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!

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.

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 whatever...it'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?)

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.

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!

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 gotta...be 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.

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...