Sunday, September 30, 2007

A boy's white night (Part 1)...

Of course, we can't kick off any fun evening without a ton of awkward.

Laura and I went to pick up her friend while on our way to Nuit Blanche, the 'massive free contemporary art thing' that takes over the city from 7 p.m. to 7 a.m. with free art exhibitions. Having missed out on it last year, I resolved to go this year. Of course, the group of people supposedly going was whittled down by the time we actually hit the street, but it was still fun.

We stopped to pick up Katie, Laura's friend and classmate. Katie is the type that doesn't hold back, honest to the point of blunt rudeness...but she also has a sweet heart, and if you get on her good side, she'll do anything for you. I realized as we walked into her building, with growing dread, that my ex-roommate lives at the very same address.

I told myself nothing could possibly happen while we rode the elevator to Katie's. It's not like I'm going to magically run into her...

The doors opened, and knocked. No answer. Laura called, and Katie was downstairs with another friend, and would be up in a minute.

Time stood still as the elevator doors opened. Out stepped Katie, some other girl, and my ex-roommate. They all walked towards us. My face went like stone, and Laura's eyes darted between me and the Ex. The pressure in the room changed, with so much negative energy flowing between the two of us. It caught everyone off guard.

We went inside, me reluctantly, and sat around Katie's apartment. At an apropriate moment, Katie looked over at Laura. "Do they know each other?" she said softly.

"They used to be roommates..." Laura answered.

Katie looked at me. "Is this awkward for you?"


We sat in a circle, with vague attemts at chatting, but the Ex and I never even made eye contact. She seemed uncomfortable, which I relished, as she spun her can of Diet Pepsi in her hands. Gleefully I observed she's gained weight and looks like crap. Why this matters, I don't know, but considering she's one of the very, very few people I despise (and for very legitimate reasons) I enjoyed the observation. Of course, I never said anything like that to anyone, because I'm slightly better than that.

She played the part of 'nice-girl' in the situation, chatting with Laura about this and that, seemingly interested. I've seen this mask she puts on, it's the one that wins people over, because it seems genuine. She's not coming down of E or worried about slutting it up for the clubs tonight, she's just the friendly girl who happened to drop by.

Finally, by the grace of God, after 45 mintues the random girl and the Ex got up and left. I breathed a sigh of relief.

As soon as the door was closed, Katie looked at me. This was the first time we met, but I felt comfortable enough to talk with her.

"What the hell was that!?" she asked. I told her in very loose terms that we had been roommates, and things went badly...and we aren't really on speaking terms. I also said, since she seems to know her, I didn't want to bring too much up. She's allowed to make her own judgments.

"Oh, I don't even know her, I just met her. That other girl I met yesterday, they seemed to be hanging out..." Katie said. What are the chances?

She seemed sympathetic, and I appologized. "I'm sorry for all that tension shit," I said, "really, that was just awkward."

"No, it's ok," Katie said. "But wow, I mean, I could feel it between you two. There was just this thing hanging between us..."

Good to know it's visible to the entire population.

Saturday, September 29, 2007

"I'll have a Coke and a handjob"...

As the car pulled away, I couldn't help but feel just a little embarassed.

After all, I'm 21 now...not exactly the age to be making out in the back seat of a moving car while your boy's straight friends are giggling in the front seat.

Admitedly not my shining, most discreet, classiest moment. But when in Rome...

My two-week wait lasted all of two days. Danny called in the late afternoon, asking me out to dinner with his friends. He had decided, spurr of the moment, to avoid work for the evening, and shorten our wait time to 1-1/2 weeks. I was thrilled, the call literally made my day. Of couse the dinner wasn't bad either.

It turned out to be a double-date of sorts, with me, Danny, his friend Rita and her boyfriend Neil. We all were quite chatty throughout, and it was a different pace than my usual time spent with him. It was flattering and a little nerve-racking to meet the friends, especially when it appears he's been talking about me. Questions were asked nearly immediately about city vs. country life, etc. etc., which is cute considering Danny must have been blabing to them, but a little intimidating too. I'm new to this whole routine.

We had a delicious, long, heavy dinner that I insisted on covering (saying simply "Happy Thanksgiving" to him and stealing the cheque away). Afterwards we did the ever-original swing by the movies. Neil and Rita sat a row in front of us, very diplomatically, while Danny and I assumed our usual spot in the back corner.

As soon as the lights went down, his lips were on mine. The advances got progressively worse; his hands up my shirt, down my pants, in my breifs...

"Uh, are you trying to get me to cum in my underwear?"

"That'd be fun."

While I don't think anyone spied us and our busy hands, and not like I would have cared at the time, I still feel a little twinge of surprise. I don't usually do this. But I don't usually have a boy out on a date, so maybe this is normal after all. Still, not exactly the classiest thing to be doing in the corner of a dark theatre, but in my defence, it was all his idea. He naturally blamed me for turning him on.

Neil was graceous enough to drive me back to my place, which turned into a mini-driving tour of the city. We hit all the fun spots: Church St., Queen St., Front St., though admittedly I saw only half of the sights due to intermittent making out and cuddling in the back seat. I'm very impressed with the straight friend's tolerence of the two gay boys in the back seat. Neither seemed particularily perterbed, and Rita was caught, on more than one occasion, watching us.

Danny kept muttering in my ear about how badly he wanted to come home with me, but his parents are leaving on vacation tomorrow morning and he can't miss saying goodbye. I told him family comes first, and that he needed to be there, no matter how badly I wanted him to spend the night. Of course, we tried to rationalise the stay, but considering we'd get no sleep until tomorrow morning, and he needed to be home for at least 8 a.m., it was the best choice to call it a night.

I did my best thank you to Neil and Rita, hoping to seal the deal and win the friends over. Then I turned to Danny, went in for one last deep kiss, and slid from the car, my hand tracing down his arm until our fingertips seperated. I crossed the street, and tried not to look back. Only 11 days to go...

Me being me, once home I wound up questioning our attraction. While I'm not overly bothered by us, and with my doubts ever-shrinking, I still wondered as I walked in my door if we're simply two horny kids who want each other. Our behaviour in the theatre was far from coy, and it took all his strength not to come upstairs with me tonight. But when we're not locked in each other's arms, we still get on fine, and were capable of enjoying social time with his friends. I just don't want to wake up in a few weeks and find we have nothing but our mutual attraction.

Another pleasant surprise. I'd better be careful, I might start getting used to this...

Wednesday, September 26, 2007

The 2 week wait...

Well I think I'm off the market.

Not that we cut that much ground today, but we did clear a lot up. About how he hates the phone, and IM, and that he's not seeing anyone else (but still going on Manhunt, though I never got up the nerve to ask why), and the fact that I'm the first boy he's ever been with ("But I've kissed more than one!").

We talked around labels of what we are ("I guess we're going out.") and through the fact he has nothing to be intimidated about ("You've got more experience than me," he said, to which I replied, "Not in this type of relationship.").

I told him how crazy I was about him. He told me how much he likes me, really really, not just sorta-kinda.

I told him how cute he is. He told me that I'm the most gorgeous guy on earth. Even I think that's a bit of a stretch, but I enjoyed hearing it more than once.

"I'd better go, walk me to the station."

"Gee, guess I'd better get some clothes on," I laughed in the semi-darkness.

"Yeah, don't want anyone getting their eye on you, stealing you away," he said.


Really, it was interesting to hear my reaction to all this. I mean, he's said all the right things, and I was flattered, but my damn lack of self-confidence kept me from truly enjoying it. Especially the 'gorgeous guy' phrase...I couldn't believe he said it.

I pulled back from our kiss, laughing out loud. "Are you kidding me?" I said. Inside I shrank, warmed by the flattering words but aghast he had said them. So hard for me to hear such high praise. It cannot be true.

Sad, in a way, that I've convinced myself nobody finds me attractive. I didn't even know it was that bad. Sadder still that my knee-jerk reaction is, instead of truly enjoying the statement, pulling back and snorting in disbelief.


He wants me to come out to his neck of the woods soon.

"Just a couple people," he said, "just hang out, maybe watch a movie..."

I'm actually really excited by this prospect, because it means this is maybe going somewhere.


"'s 7. I'm so screwed."

"Well, it won't take you that long to get home," I said, arms wound in his. "What are you going to tell them anyway?"

"That I was lying in bed with the hottest guy I've seen," he said, then he laughed. "Yeah, probably not the best lead in."


Two weeks is a long time at this moment. Kinda intimidating to think that we won't see each other until after our crazy-early Thanksgiving, two weekends from now.

After I came, I looked at him quizzically. It was one of those spontaneous sex acts, and unexpected orgasms. "What was that for?"

"Oh, I didn't want you forgetting about me for two weeks."

"Believe me, I'm more worried you're going to forget about me."

He's got work all the time's I'm free, I've got class when he doesn' I'm heading out of town back home next Wednesday, and he's working extra shifts over the holiday. Worst timing ever, though thankfully we've both caught each other's interest enough to be able to wait it out.


"What I said before, about the labels. Yeah, I guess we're going out. But it feels a little more serious than that. I don't know what it's called," I said. Somewhere inside I regretted saying it, but I wanted him to know this is moving beyond just dinner and a movie.

"Yeah," he answered.

Sunday, September 23, 2007

Who are these people?...

My weekend tradition has been initiated.

If funds allow, and I haven't got much else happening, I head to Starbucks with a newspaper in the late morning, have coffee, a piece of their breakfast loaf, and read. It's pretty damn relaxing, and it accomplishes quite a few things. I get myself out of bed before 11, showered and dressed, fed and coffee'd and ready to actually accomplish stuff. Plus, I get to read the paper.

Sunday mornings mean the New York Times, although at a pretty high cost. While reading the NYT Magazine, I stumbled across the real estate pages. And learned what high cost meant.

Of course, they were advertising for the highest calibre of individuals, but I could not help but be slightly appalled. Prices were rather high, at $12 million (roughly) for penthouses, houses within condos, etc.

I, like every red-blooded boy in the world, have always been curious about New York. The big city, the flash and glamor, with promises of a time one can only experience in New York. The place where dreams are made, or broken, or as the Times magazine said today, "A place where people put it all on the line and bet on themselves."

There is, of course, the dream of making it big in New York. After all, if you hit the big times there, you've hit the big times everywhere. That's where the $12 million penthouses go.

But what about everyone else in New York? What about the millions of people who live there lives there, out of the spotlight and away from the mansions? Who are they, and how do they live?

I'm not turning bleeding-heart communist here, I'm just curious about the 'average' New York experience. I somehow doubt that everyone lives in 40,000 sq. ft. luxury, so if you don't why stay in New York?

Is it that pulse of the rich city? The chance that maybe, if you play your cards, things will turn out for the better? Or is the average New Yorker just an average city citizen, the same as if they were settled in any other American city?

Could it be that the rich and famous aren't really what New York is about? After all, they are so outnumbered by the unrich and unfamous that it seems hard to believe the overwhelming wealth of a few people can constitute the heart and soul of a city of millions.

Whatever the reason, the world is fascinated by this New York. Maybe it's just the island we all hedge our dreams on. Maybe it just exists in the collective imagination of ours.

One day I'll take a bite out of the big apple, but will it be from the million dollar mansions or the Bronx bus line?

Saturday, September 22, 2007

Love myself...

Looking around, seeing different types of people, wondering what it would be like to live their life.

It's something that everyone does, at some point or another. Humans seem to thrive on the fantasy of being someone else. It's what drives reality television; the desire to see what other people are like, how their lives are different and better than our own.

When will I be confident enough in myself to just be happy with me. To not look at someone who seems more attractive, more interesting, more lucky than myself and slip into a fantasy about how things would be 'different' if I were them. To simply be happy as I am.

When I was out with my dad the other weekend, I was struck by the audience. There were many teens/20somethings either with friends from college or their families. One guy in particular stood out to me. They sat a few rows in front, and he looked like the typical countrified university kid. Tall-ish, blonde-ish, trucker hat. I'd do him (surprise).

My imagination wandered...what if I had gone to some country school. Would I have come out like him? Have that sense of style, of self, of identity to wear?

In the sea of different identities that swirl around us, when do we grow up enough to just appreciate our own qualities? Certainly we are allowed our fantasies, where we play out everything from mock romances to different turns at jobs. But are most people happy as they are, or do they work tirelessly to promote an image they feel others will enjoy more than their real selves?

Perhaps I'm being too concerned about it. After all, there are many times that I look inward and smile at my appreciation for art, wine, music...the things I feel make life worth living and provide comfort and pleasure. Yet when I look at someone totally consumed with sports scores and pork rinds, I can never see myself as being happy with that lifestyle.

So is it the qualities that I aspire to, or the acceptance of my own tastes? People tell me I'm too old for my own good, and many days I agree with that. Social situations seem to dictate that a 21-year-old college boy should wear his hat backwards, swill beer from kegs indiscriminately and spend Sunday afternoon either watching or partaking in a sporting event. My preferences lie what I daresay is far from those...which make it difficult to find acceptance amongst some people.

But maybe that's the root of it all. Pretending this is a two way street, I could also argue the very preferences that I have are something Mr.Football should sit at home and wonder about, or wish he understood more. The problem is, naturally, there are more Mr.Footballs than there are of me. This makes one instinctively reach out for the opposite side, with the overbearing feeling they must be in the wrong, instead of vice versa.

I did a few psychological tests for a friend earlier this week. My results were interesting, and somewhat contradictory. I apparently do not change myself to fit into social situations, nor do I deeply care what people think about me. I also don't set myself up for social failure, then blame 'the world at large' for my misgivings. The very qualities that I would think mean I don't wonder about 'other people' are present in me, yet I find myself dreaming of a significantly different life than I have. I guess it goes to show I'm not really unhappy with myself after all.

With all of this behind me, I was then told my self-confidence is on the low side. A healthy level is 40, a poor level is 10; I scored 25. While not disastrous, it does indeed hold room for change.

So maybe that's the answer I've been looking for. If I can just gain the self-confidence that I seemingly should posses, maybe I can rid myself of the daydreams wasted on other's lives.

Or maybe they're just harmless muses after all, because it seems that you aren't going to change me.

Thursday, September 20, 2007


In a semi-chic ballroom, in a semi-famous building, with a semi-famous radio host, a semi-out boy attended his first charity fashion show.

But not before he spend an hour and a half cuddling with his new boy-whatever.

It all started at lunch, in a crazy restaurant downtown. The noise almost drove us outside, but Danny wanted to stay. We tried to talk, and I found myself wondering what to say. We're not at the point when conversation can lull and I don't worry he's bored.

After eating, we went for a walk. The day was beautiful and warm, a relief compared to what we've felt recently. Now, if only we weren't in downtown Toronto, I'd have curled up on some grass with him and been quite content.

The walk ended up taking us back to my apartment, where we sat and baked on the balcony on our dilapidated swing. After a while we wound up kissing, then stood at the balcony's railing and looked down at the world around us. We headed inside and lay on my bed.

What was nice was the simplicity of it, just lying there, holding hands, his head on my chest. We both felt comfortable.

But at one moment, I looked into his eyes, and thought I saw trouble. There was a nagging expression that wouldn't go away.

"Whats up," I asked gently.


"You've got a look. What's wrong."

"Nothing, nothings wrong."

"Ok, why the look then? You can tell me."

"Oh, its nothing...just...something that would make things awkward right now..."

I of course freaked out mildly internally, but stopped myself from showing too much. He never explained what was on his mind.

Later, he kept giving these little laughs. "What!" I asked playfully.

"It's just...I'm happy. You make me happy." I'm pretty sure part of me melted then and there.

As time dragged on, and I realized I needed to get to my show, we both refused to move. "Just two more minutes," he said sleepily, wrapping my hand in his and kissing it.

We rode the subway together until I had to change trains, and I promised to call him today and set up our Friday. I really, really didn't want to leave him.

The fashion show was more or less what I expected it to be. The cocktails and light foods were horrid, and no matter how many Cosmo's I threw back, I didn't feel buzzed. Considering it was their signature drink of the evening, they consisted of mostly cranberry juice and ice, with a thimble full of vodka in each.

I schmoozed less-than-exemplarily, but that was because the crowd was mostly looking to talk with their guests, not with each other. Finally, the show started, and it was very much as imagined, with models, asses swaying behind them, lunging down the stage. Most of the clothing was hideous, and none of it was men's, so I really took very little from the fashion itself.

Afterwards, we went for a late dinner and post-show conversation. I can definitely see myself doing these types of functions in my later years, when I'm connected and influential. At the moment, it was a good way to take my fashion show virginity.

Today I spent the afternoon daydreaming about Danny, waiting to call him. When I did, he didn't answer. Funny, I thought, but not a big deal. I texted him to call me.

Moments later, he did. (Was he ignoring my calls?) He seemed surprised to hear from me, until I mentioned we hadn't set a time for tomorrow's meeting. We agreed on 1, but he says now that he's busy in the evening, something he had mentioned before but I was unsure of. I'm a little jealous, because I was hoping to have the whole day with him.

My insecurities have shifted somewhat, but probably are all saying the same thing. Now that I understand he is interested in me, it's even more intimidating and worrisome. Who are those gay guys he's just added to his Facebook over the last few days? What is he doing Friday night that will cut our date short? Is he really interested in me, or was he just happy to hold someone for a while?

Tomorrow I plan on asking some careful questions, because I need to know where he's coming from. He seemed almost distant on the phone today, should he not have been moony and said he missed me, after telling me how much he didn't want to leave me just 24 hours before?

It feels like it's going in the right direction, but as we move forward, my insecurities always sneak along with me.

Monday, September 17, 2007


After careful dissection of 'the date', I've got to admit things are no clearer.

Nina balks at a relationship at all, since she's not the committed girl. Laura says that I should just go have fun. Lisa says that everything sounds like a perfect start.

So why am I so worried?

I know why. I'm insecure as all hell, and I'm questioning how charming and enticing he thinks I am. I'm scared that he'll find some other profile online and be off after him, leaving me in the dust.

It's sad, really, that I'm this worked up after one date. Not like we're getting married next week here. It could turn out we're not compatible, or worse, that we're looking for different things.

It could work, and that would be great. I guess the question is, how long before I know it's working?

I don't want to simply 'have fun' only to find out he doesn't want anything serious. Which is hard, considering every time I mention seeing him he seems excited.

Essentially, I want it all. I want something to finally work out. Here I've got what appears to be a great guy, but what do I do next?

Not to mention the utter terror at the fact he's still online, getting hit on by God knows who, chatting to how many other people while he's organizing our lunch date. Of course, this is all complete crap, because theoretically I could (and should) be doing the same thing. But its the insecurity talking; I don't want to loose his interest because of the hundreds of other guys who are hotter, smarter, funnier, better...

My last 'relationship' thingy moved fairly rapidly, as it seemed we were both interested. Not rapidly in the sexual sense, but in the amount of time we spent together. Over the first three days, we had spent at least half of each together. This I am sure is uncommon. There was no cooling off between dates.

The question must be asked, do you get to cuddle on the couch with your dates at this stage? Or am I supposed to be semi-cool, semi-detached and entertain with the city as my living room rather than my apartment. I don't want to ask the 'hard' questions too early, and come off as freakishly clingy, but I can't give the impression that I'm not interested.

Why do I have to question everything I do. Why can't I just go with the flow, and see what develops? Oh, right, because I'm single, and lonely, and grasping at straws.

(This will be my last post on this issue, because I know how droning and boring I will become.)

Sunday, September 16, 2007

Saturday night well spent...

"So did you hold hands in the movie?" Nina asked, standing in my doorway.

I had just gotten home, and was all smiles, secretly dying to talk about my night.

"Oh shut up," I laughed, "what was I supposed to do, blow him in the theatre?"

My night had been what I think was a fairly successful first date. I managed to be funny enough to keep him laughing, flirty enough to keep up eye contact, and interested enough to put him at ease.

Not that there was anything no to be interested in with in Danny. Cute without trying hard, friendly, intelligent...that smile...

We met up at 6:30, me with butterflies in my chest. After all, first dates for me at this point in my life aren't just 'ah-fuck-it' fun, since I'm trying to present myself as semi-sane. But from the first moment, it was pretty easy. Conversation flowed. We laughed about school and work, even if we stood out as the only gay couple at this place (note to self, maybe have dinner dates closer to/in the Village).

After dinner, we opted for a movie, but had an hour to kill in between. I suggested Starbucks, and he agreed. But once we got there, I forgot the important question, "Do you drink coffee?"

"Oh, sure," he said, "but usually just Tim Hortons or something."

Does nobody in my life consume as much coffee as me, other than my classmates?

We talked some more, at one of those small-ish tables, and I tried to gauge his reaction to me. Our hands grazed on the table a few times, which left me wondering what he was thinking.

In the movie theatre, we choose the back corner to sit. Alright, I thought, this is cozy, and a little private. But as the movie rolled, nothing really happened. Of course, I don't know the dating rules and queues, so I sat there elbow-to-elbow with him. I was waiting for him to make some move, any move, and finally our knees connected. Hurray, elbow and knee connection. Why am I such a dork?

Eventually our hands touched, and he hovered a bit. Finally after a few moments of that we were holding hands. Then we were wrapped arm in arm, with him running his hand up and down my forearm. We stayed like that for the rest of the movie.

The lights came up and we sat there. I'll admit, for the breif moment I was a little hesitant to be seen so far from the Village holding a boy's hand, but I felt guilty afterwards. It shouldn't matter, and we didn't budge as the theatre cleared.

"So, ready to get out of here?" I asked, smiling at him.

"Uh, lets wait five minutes," he answered. OK, I'll admit, the first kiss in the movie theatre is smaltchzy, but I'm a sucker for that shit. And he's a good kisser, knows how to use his tongue. We got up and held hands all the way out to the street.

Neither of us wanted to go. I offered for him to come back downtown with me, but he broke the news he had work Sunday morning. We wound up in a little bar just down the road, sitting across from each other, holding hands. On the upside, I don't think anyone was pointing and staring, but again I felt that oh-my-god-I'm-holding-a-boy's-hand-in-public rush. But we never stopped, and I realized how very little I cared.

Finally, we were going to head our separate ways. But not before some good-night making out. We wandered for a while, but I found it's incredibly hard to find an unlit corner to kiss boys in. There was an alcove nearby which looked like it had no traffic, so we stopped there and our lips met. He's almost as tall as I am, so it was great height-ratio. It was getting pretty hot, hands grabbing my ass, lips trailing down my neck, hard-ons grinding into each other.

Then, all of a sudden, he pulled back. I wondered what was wrong for a second, then heard heels behind me. Apparently he's not crazy about making out with a boy in this much public. We went back to kissing, but street traffic magically picked up, so we had one last deep kiss and walked towards the subway.

About halfway down the path, he stopped me. "You know, I really don't want to go," he said, spinning me around and kissing me again. We walked five feet, kissed, walked five more feet, and were finally at the tracks. His train was waiting, and he jumped on. My train arrived, and we gazed out our widows at each other, not breaking eye contact until the tunnel wall was in our gaze.

All in all, a damn successful first date.

Saturday, September 15, 2007

The 'buddy', the fuck buddy, and the guy who wants to watch...

This is all about sex, so if you don't want to read, wait for the next entry, or go read my last one.

Now that everyone is paying extra attention RE: sex, I've got some theories. I think I haven't been getting laid enough. Silly, I know, but really it's true. For the past few nights I've been getting progressively hornier. Tonight was no exception.

After plans fell through for the evening (what a surprise) I was left with little to do. I opted for a pizza, a bottle of wine and some Sex and the City. Throw some glitter and some pink pillows around my couch and I'm about as gay as it gets.

Well, I've watched about as much as I can take, so I get up and head for the computer. But there it is, that damn itch! I checked out Craigslist for a laugh, and saw the picture of a guy I'd slept with last year. It was fun, he was a man of few words, but he'd talked to me a few times in between, so I figured we might still have another go round.

I signed into my crusing account, and lo and behold the Buddy comes online. I instantly messaged him, kicking off the conversation, not really knowing what to expect.

While I'm waiting for that to get going, I reply to a few CL ads. I get an e-mail back from a very cute guy, and we also start chatting online.

Of course, my fuck buddy David is nowhere to be found, considering he has some sort of thing called a 'life'. But he did leave me a message on my birthday saying he can't wait to come over and give me my present. Whatever could that be?

I'm very amused at the fact I have a fuck buddy at all. It just sort of grew out of our having sex more than once, and our mutual interest in keeping it going. It's not nearly as flashy as Hollywood depicts it, with the midnight booty calls and looks of lust across a crowded restaurant. In actual fact, he can't say sex, fuck, or otherwise indicate we're going to bed with each other. Instead, he simply says, lets 'hang out'.

Of course, he jerks me around endlessly, but he's good in bed, and as I mature and grow into this thing called a gay sex life I've learned how to deal with it and keep the fun in the 'fun' category. Plus, it's damn convenient not having to order out for sex with someone new.

I prioritize my time with the new guy online. His picture reminds me of a boy from home, who was on the swim team. He was never a crush, because we never knew each other, but he was probably the cutest boy in his grade. That made this new guy even more interesting. I offered to have him over, and he seemed hesitant, saying maybe I should go over there.

Then he said that his 40-year-old roommate was home. Oh, and he'd like to watch.

The sad thing is, I seriously considered it. And if that 40 was a 30, or even a 35, I might have gone along with it. But even if I am diversifying my sex life, I'm not at the stage where I want guys that age watching. It smacks of over-bearing control, of someone being taken advantage of. Maybe I'm insane and don't understand that sexual dynamic yet, but I just wasn't feeling it.

I explained that to him, all the while becoming more wary. He tried to get me to come over, telling me he only does this once a year, and he won't want to next week. Of course, in the previous sentence he was telling me how cool it was for his roomie to watch him and this other guy fool around recently. The weird vibes were outweighing the good ones, and I ended our conversation. I felt badly though, wondering if this kid was being kept under the thumb of some twisted molester-type. But don't quote me, because I don't know all the facts.

With that behind me, I went back to the Buddy. Remember, this isn't David the fuck buddy, this is just Buddy from a million years ago. We started talking dirty, and I was surprised to see he remembered some of the things we did. He wants me to moan for him. Apparently, he likes that.

Also, apparently, he's more vocal online than he was in person, because it got really graphic, really fast. Which lead to me loosing some clothes, really fast. I've never gotten into that cyber/fantasy/phone-sex thing before, but we were going full out. Not the best sex I've had, but certainly not the worst.

And, it whetted his appetite. He's going to come by sometime soon, he says, for our official round two.

Some of you by now are doubtlessly wondering how I plan on keeping a relationship if I'm interested in fucking three different guys nearly simultaneously. Well, I've got two modes, and would be more than happy to divert all my sexual energy to one cute ass than to three. Its a hard decision to make if your relationship is going to be open and allow for certain dalliances outside of your traditional sex life, or to be completely monogamous. Either way, I'm more than willing to give it up for a boy who'll actually be around to have coffee with me in the morning.

While sex isn't going to give me a social life, especially when I'm picking up online and not at a club, it did help me blow off some steam. Even if it was just e-steam.

Friday, September 14, 2007

Bad head space...

I think I'm falling back into some depression.

And I can't pinpoint why. It started as a gnawing in August, an general unhappiness with summer life. My mother felt it too, and we both commented on our unease. Why would there be any? Why was it not carefree? Yet there we were, both feeling it. It was disturbing then, because I came home from France triumphant. Happy, exhausted, but content with life, and the promise of summer ahead.

Then came the promise of change, of a new beginning in September. And boy, that didn't go off without a hitch. But aside from the turbulence experienced at the beginning, and the relative business that has distracted me until Wednesday of this week, things have been fine.

Yet here I sit, on Friday, my day off, with a load on my chest. Not that kind, for I'm sure I wouldn't be sitting here writing that version.

It's an uneasiness. Hovering around me, like something in my peripheral vision. It catches my eye, my concentration breaks and I look for it, but it doesn't reveal itself. I try to re-focus, drag my mind away from it, but it continues to bother me.

I ask myself, why can't I be happy? I have so much going for me, so many good things and people in my life. I'm healthy, have food, endless books and things to entertain me. So what is missing from my life, to make me feel this existential angst. Why, instead of sitting at home worried, can I not sit at home and be content?

In exploring this, I can't help but wonder, is this to do with my coming out and sexuality? I feel like Matt does, trapped in this vacuum. Am I taking the 'hard road' in all of this? Am I being too hard on myself, denying myself fun?

The truth is, I'm scared. I don't want to feel this way, but when I think about walking into a gay bar tonight, I get light-headed and jittery. I'm terrified to kick-start that part of my life, because it's such an unknown. I just don't know how to act, who to talk to, to start becoming part of a community.

When I think of just walking out there tonight, I can't even imagine it. Such a big part of me wants to have as much fun as others seem to be having, but my introverted nature and insecurities haunt me much more than the promise of fun.

Am I giving myself too much credit with my perceived status as coming out/accepting my life? How much farther do I have to go before I've put it to rest, and can simply be?

I used to feel awkward about my sexuality. It's more behind me now, but is that what is causing this angst? Is my problem now something different?

The thing that seems to me as the most logical argument of another problem would be my uneasiness with my social life. In truth, coming back to school is not what I thought it would be. I was expecting a steady stream of company. I was ready for it.

I wasn't ready for rarely hearing from friends. For sitting at home on a Thursday night. So could my problem simply be that I'm suffering from lack of social activity, causing me to be restless and distracted?

Another thought crossed my mind; am I incapable of truly being content? It's a frightening prospect, but as I list off all the good things in my life I cannot imagine why I should feel at times such profound confusion and sadness.

What worries me is that I'm still feeling this way approaching a year after I officially started 'dealing with it'. Things were going so well, or so I thought. Now I'm as scared and isolated as I felt then.

Bottom line, I do not want to feel this way. I've felt this way for too long. I tasted the carefree happiness from France. And I want it back.

I can hear my great-grandmother's call in the back of my mind, "Get over yourself. Pick up and carry on and be thankful for what you have." Believe me, I want to.

So why can't I?

It reminds me of a song I listened to this afternoon, sung by Candi Staton, written by Dan Tyler.

"When will I ever learn,
all my worry is a waste of time
when will I ever learn,
letting go brings peace of mind.

When will I ever see,
things have a way of working out
when will I ever be free,
free from fear, free from doubt.

When will I ever know,
the peaceful feeling in my soul
When will I understand,
God loves me the way I am.

Oh Lord, I pray to you,
give me the faith to make it through.

I see a lonely sparrow fly...and I wonder, when will I?"

Two way street...

Everything in life is a two way street.

I want to have that tattooed on my arm, so that I can look at it and remind myself when I forget. Or hang it on my ceiling, so it's the first thing I see in the morning.

It's not an excuse for laziness on my part. I'm not looking for an easy way out of responsibilty, something to allow me to slide blame onto others. But it's a statement that resonates with me nearly every day.

For example, my current state. I had a date tonight. Cute, smart guy. Who texted me this morning to ask if we can push it to tomorrow night instead. And who won't answer his phone.

I initially (and still) felt badly about it. What does it all mean? Is this just a polite brush-off? He seemed so interested yesterday, yet today for no explained reason he says he can't make it. Of course I started to wonder what was wrong with me; did I say something a little off-color, am I not attractive on second thought, was I too eager-sounding?

After thinking about it for a while, I reminded myself that the two way street meant that I shouldn't feel too badly about the situation. I made my effort, he faultered in his. I'm not sure why, but it wasn't something that I can control.

This mentality applies to any situation. You make an effort, and you get shot down. Be it at work, in school, in a relationship...most every problem has more than one contributor. I've just got to learn not to beat myself up when things don't work out, because it's not always on my shoulders.

Like I said, this is no excuse to be lazy. I'm not implying that I should be allowed to slack because there's 'someone else' involved who I can pin blame on. But I'm too quick, especially in today's situation, to simply say that there must be something wrong with 'me'.

In every action of every day, you choose which street you walk down. Some paths take you to meet someone half-way. Others you must walk miles farther until you run into someone, who hasn't walked nearly as long as you have. Sometimes you walk a few feet, and expect people to make the rest of the journey to you. But whatever the case, you're not walking that road alone; the expectation is that you will eventually meet the other person. It all just depends on how much effort you each put into it.

And I'm trying hard not to feel like the one who's failed, on the two-way street of life.

Thursday, September 13, 2007

Tech Problems...

I've got huge internet problems.

The apartment internet has gone insane, and died as of 36 hours ago. As a result, I have to use campus internet, which does not have any messaging services. This is both irritating and difficult, because I have to constantly look over my shoulder while I'm checking certain sites.

Hopefully I'll be back up soon. I've got a few posts in the oven, and they should be done in short time!

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

Cats and dogs...

The rain just started falling and ruined my pathetic evening plans.

Really, in some ways, it's best the rain fell. It saved me from myself. When I pulled my jacket on, plugged myself into my iPod and reached for my umbrella, he sky opened. I could see people on the street below running for cover from the rain.

My big plan tonight was to go to Starbucks. And maybe read.

How sad is that?

Here I am, back in Toronto, surrounded by thousands of people...limitless things to do. But nobody to do them with.

My day went really rather well. I've been stressed, already, about school and getting some early assignments in. But today everything went really well. I came home, with the vague desire to do something fun tonight. After all, things went much better than expected, and I wasn't nearly as tired or stressed as I had anticipated.

After eating dinner with Laura, I tried to think of something to do. The first thing that popped into my mind was a pint at one of our local jazz establishments. I haven't gone yet, and it's always a fun time. You get a great mix of music with time for talking, plus I like the beer one particular place serves.

But as I drew up my plans, I drew a blank on who to go with. There's Christine, a friend I haven't even seen on campus yet. Or what about Joe? Maybe his roommate Andrew. Oh, how about Jayne, the girl from France?

As I spoke out names to myself, I couldn't seem to find someone who fit. It started to scare me, and I felt like I did at points last year; disconnected, out of the loop...unsocial.

I never ended up calling anyone, because in truth, there is nobody on my list of people I feel comfortable enough in just calling up and saying, "Hey! Lets meet up at (blank)."

I got to fool myself this summer. Told myself, "Look at your last few weeks of school, you were busy! You were out! You were in some demand!" The thankful excuse was that I was out of town, had no reason or way to get in touch with people. There was no need to worry, things would be different when I got back.

Now, here I am. Back. It's not even been two weeks yet and I'm already worrying myself over the fact I haven't made any big plans yet, haven't hit the bar with friends, haven't gone to a movie with someone...

The truth is, I don't know what kind of a creature I am. Before, I swore up and down I didn't need lots of interaction to be happy. I despised people who could not be alone for an evening, or an hour, without feeling the need to call someone or make some plan.

Now tonight I'm doubting myself. I'm here, almost by myself (my roommate off studying), and I'm feeling vulnerable and alone. Jesus, I'm not a first year, how is it that I'm struggling to come up with someone to go for a quick beer with?

Ultimately I've slipped into a very bad mood tonight. I don't even know why anymore, just one of those frustrated, tired evenings. I wonder if all the party boys have these moments too. Do they cover them up by diving face-first into 'fun', or are they blissfully unaware of their own misgivings and shortcomings?

Do party boys have shortcomings?

An astute psychologist may interpret my problem as age-related angst. For, you see, Steve has recently (and quietly) turned 21. So what exactly is my problem? Here I thought I was growing up, becoming more comfortable with myself. Mature enough not to worry about petty things like a social life. Happy to curl up after a nine-hour day with a plate of Thai food and Sex and the City.

I quickly fall back on the 'if-there-was-a-boyfriend' idea. Well, if there was one, I wouldn't feel out of place doing nothing on a Tuesday night. Maybe we'd read together, or have a late dinner, or watch a movie...some small distraction. But doing these things by one's self seems to outline your separation from other people, more than doing this with a significant other outlines your dependence on one person.

Ultimately, I just don't know. I kept telling myself that when I was a little older, things like this just wouldn't matter anymore. I'd be happy doing my own thing, in my own way. But I just haven't quite got there yet.

Sunday, September 9, 2007

Separation anxiety...

I was doing quite fine with being back in Toronto.

Apparently, my parents were not. Last night my dad and I went to a concert together, Brad Paisley at the Molson Amphitheatre (see, I told you how diverse my taste is!). The show was really fun, and it was great to have some father-son time.

And what better way to enjoy father-son time than wind up crying, twice, while holding your dad's hand.

During one of the opening acts, Rodney Atkins, a particularity poignant song was played, "Be Like You". It's all about a father and a son, and how the son wants to essentially be like his father, sort of a my-dad's-the-best sentiment. I have always had trouble communicating with my dad, because of his emotional unavailability. It's not that he's not always laughing, or talking to me, or's just that he cannot express that damn inconvenient 'love' emotion very well.

Well, the song gets well underway, and I throw my arm around my dad and strangle his shoulder. He tipped his head into mine, and put a vice grip on my knee. I tried hard not to, but those damn tears started trailing down my face. It was a nice moment.

Then, later, during Brad Paisley's set, there was a song dedicated to those who have died in recent memory. Some famous faces were splashed on the screen, and I started getting all overly emotional again.

"I love you so much," I said, grabbing his hand. "Don't ever leave me."

What the hell is going on with me? I've never been this emotional before, honestly, someone should check to see I'm not pregnant.

I guess it's because of how much I feel things have changed in a year. I'm a different person. I'm growing up, and breaking free from home. I'm coming out. Who knows...

Then I found out that my dad thinks I should go home for the night with him. You know, it'll be easier than taking you back to your place (?). And I don't mind driving you back down tomorrow.

I really wasn't planning on it, because I haven't even been away that long, and I was trying to make plans for Sunday. But I wanted to be the 'good son', so I agreed, reluctantly, and went along.

This morning, my mom threw her arms around me. "It's nice to have you home!" she said. "It's been so quiet around here."

Good Lord! I've been gone 2 seconds and they're both going on as if I were just back from 2 months abroad. I realized then and there that I'm going to have to figure out just exactly what to do for everyone's benefit.

On one hand, I'm trying to be nice to my parents. They're having obvious difficulties with my being gone, and I don't want to make them unhappy because I simply want my own space.

But on the other, I'm in my third year of university, and I'm growing up. Part of what's holding me back is the convenience of being able to be home when I want to. How am I going to evolve my social life if I can't even stay in the city more than a week!?

It's a delicate issue. I have to learn to balance my own new independent life with my family. And I just don't know how to do that. I need help. (What else is new?)

Friday, September 7, 2007

What I've been doing...

Today is my lazy day, and it feels earned.

Strange to say, since I've just moved back to Toronto on Monday, but it's been a crazy week. Totally unexpected. Everything from my move in day to now has basically been unplanned.

So today, I slept late (9:20!), and have been puttering almost ever since. Except for the last half hour, when I was doing actual work, which is important and time-sensitive.


It's incredibly hot outside. Warmer than usual, considering our summer was a scorcher some days. The heat is an oppressive wave from which there is no relief. I keep my blinds closed to block sun, but the stagnant air flowing through does little to cool my body.

The fan is running on 3, it's highest setting, and even it does little. How much can it improve, if all it does is blow the already hot air around the room? I miss air conditioning. Every crack and crevice of the apartment is hot, including the cupboards. It makes me afraid of some type of spontaneous combustion of my package of bread crumbs or whole wheat pasta.

The weather man says that it's going to be cool mid-70's by tomorrow. One more day of heat. I remember when heat meant blissful relaxation in the shade. Now it just means melting in your shoes on your walk home, then melting some more in your bed.

Plus, I smell bad. Stupid sweat.


Joe is big, lanky and has a grin incomparable to others. Honest, fair and balanced. Genuine.

We ran into each other yesterday afternoon, along with a few other friends. People chatted, and slowly the crowd dispersed. It left just the two of us, and he needed to get something done before he could call it a day.

I accompanied him while he finished working, which took 90 minutes. I had no other pressing plans, and our obscure location afforded me time in a place I have visited only once before. We plan on returning another day to watch some more.

Afterwards, we were walking down the street, and simultaneously said, "Lets get a beer!" Beer and pub food, and good catching up time.

"So this year...I wanna actually date," he tells me, and I smiled along. Sounds good, after all, doesn't everyone? "What about you, how's the lady-front going?"

I paused. This was it. Do I choose to out myself to a trustworthy friend, or just shrug it off with an "I'm-not-seeing-anyone."

"Actually, I'm gay," I said, strangely sounding more confident and concrete than I had expected to.

He smiled. "Oh, I didn't know!"

"I don't think a lot of people do," I said. "Not something that comes up often I guess."

"Dude, if I've ever said anything offensive, I'm sorry," he offered, but he's never done so. Straight-up stand-up guy.

He asked if my parents know, and how it went with my mom. "I kinda wouldn't have a big deal with it," he said, "my parents would probably be excited for me!" I told him I was jealous.

The conversation resumed it's normal tenor, as if I had told him I was left handed.


I saw my ex-roommate in the grocery store yesterday. Maybe she didn't see me, or so I'm telling myself. I had bought my salad for lunch, and was just about to leave when she angled by me, thankfully far enough away. She had a bemused smirk on her face, which makes me wonder if she was already laughing at me. I turned and went to he floral section, checking out the bouquets and potted plants with immense interest. Eventually I tore my phone from my pocket, holding it to my ear as if deep in conversation. I frowned, nodded, then hung up and made another call.

I probably looked like an idiot. But I really don't want to face her. I still get that sick feeling in my stomach when I think about having to ever see her again.


Tonight I will travel to the Bank of Montreal's Football field and be one of the lucky people who hear Genesis' newly re-formed tour. It's very exciting, I've never been to the 'first concert' in a tour before. Hopefully there will be lots of surprises (the good kind).

The possible bad surprise is the fact it may rain. None of the weather sources can agree on when it will start; some swear not until after midnight, while others cast a gloomy (pun intended) picture, claiming an 8:30 p.m. shower is not out of the question.

Thursday, September 6, 2007

We share a cast of characters...

I should go 'round the table and introduce everyone.

There have been recurring characters in my life, but I now think it's time to clarify who they all are. Since I'm back to school, there should be a lot more interaction with them, and I don't want anyone confused.

So, we've got:

-Laura, the girl from high school, and one of my new roommates. Also, one of the three 'best friends'.
-Nina, the other new roommate, and a friend of Laura's.
-Lisa, my other best friend from school, and the first person I came out to.
-Ashley, my third and final 'best friend', who doesn't live in Toronto.
-David, the guy I'm sleeping with.
-Dad, the emotionally unavailable father-figure.
-Mom, the one I've got to figure out what our 'problem' is.
-The Bad Grandmother, the one who's the cause of my father's emotional unavailability, and who I don't even see as a 'grandmother', more like the lady that comes to Christmas dinner.
-Grandma and Grandpa, who are great grandparents, but can never know. They'd disown me quicker than...I don't even know, it's not a laughing matter.
-Ex-roommate, the crazy bitch that helped ruin last year for me.
-Brian, the guy I dated for three seconds earlier this year, who now says we should get together since I'm back to Toronto.
-Ella, the crazy blond from my France trip, and my possible ticket into some gay life.
-Rez Guy, the really cute token gay guy from my residence, who I was supposed to sleep with but have yet to.

There are, obviously, a number of people who should be added to this list. But I can't think of them at the moment. I'll probably add them as I go along, so if you ever read about someone you don't recognize, check here!

Tuesday, September 4, 2007

Never make me cry...

Admittedly, I've cried more in the past two days than I have in a long, long time.

And they weren't homesick tears.

It all started on Monday. The tension was thick, as it usually is during these moving times. For some reason, instead of just being an understated affair, my moves have always been marred with problems. This one proved to be no exception.

We'd been in close quarters since Saturday, being together nearly every hour of the day. It was a nice way, somewhat, to enjoy the family's last hours together before I left again. But as it always does, the time spent with my mom began to slide into conflict.

I cannot clearly recall what happened on Sunday, between my mother and me. Apparently I was making several comments that were irksome towards her, my sighing and frustrations with her somewhat mundane and (to me) obscure questions. I got up that morning prepared for such questions from her, thinking I could keep myself from sighing, exasperated, and pitching some sideways comments.

Apparently I touched some nerves.

Monday morning, I had just pulled out of the driveway, and was a half-kilometer from my house when she said, "Pull over, turn around."

I don't even recall what I had said the instant before she said this. Turning to look at her, my face creased into a frown of confusion. What was she talking about? I hesitated and continued down the road.

"I said turn around!" she screamed. "Now."

I pulled over, eyes wide with horror. She slammed her fist against the dash and started raving. Completely mad. I couldn't compute what was happening. She was saying that I should take her home, because she was not going to take another day of being my punching bad.

A moment passed, and she calmed. "So what's it going to be? Are you taking me home, or are you going to be civil."

I stammered. "I need your help. I can't move on my own. What am I going to do with the car?"

"That's not my fucking problem," she said.

I started to tear up. This was not making any sense.

For the next several minutes she outlined (roughly) how I had been insensitive, demeaning, passive-aggressive and overall undesirable towards her over the course of the summer. I could understand some of what she was saying, but this was the first time I was made aware of most of it.

She finally agreed to keep going, which I did. But she kept talking, too. My memory is blocked (I'm assuming) because I can't remember what else she said. I just wanted her to shut up, sit in silence and not worsen the situation.

By now tears started falling down my face, and my lip trembled. None of this was making any sense. It was my mother, screaming at me. This never happened.

We made it several kilometers down the road, and she finished her talking. "So, what have you got to say," she demanded.

"I...I don't know...I," escaped my lips. This only worsened the situation.

"Pull over. That's it. Just leave me here."

"No!" I yelled, trying to recover. What the hell was I supposed to say? I thought being non-committal about my answer would keep her from further anger, not produce more.

I talked for a minute, saying how confused I was about what she was saying, asking for more clarification. This helped, as she started talking again. By then her anger was rolling in waves; calm would move in, followed by a new torrent of anger.

Finally we fell into silence. Awkward silence. I wished I were alone, that she had of gotten out, because I wanted to be nowhere near her at that moment. Yet there we were, locked in the car together for the remainder of the trip.

We arrived, and things seemed to have settled a little. After grabbing up the last of the boxes, we dropped my stuff in my room. It was 1:30, and I was afraid she would want lunch.

"Well. That's it then. I guess we should get something to eat," she said, right on queue. I sighed and agreed. What else could I do?

We ate in silence. There was some small talk, about my financial status, and my impending birthday. I was in no mood to discuss anything. After all, it seemed my mother hated me.

Lunch finished and we made the walk back to the car. By now she seemed to have loosened, but I was so hurt that I didn't really soften. My protective shell was around me, and I engaged in little committed conversation.

I put a few empty boxes in the car, and closed the door. She hugged me loosely.

"In the end, you know I always love you. You're the most important thing to me," she said.

"Yeah, I love you too," I said, but I don't know if I meant it right then.

"Well, I'd talk more, but we're just standing in the road," she said. I nodded, and she got in. I started walking and didn't look back.

When I got home, I was in shock. I understand somewhat where she was coming from, recognize my relationship with her is unique. She drives me crazy with seemingly senseless questions and ideas, and I don't handle them well. I snap back with retorts and make it known when I question her. So yes, if this has been building for the entire summer, I can see how she may be upset.

But the way she exploded. It was unlike anything I've ever seen from her before. It broke my heart, and it was a shitty way to leave things between us on the day I moved out.

I found myself in tears a few more times yesterday, but distracted myself with my roommates and unpacking. At times, all I wanted to do was cry it out, but that never happened. Maybe it should have.

Today I got up and went about my business, trying to ignore yesterday's craziness. I still felt badly, but tried to ignore it. I've never been hurt this way before, and I don't really know how to deal with it. I wondered how she was feeling, if she was still furious, or had she regretted what had happened?

Tonight I called my Dad's cell, probing for information. We talked for a while about our days, and what I was up to now that I've moved back. He never mentioned anything, so I finally asked about how mom was. He didn't bite, and just said she was fine.

The conversation was winding down, but I wanted to know what was going on. Finally I said, "So mom and I had a pretty big blowout yesterday."

"Yeah, I heard," he said. "Pretty bad."

We talked about what was said. "You know," he said, all reflective-like, "Your mom is a lot more sensitive than you think. You've more aware of how you say things. Don't get me wrong. We both love you so much, you're a great guy, Steve, you really are..." his voice trailed off. I started to cry again.

What I wanted to ask was why she'd done it, was it really that bad, why it had to happen that day...but I just listened to what he had to say.

"I don't know," he said, "she loves you, buddy, but you've gotta go easy on her."

He paused a moment, while I stifled a sob. "Are you alright?" he asked.

"Yeah, oh yeah..." I said, choked. "It was just a shitty time to do it, I mean, on my last day."

"She felt really bad when she got home," he said. "Really. And she didn't sleep last night. In the morning she was saying how she figures you won't be coming home much anymore, that you're going to be cut off from us..."

(It's a thought. After all, my instinct was that she needed space away from me. I wasn't planning on calling her today.)

"So should I call her? Does she want space?" I asked.

"No, no, call her. She's probably waiting to hear from you, she was really regretting that it happened. I know she felt so bad. You know, we love you, buddy. I love you."

This really got me, because he never says it.

"I love you too."

--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

Later, I picked up the phone and called her. We talked for 15 minutes, a little (lot) reserved, about this and that. How my day went in the city. Et cettera.

I thought she was just not going to mention it, but she asked at the very end. "So, do you want to talk about yesterday?"

"There's really nothing to talk about," I said.

"Oh. Alright."

What was I going to say? How hurt I was? How do I say that without stirring up another fight, because, after all, if I blamed her at all she'd just wind up angry again.

I guess it's over. She didn't say how badly she felt, but it was good to find out from my dad.

Not the high note I wanted to arrive at school on.

Sunday, September 2, 2007

Where am I...

This week is a whirlwind that promises never to stop.

I've been trying to pack, running last minute errands, to Toronto and back 4 times, moved my Grandparents, picked up Lisa from her place...

I'd give you a blow-by-blow but it's boring.

Ultimately, though I'm getting really excited to be moving back to school, I'm not excited about how crazy I've been, and the random hours I've kept.

In the beginning I believed the stress of this week would kill me. There were a variety of obstacles that I needed to brave to organize my life (or attempt to) before I moved to school. Seeing as I'm not the type of person to 'go with the flow' when it comes to moving, I had a profound sense of dread in my gut for the better part of these adventures. Instead of enjoying the last minutes with my family, my mood kept me somewhat distant.

Moving my Grandparents was actually a lot more fun than expected. My parents and I all showed up, "To move a few boxes," as per the description of my Grandfather. There were a few boxes, and we had a lot of laughs packing things up and moving things about their apartment. The day started to grow rather long when we were still there at 4 p.m., hanging fans and their AC unit, but overall it went much faster, and was way more fun than expected. I even got that little heartwarming flutter some time in the morning, when we were all talking and laughing together. I can't describe why. But it felt nice. Something that's been missing.

I packed for the better part of the evening, mostly clothes (I have two suitcases full, how did this happen!?) and am about to pack this computer up. There theoretically should be lots more I need to pack, but I can't remember what all I had in my room last year that I actually used. I'm resisting the idea of taking every DVD and CD I own because I really never touched them. Similarly, I question the need for a lot of the more frivolous stuff, such as an Xbox, because they all take up space and I never remember to use them during the year. As long as I have my Mac, what more do I need?

I know that blog activity across the board has decreased, what with people out and about and dealing with the new semester. I miss you guys, and can't wait for everything to resume the 'new normal' that will be September and school. There are several semi-intelligible posts in the can, but I'm not done tinkering with them yet, but hopefully will have some time to early next week.

Until then...