on building callouses

As it turns out, the song is difficult to play. I mean, the chords are easy (who can't play a succession of A, G, D, E, and one Bm which I fake by playing Bm7?) but I just can't strum the rhythm to save my life. And it's been so long since I picked up my guitar, that my finger-tip callouses and sense of musical timing are gone and will be slow to return.

Today is my last full-time day at the job that's boring enough to allow me to blog. Starting next week I'll be going back to school and continuing on here, part-time. I have all kinds of things to wrap up and get organized before the long weeked, yet here I am, wasting more of the company's time.

One day, when I am doing a job I enjoy, I won't have time for internet surfing and blogging. I'll be comitted. I won't be so young and silly. I'll have the callouses of a seasoned writer, and I won't be so raw and fresh and unrefined.

I'll be good, I promise, so will you please just let me into the industry already?

2am at 10:40.

Whenever I heard "Breathe (2 AM)" by Anna Nalick, I thought of two things.

The first is closing at Second Cup. The cafe would be empty and we'd be sweeping the floor, wiping the counters, clanging syrup pumps around in the sink. That year, the satellite radio liked this song. So we'd sing along, both of us, not paying attention to the other person in the echo-y cafe. And I'd sanitize the coffee pots and flush out the espresso machine and think about how pretty her voice is and how personal the lyrics are.

The second is an episode of my favourite television show where a bomb explodes and innocent people die, and the main character gets thrown back onto the ground by hot, moving air, glass, concrete and the mist of blood and human flesh. This song plays while her two best friends help her into the shower and wash her hair for her. She is stunned and in shock, and the episode was just so moving, and the song was absolutely perfect for it.

Now there is a third. It will now also remind me of driving home just after sunset from the barn. The dust from the gravel road flying behind my car, creating a cloud for me to disappear into. Then, the highway, flanked by farmer's fields, and my window rolled down all the way. Getting the distinct feeling that my life is being lived right now and wanting to make sure it's me who's living it.

"Cause you can't jump the track, we're like cars on a cable. And life's like an hourglass glued to the table. No one can find the rewind button."

I'm going to learn this song on my guitar and sing it with intention.


2 AM and she calls me 'cause I'm still awake,
"Can you help me unravel my latest mistake?
I don't love him. Winter just wasn't my season"
Yeah we walk through the doors, so accusing their eyes
Like they have any right at all to criticize,
Hypocrites. You're all here for the very same reason

'Cause you can't jump the track,
we're like cars on a cable
And life's like an hourglass, glued to the table
No one can find the rewind button, girl.
So cradle your head in your hands
And breathe... just breathe,
Oh breathe, just breathe

May he turn 21 on the base at Fort Bliss
Just today he sat down to the flask in his fist,
"Ain't been sober, since maybe October of last year."
Here in town you can tell he's been down for a while,
But, my God, it's so beautiful when the boy smiles,
Wanna hold him. Maybe I'll just sing about it.

Cause you can't jump the track,
we're like cars on a cable,
And life's like an hourglass, glued to the table.
No one can find the rewind button, boys
So cradle your head in your hands,
And breathe... just breathe,
Oh breathe, just breathe

There's a light at each end of this tunnel,
You shout 'cause you're just as far in as you'll ever be out
And these mistakes you've made, you'll just make them again
If you only try turning around.

2 AM and I'm still awake, writing a song
If I get it all down on paper, it's no longer inside of me,
Threatening the life it belongs to
And I feel like I'm naked in front of the crowd
Cause these words are my diary, screaming out loud
And I know that you'll use them however you want to

But you can't jump the track, we're like cars on a cable
And life's like an hourglass, glued to the table.
No one can find the rewind button now
Sing it if you understand
And breathe, just breathe
Whoa breathe, just breathe
Oh, breathe, just breathe
Oh breathe, just breathe.

interloping and self-searching on a monday night

Monday was Eric's twenty-second birthday. We celebrated it fairly unassumingly. He doesn't like a lot of birthday hoopla; I didn't even tell the waiter at the restaurant about the occasion, even though that move may have cost us a free piece of cake and one of those fun little sparklers. Instead we discussed the couple eating dinner behind us. They were preppy and pretty and celebrating their one-year-anniversary. She wore a dress and had obviously spent a very long time on her hair. He wore a sweater-vest and tie and ordered her meal for her. She bragged to the waiter about the occasion. Eric and I, always the interlopers, felt superior and mature. "Soon your 'night out' will be to Applebee's and the cheap theatres," I thought. And, of course, there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. It's just that I don't curl my hair and Eric doesn't wear sweater-vests, but I bet we're closer than they are. They seemed formal. Conversation seemed awkward. I felt like Eric and I were on one team and they were on another -- who has a better relationship? Whose dinner at Cafe Select is more meaningful?

Later, Eric and I got into sweatpants and watched the videos he'd taken while he was in Africa. They were funny and beautiful and inspiring and interesting. Afterwards, he looked me in the eye and asked, "why are we not who we want to be?"

Why are we not who we want to be?

Eric wants to be the guy who goes to Africa. He wants to be helpful to society. He wants to send food and entertainment and resources to his African friends. He wants to take pictures of people and things and feel good about his direction in life. He wants to start a band.

And I don't know who I want to be. It's not quite exactly what I am currently, though. That I do know.

every little thing she does is magic

I have a magical power that attracts butterflies.

I am not kidding. The butterfly (or one like it) came back, and is now living in my car. And, the other day, in the Tim Hortons drive-thru, there was an identical butterfly fluttering around outside my car.

Maybe my soul smells of sweet flower-nectar.

Maybe I have a cocoon city in the wheel wells of my car.

Maybe I have a magical power that attracts butterflies.

old school

Today I am blow-drying my hair. It's a big deal, because I don't like doing it, but love the end product enough to suffer through on a bi-monthly basis. After I blow-dry my hair, I'm going to rummage around in my car for some shoes that are suitable for a horse show. Then I'm going to go to said horse show and watch some friends walk, trot, canter, and possibly even circle on command for the chance to win much fame and glory (i.e. ribbons that costs SAHA five dollars, and maybe a complimentary bag of crunchies).

I miss going to horse shows. I miss Fultonvale. It reminds me of our first-ever-shows, of being nervous despite the casual setting, of entering just for fun. It's weird that we're going back there, years later, to learn the same things. It's so oldschool.

After the show, I'm going out to the Ranch for a farewell party for my friend. She is getting married and moving to a farm that's far away (or as far away as Nojack is) and I'm worried that it will be a long time until I see her again. I have to learn where she'll be living so that the Sunbird and I (sans one rogue butterfly) can go visit.

Okay, my hair is air-drying and becoming frizzier each moment that I neglect it, so I must go.

flutter-by

I've had a butterfly living in my car for a week. I have no idea how he stayed alive so long, but day after day, I'd see him flutter past my peripheral in the rear view mirror. Last night I tried to shoo him out of the car while it was parked in the driveway, but he just fluttered about frantically before landing and relanding in his favourite spot -- the back dash. I kept trying to see some sort of metaphor in his existence in my life. Or figure out if he was supposed to be some sort of sign. I actually said out loud to him one day, "what do you mean?"

Today I saw him resting comfortably in the corner of the back dash, so I thought I'd try once again to free him. He didn't move; he just flopped over lifelessly when I touched him. He didn't look so good, but I knew the day would come. There's nothing for him to eat in my car! There are no flowers or pollen of any kind! He needs the great outdoors!

I drove out to the barn later on, the windows open and the music loud. I wasn't thinking about my butterfly as I rumbled down the gravel road and onto the long, winding driveway of the farm. Four of my friends were standing around outside the barn as I drove up. I felt happy, seeing the horses looking at me all perky-eared at the fence, waving back at my lovely friends, having a great song on the radio finish up just in time.

When I got out of the car and turned to look towards the hilly pastures, the sun hanging lower in the sky this time of year, my butterfly, a delicate orange-and-black self-propelled flower, fluttered around me, past my face and disappeared into the late summer's air.

Maybe he was just holding out for somewhere he knew he really belonged.

Me too.

the grand gesture

Some people believe the only way to truly express your love for another is to make a grand gesture. Fly across the world to be with them, have a star named after them, propose on the big screen at a basketball game, paint their name on the water tower -- be that guy or girl from the most treasured romantic comedy.

The Taj Mahal was built for the dude's wife. The TAJ MAHAL.

If my gestures are small, are they still meaningful?

national geographic

Today is a day for thinking about travel. For thinking beyond myself, my empty wallet, my rusty car. For looking up hostels in Barcelona, just for fun. For googling maps of Northern Canada, and for thinking about untamed wilderness. For wanting to walk all day and come home exhausted. For wanting to see things.

It's because I feel cooped up in my office/storage closet. There are no windows. I think I need at least one window, or to at least have access to a window. Even a dreary parking lot would look better than the plain white walls or the stack of boxes containing files from 1992 and last year's Christmas decorations.

Obviously, I've been unproductive at work.

five things:

Tonight I am going to spend time at Starbucks with an old friend. I haven't seen this person since high school, but I'm sure she's as smart and pretty as always. I feel weird, reconnecting with people from that era in my life. I feel so different now than I did back then. I feel like I won't fit into whatever category she has me in. I'm not the girl who sits in front of her in French class anymore.

I'm not the girl who sits in front of anyone, for that matter.

Sometimes I wish I wasn't such an awkward person. I wish I could just have easy conversations with everyone I meet. I wish I didn't have to fill silences with yawns or long sips of coffee or some vague comment about how tired I am. I wish there were no silences. I wish I could just be a grown-up, already.

I miss my mom right now. I feel like meeting her for lunch in her building at that buffet-style coffee shop in the basement. I feel like fixing our coffees while she waits in line, because I know how she takes hers -- the same way I take mine. And then we sit by the window and talk over the drone of all of the others who had the same plans, eating lunches out of white styrofoam take-out containers, talking about our jobs, offering each other sympathy and bites of our pastas.

Christy has asked my advice on wedding invatations and photographers. I told her all that I know. I wonder why I'm the one she asks. I told her about a funky stationary store that sells really unique wedding invitations. I don't even know why or how I know this, but these are the things that I notice about stores. I guess she knows this about me and that's why she asks.

Last night I galloped through an open field with five good friends -- two humans, three horses. The field was dotted with bales of hay, and the sun was setting, and I didn't have to think about anything except not falling off. This is the kind of thing I need in my daily routine. It's a rehabilitation of sorts.

I should get some actual work done. The kind that I get paid to do.

This has been rather disjointed.

slow lane

Another girl I went to high school with is engaged. Is it time, now? Is this the phase in my life where all of my girlhood chums are becoming married and pregnant? Is this the phase where I feel like everyone is speeding past me going a million miles an hour? I'm just inching along in the slow lane, I guess.

Not that I want to be married or pregnant. I just don't want to be stagnant.

It will be a long, long time, I think. Till my adult life unfolds.

I am at work, not doing my job. Two more weeks of staring at a blank computer screen, and then I can proceed with learning and things of the like.

hard day's night

It's been a weird day. I was horizontal for ninety percent of the actual daylight hours. I haven't actually slept in three nights, and I just feel so drained. I feel like there are a trillion more productive things to do than watch two movies in the morning and have a three hour afternoon nap.

I spent a lot of time thinking. I can't figure out the difference between settling and compromise. That's been bothering me for years. What bothers me even more is having to figure out everything for myself. I wish someone could just tell me all of the answers. I remember a time when there was.

I have been hanging out with my sister's cat. I've decided I should move out of my parents' basement, get some cats, a budgie and a pug and live happily ever after.

I feel all cried out, now. And ready to watch five consecutive episodes of What Not To Wear.

one to five:

There is a land where people sit around all day reading books and drinking lattes and being fabulous. There must be. Otherwise I'd be pining after a place that doesn't exist, and that's just futile.

In other news, I am brainstorming ideas for part-time employment in the fall:

1. Flower arranger.
2. Errand runner.
3. Phone answerer.
4. Horse rider.
5. Television watcher.

Okay, the fifth one is ridiculous. But I wanted to make the list an even five, and all I want to do right now is watch re-runs of old sitcoms and think about the nineties.

so far:

This is the story of my life (are you ready? because it goes by quickly, so you need to pay attention):

I have lived in the same house for my entire life, in three different rooms, each larger and better than the last. This is because I am the fourth daughter of four. My parents are Randy and Sylvia. I used to compare my sisters (Sherry, Melanie, Amy) and myself to Little Women -- of course, I was Jo and Amy was Amy, and I never wanted to make anyone Beth because she dies, and I didn't wish that to happen, ever. So Sherry and Melanie were simultaneously Meg, who is wonderful in ways that most readers of the novel don't see, I think.

I went to a small school where I received a quality education and felt cheated because there were no dances or parties or any other kind of high school revelling that the world could do without. I started riding horses when I was nine. This is important to my life. This is all of my money and a lot of my time. This is my heart. I have a nephew, John, and a niece, Jenna. I have two brothers-in-law. I have a boyfriend named Eric.

I am blessed, although I don't always think so. I am proud of my family and friends. I like making them cards of cut-up magazines on cardstock, and I wish I could do this every day.

My favourite things are: used bookstores, horses, good cups of coffee, budgies, hooded sweatshirts, pug dogs, flat shoes, pumpkin pie, eating in restaurants, travelling by car, buying clothes that are on sale, freedom of the press, newspaper crossword puzzles, democracy, and expressing love.

And that's everything so far.