's call her Kimberly. So Kimberly and I have been sort of like each other's significant other lately, considering we don't have boyfriends to plug into that void. It's really nice though. I go over, we roll as fast as possible, promise not to eat, smoke, talk for hours about our issues until we realise that we are fucking hungry and then we eat bagels with cream cheese and strawberry jam and cry the next morning.

I just wrote and rewrote a couple of things. I just don't know where to start to drain this tension out of my body and spirit. I am sorry if this is boring for you, this is sort of a selfish post in its probable incoherence. 

I have music on right now, and it is supposed to be calming, but I think I need quiet. And I think I need to laugh. 

Everything is just so serious right now. This morning I went to my old university to sell my teacher a used book, and the money I got from that is the only money I will have for a week. This is bad news. I never thought that things would get this drastic. Luckily I have enough groceries for the next couple of days, and parents whom will probably loan me a bit of money until I get back on my feet.

I am starting to feel worn down by all of my decisions. I have been telling myself that everything I have decided to do in the last few months have been growing experiences and character-building changes. I started university in Music and now have decided to change programs to Journalism, starting in September. And right before I started university I quit my stable job at the department store for a higher-paying part-time sales job where I travel to different stores. After the first week of school, I realised I was sick of traveling 3 hours a day and moved from the suburbs to Montreal, where I would spend 40 minutes a day traveling instead. In order to move out, I got a student loan of 5000$, which I thought would last me a year. Fat chance. With the cost of rent and school and vegetables, it is finished in half that time. To help pay for the groceries I got a second part time job at a restaurant, which went bankrupt a month after I started. At that restaurant I met Australia Boy, a rocker-stoner-chill chef who ended up showing me to the apartment he lived in with Tara, and they were looking for roommate number 3. So I filled the slot, and my instant-crush on Australia Boy materialised into a full-fledged crush by spending time together on the couch jamming and smoking weed together. When the restaurant went bankrupt, Australia Boy lost a lot of money, and so our growing relationship with each other was severed when he moved in with his girlfriend. Right before he left, I wrote him a semi-love note telling him I liked him and that I thought it would be a mistake for him to move in with a girl he barely liked... and he wrote back, saying; "Give me a second. We're going to start a band. Xx." After not hearing from him for about 3 weeks, my mary-j habit escalated. I don't blame him, but his own smoking habits and his leaving were definately part of the catalyst. So I sat there at home, smoking, watching 5 full seasons of Six Feet Under, a show about Death, and eating a lot of mac and cheese. When Australia Boy finally called me, it was because his girlfriend had left for Columbia for 6 weeks. I figured this was going to be the point where we would start something, thinking he had/would find a decent job and apartment and leave her. That turned into me being his mistress, something I never would have sunk so low to do before. I couldn't believe I lowered my values and morals because I thought sleeping with someone would propel them forward, towards me. Completely insane and completely cliché. I will never be the other woman again. And so things finally ended with him on Christmas Eve, when he didn't want to cook in the kitchen of his girlfriend's apartment with me because her roommates would see us. He suggested I go back to my place and cook alone. And so that's what I did. I spent Christmas Eve alone. I also spent New Year's Eve alone, broke, while all my friends went out, lying on my bed totally stoned out of my mind, until my parents called me at 11:00 and decided to come pick my sorry ass up. And that is when I called Andrew, and he told me I might consider a change of scenery- Nova Scotia.

Since I knew I was quitting school (for now) in November, I have been looking for jobs. I have been extremely unsuccessful. So far, I have a couple of things up in the air, but nothing is solid, nothing is gauranteed. I still need to go on interviews for all these potential jobs. I don't know if it is the recession, if it is me, if it is a sign to pack it up and move, either to Nova Scotia or back Home. And part of me hates the idea of going home. Of defeat. Not being able to support myself. Losing all the independance and networks I have made. I feel like moving out was such a good thing in terms of experiencing new things, living in the City, just growing up. But I feel like I am fooling myself now. I am not keeping up. And I am trying so hard. And I have no idea what will happen to me if I go from living like a "grown-up" to living with my family in the suburbs again, trapped in a small town with no car and a train schedule that rules my life. Part of me thinks I will hibernate and die of depression. The other part of me really misses my family. But I think seeing them every day will just make things go back to the way they were before, where you take everything and everyone for granted and get pissed about all the small things and can't stand your family. So I don't think I will move back. But will I still have the choice in a few weeks?

But being at home in the suburbs, where I am as I write this, always makes me feel uneasy. I get this weird pang in my gut, a mixture of emotions that I cannot define, though I have tried much. And normally I am ruled by my emotions. But this is indescribable, the only words that come to mind are nostalgia, guilt, missing, cages... ect ect ect. It is like two parts of me are fighting each other, the Independant Woman and the Little Girl. And the Independant Woman is being put to the test in more ways than she can count, with this incoming poverty and fucked-up, confused romance feelings for Andrew, with making decisions, because it feels like all the ones I have made have led me down the wrong path. I didn't picture myself as a broke, stoner, dropout, struggler. The Little Girl is crying for her mom and dad.

So what do I do now? How will I get myself out of this mess? 

I think this feeling of unease is Truth. I am usually very good at denial. But this Truth about all the things that could so easily come crashing down on me is already weighing me down, and the worst part is, I am not alone. I have a family who will take my back, but I just keep trying. Is this perseverence valiant, or pathetic?

I'll soon find out.

xx

Anne

 

Be Hobos Together

So before I get to my plan, I will tell you this:

I quit the job at the café. A former employee ended up coming in and telling me that she quit because Ownerdouche is a perv. Apparently he 

a. touched her ass

b. asked if he could see her tits for Christmas

c. offered her 100 dollars to sleep with him

d. closed all the lights, locked the doors, and approached her, whereupon she fleed with her friend.

So that is the story I got, and with the prelude I got the other night, I wouldn't take any chances. So I asked my brother to come pick me up. Brother ended up coming, it was really cool, he hung out at my apartment with this friend and I. 

I wish I could have just quit with sass, like told the Ownerdouche that I was quitting because he is an old time stuck-in-the-past, egoistic control-freak loser perv, who offers his employees to protistute themselves to him for the past 49 years with no fucken repurcussions because the cops turn a blind eye to the slave labour and molestation shit that goes on there. It is one of the most corrupt places I have got to see, and when I am a journalist, I will find a way to dig out some of its secrets.

So I grabbed my money and left. Which brings me back to the dead end where I started from. 

Which brings me back to my dead-end new year's eve's phone call to Andrew:

Me: "So basically, I have no real job, bills up to my neck, a pathetic excuse for a broken-down romance, and I have dropped out of Music school."

Andrew: "Why did you drop out of school again?"

Me: "To go to Journalism school."

Andrew: "Well... we have a really great Journalism school here."

- Really?

- Yeah.

- Hmm... maybe I should move there. I mean, I don't really have anything going here right now. Maybe I will actually meet some nice guys and people.

- Yeah you should! Maybe you need a change of scenery. Move here for a year or so, see how things go, if you like it...

- And we can start our band! 

Whoa.

Why would he suggest that? Who really wants their best girl friend to move over to their province? Unless he is just trying to be nice... what would you think?

So I talked to my parents about it (whom are SO convinced that we are two of a kind). They suggested I consider it.

So I thought about it. I talked about it. I looked on Google Map. All this thinking got me thinking- why would I want to go? And the answer wasn't a mere change of scenery. I would have to be willing to pack up my life and move, where I have one sole friend, to an even snowier climate. And I knew it was because I wanted to be nearer to Andrew. And I guess so does he.

The next time I talked to him, a few days later, I mentionned that I actually had thought about his proposal. I told him of my plan to line up a job ahead of time, crash on his couch for a few weeks until an apartment was found, and then be there for the lovely summer season. He said, "Okay, but I don't think I will have my apartment in May, because my lease is over, and I think I will be moving in with Girlfriend."

"Oh really."

"Yeah. I think it would be the best option. I am there pretty much every night."

"Okay..."

And then we hung up, and my chest started to collapse. He could not move in with her. What would I do? In the back of my mind, I always told myself that I would someday be around 25, single, and so would Andrew, and we would probably try things out, and it would probably work out, but only after we had our fair share of romances turned sour. Only when we were ready to really make a commitment. 

But this notion of them moving in together so soon brought my mind back up to speed on reality. Why should I assume that I would only want to be with him then? Why should I assume that life will just line up perfectly, and wait for destiny to happen to us? How passive. I realise now I have been so scared of any chance that our friendship would falter, and it has blinded me from the fact that I have feelings for Andrew. Maybe those feelings are cloudy, but they are surfacing, and now I have to do something about it. I realise that if I don't do anything, our lives will keep building in the opposite directions. Our bonds will grow stronger with the people around us, in our seperate environments, until we push down any feelings of what could have been between us if we had just lived in the same place. And I don't want that anymore. I am tired of waiting. Waiting for the next guy to come along, so that I can build a relationship with a huge seed of doubt in the foundation; the idea that Andrew is really the one. 

So I decided I would go there, talk to him, tell him how I feel. That these feelings are coming up, and that I don't exactly know what they mean, but I feel like our lives will continue taking these opposite directions, and I have to tell him the truth before that happens. And I will tell him not to answer me, but to think about it. To think about us.

This is why I feel like my life is a movie.

I never knew I was this dramatic until my roommates told me the other night. But I am going to embrace this drama, because it will fuel my passion and let me really express how I feel to Andrew. Hopefully.

So the night after I came to this realisation, I called Andrew to talk to him; see if I still felt that way or if it was one of those late-and-lonely epiphanies that turn out to be less than true in the harsh light of day.

Minutes into our conversation, he casually asks me if I might still move there. I tell him that I was thinking of planning a trip in a couple of weeks, to check out the area, apartments, the school. It is true, but it is not necessarily my priority, which I feel bad about hiding. But it is not intentional; I am just so used to hiding how I feel about Andrew from myself and from him that my first subconscious impulse is to alter my motivations. So he enthusiastically tells me how great it will be, and that he will plan some apartment visits, and that he will quit his temp job when I get there so that we can "be hobos together". I never knew that expression could be romantic.

And all this, he says in front of Girlfriend, who is bizarrely enough checking apartments for me online, right as we are discussing this. What the fuck?

This makes me feel even guiltier. I am so uncertain about spilling my heart, but at the same time, I know that my feelings have started to get in the way of our friendship. It is hard to not be honest with yourself or the one you... like a lot... for an extended period of time.

Oh my God, I just thought of the perfect song to play for Andrew. I am thinking of making a CD to play at supper, when I plan to tell him.

"Maybe I'm Amazed." by Paul McCartney.

When I was 18 or so, Andrew made me a Paul McCartney Anthology. That just might be the best present anyone ever made me.

So I decided I will go there. I am planning to leave two mondays from now, January 26th. I just need to be sure to mention to him beforehand that I want to see him alone sometimes. I have to give him some sort of indication that I don't want to spend every single day with him and his girlfriend. It is really about him.

And I have to tell him, no matter what. I have to go get this off my chest.

I don't expect a positive response, nor a negative one. He will probably be caught off guard, and I will tell him not to comment until he has thought about it. He will probably tell me we are just friends.

And whether or not that is true, in a matter of time, we will know. But someone has to take the first step across the line.

Fucken shit.

xx

Anne

Halifax

Sometimes, I feel like my life is a movie.

I am sure that, at some point or another, most people do too. All the bad things happen to you at once, and you (The Main Character) are sucked into a circle of self-doubt and reflection, complete with a 5-star musical soundtrack (courtesy of your "Sad Songs" playlist), when suddenly, a light bulb lights up in your imagination and you see The Light.

You now have A Plan.

So I will tell you mine, with a brief intro.

For about 5 years now, I have maintained a beyond-strong male-female friendship with an amazing guy. We met in high school, on a drunken night in the neighbourhood. He was friends with some of my friends, and we soon started hanging out. Let's call him Andrew, for protection's sake. 

He was MC in our school's variety show, which I was singing and dancing in. One night after rehearsal, Andrew and my best girl friend at the same came over to hang out. We all ended up watching movies, and cuddling like hippies. I never dared take an interest in him, I can't even tell you why I didn't, but I guess at the time I was just so comfortable being his friend. I never had to worry about anything with him. Our intentions were so innocent.

I guess the fact that he kissed my friend also had something to do with it. Or rather, she kissed him. Just like she had kissed so many of the boys in our school, without any of them being the wiser. And Andrew, after kissing her, knowing one of his friend's was madly In Love with her (ass), confessed his betrayal to his friend, like the good person he is.

My friend was furious at him afterwards. Things go fuzzy for a while after that, but I just remember getting closer with Andrew. We shared taste in music, listening for hours, showing each other songs we loved, making CDs and lying around listening to them, noggin to noggin. We would sit in the back seat of my parent's car, holding hands. But I never wanted to kiss him.

After we were friends for about a year, his dad got a job transfer to Halifax, Nova Scotia. I think just about every girl in our school cried, and a handful of guys as well. We hosted a farewell party for Andrew in the drama room, where the red-eyed crowd exchanged stories and tokens of rememberance with him. I gave him a letter, telling him how much I would miss him, and the rest of it is fuzzy. With the letter, a mixed CD, full of the most depressing songs we had listened to together, and some that we hadn't yet.

His father later expressed to me his Delight at listening to the CD with his melodramatic teenaged son, all.the.way.to.Nova.Scotia.for.fourteen.hours.straight.

Our innocent relationship only grew thicker and deeper with time. Over the past five years, we have visited each other numerous times, sharing music, stories, adventures, insights, and even beds, but never even kissing. Never an ounce more was added or taken from the pool of ambiguity we share together. And so things have always been unclear.

But I didn't realise that they were unclear. I accepted these romantic activities, and I accepted the most intense and curious bond I have with anyone without question. I never thought it was strange to want to hug a person so badly, never thought that it was strange that we never even tested a kiss, because he never said it was strange. And it just felt right.

Over time, we started dating in our seperate worlds. He would tell me of his stories, I would share my woes, and we would help each other try to understand the opposite sex's intentions. I felt like it was the best friendship- all of the insight, all of the fun, all of the love, without any expectations, or pressure.

Two and a half years ago, he found a girlfriend. I remember his description of her: "Anne, you would love her. She is just like you." Right down to our favourite TV show and stuffed animal. 

So a month later, curiously enough, I found myself a boyfriend. We even took a trip together to go visit Andrew and Girlfriend, which turned out to be quite a successful test of denial. Everyone got along seamlessly, as if the situation were perfectly normal- to have such a strong, sexless relationship with the opposite sex that never fades and instead grows. On the trip, my jealous, immature side came out when I got mad at Andrew and Boyfriend for hanging out playing Nintendo while I "rotted away alone". Boyfriend reacted as I would expect, with no apology and only a reason as to why I shouldn't care, and then retreated to the shower. When he was in the shower, Andrew sat down beside me, and told me he was sorry if I felt left out, and explained why he didn't think I would be bothered, and that it wasn't his intention. He gave me a hug, squeezed my hand, and we looked up at each other with that feeling that I so often feel with him - of holding back. Of wanting something more. And then Boyfriend came out of the shower, and we quickly let go, not as if we thought it was wrong, but just because we thought Boyfriend wouldn't understand how deeply our affections ran. 

A year after dating Boyfriend, he broke up with me. First break-up, big shocker, big mess for me. After a few months of sour behaviour and sulkiness, I decided to take a last-minute trip to Halifax, to escape; get my thoughts in order. And most of all, though I hated to admit it, I knew seeing Andrew would make me feel better.

When I got there, things weren't as wonderful as I had imagined. I thought of the good old days with Andrew, when being alone together was as healing and wonderful as medicine. This time, Girlfriend was in the picture. Every. Single. Day. I wondered if her friendship with me was completely sincere. We had bonded and gotten along when we met the year before, and she knew how important I was to her boyfriend, so she befriended me instantly. But there is a suspicious strangeness that I feel about her fondness for me; I feel she might be following the old rule: friends close, enemies closer. We must be an ideal for the post-Sex and the City era; Frenemies.

On that trip, I found myself slapped between a happy couple and my own anti-couple misery. It was not the best thing I have ever felt. But Andrew, no offense to men but sometimes you are all the same, was quite clueless.

The next time we saw each other was September 2008, a few months ago. Andrew came to visit, with Girlfriend of course. I had landed a musical gig at a department store, and he arranged his trip to coincide with the show, so that we could play together. We never had before, but we threw some covers and a few originals together, and played a great show. Our chemistry as musicians only further thickened the bond. And Girlfriend stood there, for each of the three sets, and watched us like hawks.

HOW CAN YOU BLAME HER? You are probably asking yourself. Okay, so far, you might be taking sympathy for Girlfriend. And so am I. Perhaps she is an obstacle in the trajectory of things to come for me, and it is completely bad-karma inducing to try and kick her out of the way. And plus, I really do like the girl.

But there is something about Andrew that has gotten in the way of every single thing I have ever felt for another guy. He is like this little voice in my head that whispers something, and I can't help but compare him to everyone I meet. And this is starting to get in the way with my life!

So I guess you can say, that somewhere in the ambiguity of our friendship, I have gotten lost. The innocence of the platonic relationship we once shared has vanished with time, experience, sex. 

And I wonder if he ever gets lost in it.

And from this loss, I have slowly started to crawl back up, collecting memories, feelings, realities. And the reality is, I think my feelings for Andrew run deeper than friends. 

And somewhere in all the confusion, I have hatched A Plan.

xx

Anne

I Cannot Understand A Word

Thank god my dealer is on his way.

Okay. Maybe I should not start a post like that. It is just that, right before this exact moment, I got a call from my dealer and so it was on my mind.

I feel so horrible right now.

I started this job at a cafe in Little Italy. Knowing my desperation, Tara referred me to this job as barrista- where I could start off with no experience, learn how to make awesome Cappuccinos, and get some quick cash. She also made sure to warn me of what a douchebag the owner is, suggesting I stick around for 2 weeks, gain some experience and move on.

So last night was my first night. Ownerdouche was not so bad at first; I found myself just blanking out on his endless streams of broken French speech about his Glory Days when all the semi-celebrities gave a shit about his cafe. I would roll my eyes, nod now and then, and ask some random questions (in my own version of broken French) which he didn't understand anyways. I toughed out an evening of my best attempt to kiss ass just enough for him to not throw me out for some fucked up reason, as he had done to Tara. (He fired her for walking home with a client every night so she wouldn't get killed on the 25 min walk home after midnight).

So tonight, I came in, and found his behaviour more than just tedious. I could take the barking orders, the criticism of my mousse-making, I didn't give a shit. And I tried my best to block out his narcissistic speeches. But then he casually lifted my scarf, took a glimpse at my hidden cleavage, and said, "I've seen bigger."

And instead of slapping the motherfucker and jetting, my shell-shocked response was self-deprecating humour, "Well, there are bigger." Not only did I just lose a fucken billion points for women everywhere who are still victims of the male superiority complex, but I allowed myself to be exploited and made light of it. My response told him it was okay to objectify me, to look at a person your granddaughter's age with such disrespect, and to treat your employees like figurines.

And I don't know why. I just have a hard time reacting to such caveman behaviour. My tongue is trained in sarcasm. It is my defense mechanism to guys who fuck me over, parents who argue with me, friends who try to underhand me, and now to dirty old fucken men who deserve much more than a witty response. I should have punched him right in the penis.

I still took the ride home with him and the other worker, believing that he would not actually attempt anything, in fear of ruining his reputation since 1964. I figured he wouldn't be around that long if he had tried anything before. But then again, who knows? How many women were victimized like this, and instead of telling someone, kept it secret because they felt stupid at how they reacted? It is so twisted that as women, we take the blame for everything. There is an underlying problem that is rooted so deep into our psyches, still there since the beginning of man (or woman) kind. We feel like somehow we ask for it. By not kicking the guy in the balls or calling him out on it, we feel like it is our fault- as if we are open receptors to this kind of behaviour.

But I think I should change that. I should tell my friends, my family. I should just not show up on Monday.

Would that be an overreaction?

Allow me to also add that on the way home, once we were alone in the bloody jeep, I picked up on some strange topics he was trying to approach, that thankfully our language barrier broke. He said something about drinking with him, but working hard, about not flirting with customers, about his choice to not sleep with employees (or something along those lines), and some questions about my Romantic Life. He also wanted to go pick up newspapers on Mount-Royal and for me to tag along. "Si je voulais."

Um, no thanks.

Thankfully, as we pulled up to my apartment, my Mom called. (Chorus of Hallelujahs). This meant that I could thankfully skip the dreaded, akward Ciao Ciao Kiss Kiss on the cheeks that I feel is rude to not do to Italians. He had this fucken constipated look on his face when I was too preoccupied to give him the proper goodbye.

And all this, I did for slave labor- the fucken deevolutioned man's idea to not pay his trainees.

Fuck that. I cannot go back there.

But even as I write that, I feel this choking sensation fighting to hold on for a few more days; get some money which I so desperately need.

I could always go in there, suck it up, and just not let him win. Act distant enough to stay hired until I get get my ass out, but arrange for a lift home and avoid him as much as possible.

Don't worry though, there is a small light cracking through the dark.

My friend called me today about a job opening which her boss is very interested in me filling. It would be to work in cosmetics for a very prestigious line. So cross my fingers and hope not to die before than.

Please pray to the Astrology God for me.

xx
Anne

Serotonin

So basically, I am verging broke.

I don't know if this economic crisis has anything to do with it, but probably. Everyone keeps talking about it, but do most people really feel it? 

I think I feel it. Or maybe it is just rough luck. But I can't seem to find a full-time job! So right now, I am working part time (a very sporadic part time) for a cosmetics company, to animate Special Events (basically I try to coarse as many people as possible to sit down and have their skin analysed or creamed up so that they buy shit and get a gift with purchase). 

Besides that, I just got a job at this café, a hook-up from my roommate. She says the boss is a control-freak prick, but that  I will learn to make the meanest café au lait and then kiss the place goodbye after 2 weeks. Not to mention it will help my constant stress over the money flow. That is the point of having a job, for most people.

So I also applied for a university mental-health study. They need some healthy young men and women. Hopefully I fall into that category. The study involves the taking of an anti-depressent (one pill) and some PET scans and so forth. The researcher sent me most of the info. I am not quite sure I want to voluntarily put myself through exams and blood tests and brain scans, which most people find extremely nerve-wracking and unpleasant. 

I guess this is why they say those études are for the desperate. When the desperados, hoping to cash in an extra X amount, discover the prodding that will take place and the weird rooms they will have to sit in for hours being watched, it makes you think twice about the lend-your-body-and-brain-for-fast-cash-approach and wonder if you should just answer an ad to do Erotic Massages.

And what if my brain is already damaged? Do I really want to know that shit? In my wildest dreams, they will sit in a room with me, showing me all the glowing membranes in my brain, lit up purple, red, green, yellow, blue, and explain how each color represents how extraordinarily gifted I am. That I have a brain that is very rare. 

Sometimes, our mothers and fathers cultivate us to believe that we are more special than most people. 

But who really wants to be smarter than everyone else? You would probably go insane, like that guy in A Beautiful Mind, thinking and analysing and giving the people you love more credit than they deserve. Thinking they understand their ulterior motives, or that they are complex enough to always have one. Dissecting relationships; taking every slightest hint of body language, speech, sex, and trying to figure out what the person really meant. What you really mean to that person, rather than just the simple things they tell you they feel.

I do that a lot. I think people are a lot more deep than they are, oftentimes. But maybe they are really deep!

I wonder what the pill would do to my brain for one day.

xx

Anne

Introduction Blog

Okay so here is what you came here for folks:

If you for some reason saw Music, Men & Mary J and said to yourself, fuck me, did I write this last night when I was high? Then this just might be the blog for you.

I decided to start writing this because like all writers, one day you just decide your friends must be really tired of reading your shit, if you ever have the guts to ask them one more time. You know that they already fucken know you and your excruciating analyses are topics of conversations so common that your writing is Just Too Much? Just Too Much Anne. 

So you hope and pray to the Astrology God that some fucken one who doesn't know you, and therefore has high chances of being like you. When you take the chances of that happening in an English-Speaking world population compared to that of your circle of exhausted friends, the chances are higher that someone will be almost as fucked up and appreciate knowing that you're worse.

And why Music, Men & Mary J? Well, I knew music had to be in there, and men had to be in there, and mary j had to be in there. Does that make sense?

This blog may also serve as a study to temporary brain-rot's influence on writing. Can you tell the difference after I have spent a night with Mary Jane? Can I? 

We all know how it is. We somehow always get fucked up. We get into spirals of destructive behaviours until they all push us down so hard we can barely get our backs of the ground. In the last few months, I have gone from a repressed, 20-something big-town girl stuck in a small one to Montreal, the city where you can be fucked up as you want to be. 

So I guess I have been expirimenting. 

Since I moved out less than 3 months ago, I have slept with 5 and a half men and one woman. I went from smoking weed a couple of times a month to hanging with Australia (the weeded-up bad boy with a girlfriend) and taking the habit from there. Almost every day I light one up. I don't want to that much, but I am just letting myself accept this phase, knowing I will learn something from it. Am I being ignorant, self-destructive, defensive? It is probable. 

And as for music, that is a whole other story for a whole other day when my internet is back up at home (I am in Smalltown right now). 

Sorry but I am just going to eat a piece of chocolate and burn out.

Honesty can be ugly. 

xx

Anne 

First Official Blog

I figured I would need to do an Introduction Blog.

Sort of spell out the purpose and meaning of what it is I am trying to say or trying to find to say through this blog.

But I can't right now, because I have to do my First Official Blog first. And your First Official Blog is no fucking around, it is you realising that you are not writing random shit on a website for no one to read. Your FOB means that you have decided to start a trail of writing from which you hope to obtain some meaning and share those insights with real fucken readers. So please read this or you will ruin my FOB.

So catch you later with my Introduction Blog.

xx

Anne