Coincidences

The craziest series of coincidences happened to me today. It was almost like a day to be superstitious, because little things kept pointing towards a bigger message today. And I took notice of them, today.

So here is what happened:

1. I had a dream about a boy, Andrew, my best male friend whom I desperately want to be with, who lives in Halifax. (A bit of a back-drop: I wrote Andrew a letter, which he received around last Thursday, telling him my feelings for him and that I want to be with him. He was gone all weekend to Percé, Qc (sort of close!), and his phone is disconnected, so I wasn't expecting a call from him yet.) I have been wondering over and over what he is thinking about the letter, and so in my dream, he was on his way from Percé to come visit me, to speak to me. Sometime after or during waking, I heard the sound of a doorbell. Being semi-nude, I took a minute to look dressed and then trotted towars the door. There was no one there! A ghost. A Coincidence, considering I was imagining Andrew's arrival at my door.

2. I continued on my day, feeling a slight pang of electricity in the air, like something was sort of shifting things. Movement. Flashes of memories. Andrew.

HAHAHA how corny is THAT?

real 2. I decided to go on the computer, and sat there considering whether or not to go on MSN, which I rarely do, and neither does Andrew. So something persuades me to say yes, and as soon as I come online, a box pops up: Alison. Andrew's girlfriend was speaking to me. Blinding flashes on the screen, all sent in 10 seconds.

"Hey, it's Andrew.

I'm so sorry I haven't had the chance to call you. My phone is disconnected until Wednesday, so hopefully I'll be able to call you then...

(L)

I mean hopefully it will be connected Wednesday :| ...

So I'll call you then :P ...

ciao"


WHAT THE FUCK? You might be thinking to yourself, if you were me, and really fucken stoned.
How can I decipher this message? What does that (L) mean? The "I'm so sorry..." OH GAWD.

Anyways, I try not to obsess, but I'm fucking happy that at least he doesn't hate me for fucking things around and loving him, and possibly (L)s me too! So now I wait... til Wednesday?

Okay I sort of forgot about our point here, which is Coincidence. So here it is: How strange that the odds were very low that I would be on MSN, nor that he would be on MSN, nor that he would be on his girlfriend's account, nor that all of these things would Coincide at ONCE!

3. The last Coincidence: I was standing outside, smoking a joint, looking at the round moon, and for once in every year or so said a small prayer to God-if-He-Exists, and that prayer was: "God-If-You-Exist, please let Andrew want to be with me right now. Let us be together."
Corny, corny, I know. Forgive me. I was alone. I didn't think I would be telling you guys about this.
And I kept staring at the moon, because it was so fucken full and high, and what happened?

A SHOOTING STAR! Wtf.

So then I thought of that Disney song, "When you wish upon a star, makes no difference who you are, when you wish upon a star your dreams come true." And I only realised that those were the real words as I wrote this out, I was fideling with them, and saying something like "... wish upon a shooting star, your wishes come true."

So that was a major Coincidence, that I was actually praying to God, and that a shooting star then flew by, which I then believed was part of that Disney song. So for me it meant that my wish would come true.

4. I lied, or rather I just discovered the real last Coincidence of today, so far. The day's Coincidences come around full circle, starting with a dream about a boy and then ending with a song about a dream come true. A dream about a boy come true, perhaps, on the night I saw a shining star. A shining, shooting star.

(I'm sorry that got so M.J. but I am so high and the possibility of love with the man of my LIFE is making me feel elated. In a hopefully ironic way.)

So if I were superstitious today, I would believe that those 5 Coincidences meant something.

Maybe I do, a little.

A girl has gotta hope. ;)

(L)
Anne

High, how are you?

So I basically realised some shit tonight about weed.

You start smoking it casually, maybe once a year or two at a crazy party. Then you move up to every couple of months, and then that turns into weeks. But then something happens and you stop smoking, be it a boyfriend against it, loss of interest, whatever. And then somehow that little plant sneaks up on you again, growing right underneath you, poking it's spiky head at your toes and pinching you until you smoke it. And then the weeks turn into days, and days turn into hours. And then you are in and out of your high state, knowing it will come again soon, not quite wanting it, but still craving it. And then it just somehow works out, and you acquire the weed, you roll it, and you smoke it. You are probably with a friend when you buy it, and so you share it with them, and then you find yourself an hour later, high as fuck and ready to go home. So much for quality time.

It is so strange that the weed smoker craves this alone time. We dread smoking in some ways because we know it will start off great, and then drop us into a zombie-like state for hours. You can fight the feeling and do something, but it is always pulling at you. It is like a semi-paralysis; your body just tingling and shutting down, but very slowly, until the drug mellows.

But if you can fight the meltdown, at least for long enough to make it worth it, it's great. You become extremely creative; your thoughts train off onto a million tangents and you can somehow grasp them all at once and this makes your head semi-explode, in a good way. You can take these tangents and use them in conversation that spirals into itself, in song, in written words, and of course, in sex.

Sex when you are high, that is something. You feel like your whole body is melting and burning and bursting at once. I heard it through the grapevine that weed plays with your emotion centers in the brain, and I am sure that is connecting to the pleasure center, which is why we so enjoy pleasures like food (munchies), laughter, song, sex.

But then you get a little brain burn, where your whole intricately strung train of thoughts just *POPS!* out of your mind, and you feel sort of cross-eyed, and your mind is completely blank.

xx
Anne

You probably often hear unemployed people complain. At that point, you or the person next to you probably tells the unemployee to their face or behind their back that being unemployed is easy; the Life: you get paid to do nothing.

At this point, I will bring up the fact that not all unemployed people are collecting any sort of money. Myself include.

See, I am not technically unemployed. I have a job... last month I worked 15 hours. So for the other 657 hours of February, and now the unworking hours of March, I spend my time:
1. Watching movies.
2. Getting high and watching movies.
3. Listening to music.
4. Playing music.
5. Getting high and then listening to/playing music.
6. Scrambling up $1.54 for a Tim Horton's Vanille Français.

This sounds WAY more fun than it is. Imagine waking up with absolutely no responsibilities, no plans, aka no goals or purpose. Almost every single day I wake up and stay in bed. This is not only excruciatingly boring, but it is bad for the body, mind and soul. No stimulation!

I hang around and wait for my friends to get home from work, and sometimes we chill, sometimes we talk. I then spend my evenings doing what I do in the day, all fucking over again.

This is the ideal life for some; the lazy life. I despise it.

"So do something Anne. Walk your dog."

First of all, my dog is a wild hooligan who cannot be controlled outside the fences that surround my backyard.

Second of all, it's fucking cold in Montreal right now. And icy.

I might be motivated to walk somewhere, if I had money to go buy something. Consumerism really makes the world go round, doesn't it?

So I am just sick of staying at home, alone, for the majority of my hours. Don't worry fair readers, I had a job interview today. Hopefully that will produce something.

I'm just fucking annoyed of being sedentary. I just want to go take a run. Thank you Winter.

xx
Anne

big P.S: Booty Call Mike called me tonight. I didn't answer. :)

Sister

Sometimes I get very emotional for no reason.

I don't know if it is because I am an artist, but sometimes I feel very hyper-aware of deeper issues flowing between two people. Tonight, I felt that with my sister.

Her name is Stephanie. She is beautiful. She is 19 years old, and she always has everything together. She finished college, works full time at an interesting and stable job where she is constantly given more responsibilities and promotion, and she always strives for more. She is a perfectionist. I am too, but in a different way. I am a perfectionist of the soul and mind. She is a perfectionist at keeping it together.

We were both born with different hair. I came out blonde, and she, brunette. Sometime soon though, my sister's hair lightened, and we both grew up blonde together. Blonde babies running around up north at our family's chalet, she would try and catch minnows with a net, calling for me to come join her, but I would be busy reading old comic books on the shore. I was in her room a moment ago, and I started wondering around, looking at her pictures, and I saw a picture of her at the chalet, in the water, caught off guard, as she so rarely is, and being caught off guard, she can only begin the strain of a smile. 

Stephanie is the youngest of three children. Our parents are wonderful but their flaws are obvious to us, now that we understand how alike our own flaws are. My brother takes after my mother in social manner, my father in humour and outbursts of frusteration. I take after my mother's personality, my father's humour, and possess an amplified version of many of their flaws. Through constantly trying to not become them, I have become a person somewhere in  between their obvious opposite and twin. And Stephanie, born admist all of the chaos and larger-than-life personalities of the rest of her family, was a shy and reserved child, interesting and captivating, and always careful to keep everyone out of her head.

I feel sometimes like I have some sort of superiority complex because I am an artist. It is so fucking pretentious for me to even call myself that, but I do, because I am, and I am at the point in my life where I accept that, and all that comes along with it. The incredible mood swings, dramatisation, out-of-control highs and desperate lows. The free spirit, the tight budget, the all-or-nothing syndrome approach to life. The insolence. My dad just called my name, and I answered: "Can't talk right now! I'm writing!" and he didn't attempt to speak to me again. It is this selfish absorption that I need to nurture a craft. When the idea hits me, it doesn't matter where I am or who I am with, but I have to get going, so I can write, or sing, or play it. And this leaves a lot of people in the dust. I feel bad about it, but I know I can't be any other way.

And in this selfishness, I feel like I have unconsciously pushed my sister into my shadow. She grew up with me there, always pushed a little bit aside, because I always needed more. Attention, music lessons, the best school, everything and anything to cultivate my "art". I never realised I was taking so much because I didn't just get many things I wanted, to me, I needed it.

Stephanie, on the other hand, is completely self-sufficient. She has always been that way. She never wanted to need anything or anybody. I don't know why she is like this, but maybe part of it is because she was so afraid of turning into my parents, or my brother, or worst of all, me. I am a year and a half older, and my sister drives me around, while I don't even have my liscence. She takes care of me. I hope that I take care of her in some ways too. Maybe I don't always have the money or the time, and definately not the car, but I hope that I help her feel special and get her through sometimes. 

But I don't think she really knows how desperately I wish I could be there for her. I always want to help her the way that I know how instead, by talking and being there and helping free her spirit. The thing is, I cannot think of one time where she has really been caught in a crunch. Car troubles, that is the only thing that I remember her ever needing someone to come pick her up for. And I clearly couldn't be the one to do that.

Stephanie never tells anyone what is bothering her. She walks around in a constant state of tension and intent, always a plan to be followed through. She writes to-do lists every day, more than once, on anything at all. She has to find order. Without order, she might fall into chaos, which I feel like I am in most of the time, and I know she never wants to be there. 

The other day, I was with my friend, and in the midst of complaining about everything I wasn't satisfied with in life, my sister came up. "She is so perfect. She has got it all together. She has the job, the perfect body, a beautiful face, the boys chase her, she has a car, she has a life, she's always busy. She is going to go so far in life, and I can't even seem to get my feet off the ground."

My friend replied, "You shouldn't compare yourselves. She has all that stuff, but when do you ever see her happy? I never see your sister and think that she is really happy."

And this made me so sad. Because I have been so caught up in my own woes and dramas, I have not realised before, in my whole life, that my sister has never really been happy.

This makes me sadder than anything else I can imagine.

I have always felt like a tag team with Steph. She's the younger, hotter, shy but warm under the surface sister. She's one of those Alpha Females. She can appear extremely cold, bitchy, indifferent, if she wants to be. This always puts her in the seat of power, and she has the maturity and skills to know how to use that power. I am the kooky sister, the bubbly, loud, ungraceful but spirited one. It has always been a thrill for our friends and others, comparing our smiles, our faces, our bodies, and then our polar opposite personalities. Despite our differences, we get along fabulously, sharing interests in everyday activities. Our ideas of fun on the social scene vary sometimes, but we still go out together. 

As we began our teenaged years, I started to bring her into my circle of friends. Bringing her out, showing her the debauched world, I really felt like her older sister. She was still breaking through her shell. Now she is a confident woman, full of her own projects and plans, and we joke that she is like my older sister now.

But I don't really feel that way. As much as my sister is tending to the surface of her life, polishing off the glass until it is clear and perfect, she will not be satisfied. She has too much left to learn, about how to let go, what it feels like to not be on top of things, to dance without caring if she looks good, to cry herself to sleep every once and a while, and to really feel what is going on in her life. It seems like she doesn't take the time to feel what she is going through, she is always so obsessed with getting to the end of the road that she misses the whole ride. And I don't want this for her. 

Because it IS the little things that make us happy. I am almost jobless, projectless, manless, and desperate on many counts, but I still smile and laugh, I live, I do things that I enjoy because I enjoy them and not because it is what I should be doing. I want her to realise this, because I am her older sister, and I will always be worried about her happiness, and part of my identity is her protecter and her teacher. That is how I am her older sister. Maybe I don't have everything on the surface pulled together, but I follow my heart, and maybe that will inspire her to follow hers.

Underneath all that perfection is a little girl. She is shy, afraid to fail, afraid what people think of her. She wants love and attention, and to feel like she is the most important thing every so often. She never wants to be let down, and so she never depends on anyone else. The only person she can really trust is herself, and if she makes her own mistakes, she will not have to blame anyone. She loves all those she keeps close to her, and she knows that if she works hard enough and spends enough time being productive that she'll have time later on to give them and her own family everything they need. She is the provider.

This girl is going to go somewhere, and that I never doubt, and no one ever will. She is strong, resilient, brave, and not afraid to take on any task. I just hope that she will one day stop long enough to hear what her heartbeat sounds like, listen to a song that really makes her feel that someone understands her, and really fucking laugh with a guy. Someone who will make her happy. Someone who will love her not because she's perfect, but because she isn't. 

It's okay to fail. It's okay to fall behind. After a while, life is going to stop listening to all your plans and it is going to spin out of control. When that happens, don't worry because you will learn to catch yourself. Just don't be afraid of falling down and laying on the ground for a minute before you stand tall again.

And don't be afraid to lean on someone. You can always lean on me, okay?

My sister dyed her hair brown this year. It is like when we were born again, the blonde and the brunette. We are so different, but we are so the same. I just can't explain how.

And someday, that hair is going to turn grey. Our bodies go, and our jobs end, and we are left with ourselves to face. I hope Stephanie will find someone who is going to be there, and who isn't going to care what happens to her body when it ages. But much more than that, I just hope she finds herself one day imperfect and can laugh at that.

xx

Anne

 

Caught Green-Handed

So last night, the inevitable happened.

My mom caught me smoking weed. 

About a week ago, this might have caused me a heart attack, considering my mom is the angel of innocence and my dad is so against anything harmful I do to my voice (I'm a singer). But my uncle recently confessed to me that back in the glory days, my mom would engage in some less-than-kosher activities involving the plant.

So here is what happened:

I really wanted to smoke and chill in my room. It was 2:30 in the morning and my mom was still up, doing work on her computer. I decided I would risk it anyways, so I brought my kitten into my room and told my mom not to come in and steal her (she is doting on the cat like mad!) because she would disturb me and I was going to sleep. Lame excuse, hoping it would work, but considering my mother's usual refusal to listen to anything logic from her kids, she came barging in anyways to get the cat. And when she came in, I was sitting up in bed, listening to Sufjan Stevens, joint lowered and out. She pushed the door open, it got stuck on the towel that was jammed into the space, she looked down at it, sniffed the air, and said, "What are you smoking?"

And I said: "Nothing."

BAAAAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAA.

So then she left. And I was so surprised that she wasn't mad, wasn't upset, wasn't even shocked. I don't really know how she felt.

This afternoon my dad came to pick me up from the hairdressers, and I know he would eventually bring it up in some awkward way, and this is how it happened:

Me: "I think I am going to go to a concert tonight. One of those five dollar things. Maybe I will go to Sablo Café, you know, that reggea thing I went to twice. They had a workshop last night... but I don't know, I just didn't go."

Dad: "Were you smoking a joint in your room last night?"

Me: "Yeah..."

Dad: "How long has this been going on?"

Me: "Well it is only every once and a while, for the past few years now... like every normal teenager turned young adult."

Dad: "Where do you get it? Do you buy a baggie of grass or something?"

Me: "Dad!"

Dad: "What, I want to know! You buy it in a baggie?"

Me: "Dad, I am not talking about this with you."

Dad: "Why not? It's not like we're talking about sex."

Me: "I think this might be even worse."

And then we changed subjects! Whew. I got off the hook easy... so far. Because if I know my parents well, and I do, they will bring this up at random moments, use it as blackmail or guiltripping, hit me below the belt later on.

Oh well. Maybe they understand me a little better now.

xx

Anne

Booty Call

I have a thing going with this guy named Mike.

He's a guy I was seeing in high school, a very brief seeing that doesn't count for much on the scale of one to life. He is attractive physically, but there is something that just didn't click. A couple of reasons:

1. He's an asshole.

2. He's full of himself.

3. He says the most bullshit things to sound smart.

During my high school days where I would take what I could get, but didn't know anything about having game, it went a little bit like this: Mike would show interest, I would return it, he would ask me to hang out, I was too eager, we would go out and make out, and then I would become needy and he would drop off the face of the planet. By the time he came back, I was so over it and would reject him, which would send him under and then have him surface again at a later time. And eventually, I would give him another chance, and he would let me down, and the cycle would start again.

So this year, Facebook's magical powers allowed him to randomly talk to me one day, giving some bullshit emotional apology for his past asshole behaviours. I don't buy anything that he says. I know that he always wants to get into my pants and that is it. But that just so happened to be what I wanted this summer, and so in my pants he went. 

The sexual connection was definately there. Not the most earth-shattering sex ever, but still good enough when I was lacking in action. 

And so then we began a game of cat-and-mouse yet again, years later, except this time it was for nooky and I really didn't care about him at all, and only mildly cared about him wanting me.

So now we have had sex four or five times, and everytime is the same thing. It is like buisness. He comes over or picks me up, we hang out for a bit and have conversations where we aren't really caring about what the other person is saying but just feel entitled to be heard because we are about to have sex with each other. We talk for as long as I can stand his annoying philosophies, and then we finally say, "Okay, let's do this."

So that is what happened tonight. He asked me to hang out, and I was not sure if I wanted to, considering my feelings for Andrew have been coloring everything I feel and do. I decided it might be a good distraction and good release, so I told Mike to come over, joking to my best friend that I would pretend he was Andrew.

It is very strange to have a sexual encounter with a person time and time again and to never feel more comfortable than the first time. That is what I realised tonight about Mike and I. We never know how to get the ball rolling, because our attraction is purely physical, which makes it mediocre to begin with. But it is physical on the most basic level, a warm, attractive body, not really my type but generically hot. When we speak, we don't really look at each other. I never really even looked him in the eyes tonight. We were sitting squished on my piano bench, and I didn't feel one tingle in my body. It was like there was zero chemistry.

Perhaps there is a quota on meaningless sex with a person. I think after a certain number of times having sex with someone you hold zilch affection for, it all becomes numb.

So we got naked, got off, and got dressed. And I knew right away that it should be the last time. I realise I have been settling, having sex with a person I have zero interest in whatsoever, a guy from my past that I will never get anywhere with. And instead of shrugging it off this time, it depressed me. 

Maybe it is because I am not easy-going about anything at this moment in time, but I just felt like I deserve more than a guy that just wants me when I am conveniant, and when he is conveniant to me. Friends with benefits is not necessarily a bad thing, but we aren't even friends! We just don't click, and we never will.

xx

Anne

ps- While we were having sex, I DID imagine he was Andrew. Maybe that is what's so disturbing.

Melodrama

I am starting to think it is time for me to get organized. I am sick of my inability to make decisions because I can't get my act together long enough!

Example: tonight is Valentine's day, that annoying fucking day that makes single people bitter, and even more bitter for letting it bug them. I try to treat it like a normal day, but somehow I can't escape the pressure to not sit at home doing nothing.

So I am too broke too go out, and nor in the mood with this ongoing tension headache, so I asked my single friend Ashley to watch a movie with me, hopefully of the non-love theme. Then I got an invite to go see a movie downtown with a friend and some of hers, and invited Ashley to do that instead. She declined; heavy pre-midterm study time. She encouraged me to go anyhow. I decided I would go, checked the train schedule, which just changed in January, and found out it sucked ass even more, and I would be getting to the movie late, plus I couldn't afford the 7$ train ticket nor find my mom's train pass, so now I am back at square one.

I refused two other invites from my girlfriends, ensuite of my pending money issues and headache.

So now, I feel like if I could have just organized myself earlier on, actually planned to get the train pass before my mom went out, I could have looked at the train schedule early on and made sure I got downtown. Instead I am stuck here with no car, no money, and no weed.

And no fucken boys.

My sister started explainging to me over supper that five guys had asked her out tonight and she had to reject every single one because she's working. And this did not upset her; she gained a sense of satisfaction from her independance and rejection-dishing skills. I, on the other hand, can't find a male friend or fuck friend in sight, never mind a real DATE. 

And so I sit here imagining what I might do tonight. I can actually feel minute movements in my brain moving one way and then the next because I can't fucken decide what to do EVER, and I always find myself stuck like this, shallow breathing, tense back, no plans. Here are my fabulous options:

1. Sit on this computer and job-hunt.

2. Watch a movie by myself, sober.

3. Watch a movie with my parents, sober.

4. Use the remainder of my funds to buy weed and watch a movie.

All of those things suck, except the last one is not so bad, considering it involves substance abuse. 

And my best friend is currently in Florida, so we cannot share our misery as usual.

But all I really want to do is spend the night with Andrew, jamming. Fat chance with him living in Halifax and all that. 

I have to go move there. Fuck it. I am actually happy when I am around him, even if he has a girlfriend. I just need to be there, doing what I want. I don't jam with anyone around here. I just don't know why I can't make it happen. It is so hard for me to foster new friendships with people who want to jam, especially now that I have no job or school through which I can network, no money to go out and socialize, and no home on the island of Montreal, where people can actually visit without it costing them loads of time and money.

Yes, I am feeling sorry for myself. And yes, I am trying to get off my ass and do something about it.

I have some job plans in the running. Hopefully I can save up enough money to go to Halifax for the summer. I want to be there. I need to be there. Not just for Andrew, for myself; for an escape, for the ocean, the music, the fresh faces. 

People say that running away does not solve your problems, but obviously those people have never just escaped being hit by a car by running away from it. Or running away from an abusive lover. Isn't running away from a place where I can't seem to grasp happiness a good idea, even if it is temporary? There will always be something else coming to bring you down, and then something following it to bring you back up. So what is the problem if I decide to run away until that gets stale, and then move onto the next thing? I think it's a good plan. 

Robert Frost said, "Happiness makes up in height for what it lacks in length."

Okay.

That is what I am going to do. That is what I am going to plan on doing. As long as I have a plan, maybe I can get my feet back on the ground and work towards that goal, rather than spending so much time trying to figure out every situation at once and make it all perfect. 

So here is my plan:

1. Find a job. Any job to raise some money.

2. Pay off my credit cards.

3. Buy a plane ticket to Halifax.

4. Spend summer in Hali.

And then we will see where it goes from there. What is the point of trying to figure out what I am going to do about Andrew, career, life, all at once?

We'll see where this road takes me.

xx

Anne