Tell me.

Tell me there's still time left. I'd follow you into the dark before standing here alone in the light. You are my excuse for everything, and I am your living legacy.

Tell me there's still time. Time to spend in argument, in comfortable silences, in gratifying conversations about everything. Those long, revealing conversations are my comfort. My security blanket. And you.

Tell me. Lie to me. Wrap your arms around me like you always do and say it will all be ok. Everything is perfect and nothing changes inside those arms. I'm still the girl I used to be, and you are still my rock.

Tell me there's still time left for us. The you and me that always was. The understanding, the common ground, the giggles and the tears. The comfort between us is irreplaceable, indescribable. Without you, there is no me.

So tell me. Tell me that this too shall pass. Tell me not to worry and that this world is a just and fair place. Because without your assurance, I'm never so optimistic.

This is for all the Irrational Basketcases out there

You know who you are.

I admit, I expect a lot from people. I expect them to be smart, rational, level-headed, easy-going and fun. Maybe it's because I am all of those things. I've figured shit out enough to hold those attributes, and I expect other people should have their shit figured out too. I sometimes forget that a lot of people are irrational and it throws me off. I don't know what to do in situations where people blow things out of proportion, exaggerate and create drama where there is none. I kind of sit there with my mouth agape, waiting for the punch line. Nope, no punch line, they're serious. *Cough*

What makes a person irrational? Do they think they're being rational, or is it some kind of sick game? I hate drama and will avoid it at all costs, but it seems that some people create it just for fun. They want their lives to be little soap opera's where there's always a fight between someone, some kind of tension and a hospital. Someone needs to be sick and in a hospital, it's one of the soap opera rules of thumb. That, and being pregnant with someone else's baby. I can't be around irrational people for too long or I'll die. Seriously, I'm a ticking time bomb of death. I just want to pull my hair out, then slap them in the mouth and tell them how it is in real life. Not their made-up irrational life of creating fights where there are none.

Of course, everyone has angry moments. But it doesn't take much for me to control my anger, so why do others have such a hard time? I'll take a deep breath, pace around a little bit and then confront the person with a level-head. I can't hold a grudge, and before there was even a fight, it's over and everything is normal. This is why I can't understand people who have fights that last for days and weeks on end. Aren't you tired? I thought people wanted to be happy, not pissed off for some stupid-ass reason for weeks and weeks. I couldn't handle all that anger welling up. Maybe that's why people shoot up convenience stores. An overload of grudge-holding. Just take a deep breath, people. I promise, taking deep breaths will save the world some day.

Inhale, exhale, all better.

Oh, the Nostalgia of it all

Every time I come back to my parents house I make it a ritual to go through all my childhood stuff. Not for any other purpose than to satiate my curiosity. I flip through old year books, read my journals and revel in the nostalgia of it all.

I had forgotten that I used to write a lot of poetry. Some of it was good, most of it awful and none of it am I going to post because it's all dreadfully embarrassing. Today I sorted through stacks of shuffled papers with prose scribbled on them, words I thought were so deep then and know they just make me laugh. I never wrote happy poetry either, it was all depressing stuff. And most of it was written after I had lost someone close to me, or after I was dumped.

So I was flipping through all these papers and found a stack of letters to myself. These letters I've written every three years since I was ten. On my birthday, I write to myself three years in the future. A time capsule of sorts recording my favourite outfits, my grades, boys I liked, advice for myself and what I thought I would be like when I opened up the letter. It's something I always looked forward to reading. It's humbling. Sometimes you forget what hopes you had for yourself in the future. Much of the information written I had forgotten about. Boys I hadn't thought about in years, outfits I wouldn't be seen in for a million, grades I will never see again (I was very studious in high school. Don't know what happened there.) These things were so important to me then. It's strange to think that I couldn't remember most of the things I wrote myself.

So does this mean that all the things I think are important now are going to be irrelevant three years down the road? Isn't that depressing. I suppose it's the whole lessons learned as you get older thing. Damned learning. It ruins everything we thought we knew.

Just Start the Chase

I have no idea how I managed to live in this house by myself all summer. My roommates are gone one night and I can't stop imagining that people are going to break in, find me and attack me. I'm not supposed to be here, I'm a student and it's reading week. I'm supposed to be off in Cuba sun tanning or something. It doesn't help that our house is the oldest of all student houses. Every creak and murmur is some psycho waiting to pounce. I just took a walk around the whole place with a knife peeking around corners for intruders, if you can believe that. And all summer I managed on my own just fine. Except for the time I locked myself in my room because there was a squirrel the size of a cat in our kitchen, but that's another story.
__________

I love unexpected surprises. Like waking up to a foot of snow and class cancellations. I was supposed to write a midterm and lead a ninety minute seminar on emotion. I wasn't prepared for either. I may have a new faith in God, actually.
__________

"I get you, it's ok."
"No you don't. You just met me."
"Don't worry about it, I just get you."
"How arrogant! You think you get me after the whole two hours we've known each other? You don't think I'm a little bit more complex than that?"
"Apparently not. But don't worry I just get people sometimes."
"Uh huh. I get you too. You think you're the shit because you have a fancy job and Italian leather shoes, when really you don't have a clue about people. Don't think just because you make more money than me that you get me."
"Ok, saucy pants."
__________

Just start the chase, and I'll let you win.
Not until this very moment have I ever pictured my life without him.
I think I'm falling in love.
We need to talk.
You have no idea how much I want you.
I can't believe he slept with her.
Did she say anything else about me?
You aren't who I thought you were.
I'm so happy right now, just kissing you.
I feel like I'm stringing you along and that's not fair.
Let's lay here together forever.

It all flies past, and then you're alone again.
__________

Lingering in the moment, I forget to breathe. Your eyes, my eyes, my hands twisting. Your hands calm and folded on the table. The words we both want to hear are too hard to say, so we are left with little silences between nothing conversations. The music is loud, but the tension is louder.

"I need to say something," you admit.
"What's that?" I say collectedly, my insides flickering in anticipation. Then the moment leaves us. The moment always leaves us.

Holding back is the hardest when you have something to lose.

Do I look like the type of girl who would put out?

Unofficial theme of the week: Men are heartless bastards. Going along with the hatred of all things having to do with Valentine's Day... thing. Of course since Valentine's Day is today, two of my good friends have had to brake up with their boyfriends because they are stupid, stupid men. One cheated, and the other is a lazy good-for-nothing. Each of these relationships was two years or more. Why don't they get it? Honestly, right on the day hallmark decided we should be extra nice to the one's we love. Which also happens to be the day that most people kill themselves (I was told.) Honestly, if I chose a day to kill myself it wouldn't be today. I wouldn't be able to stand the thought that so many people were getting laid on the day I die. Way too depressing, even for death.

So why is it men are built so differently from women. I swear, there are so many differences I couldn't quantify them if I tried. And at the same time, even though we are so different from each other, I think we ultimately want the same things. We want to be loved, we want companionship and we want sex. Marriage may have started as an economically motivated merger for procreational purposes, but it's turned into to the need for someone to stick by your side forever. A companion who will love you through whatever circumstances arise and who will have sex with you even when you get old and wrinkly and your body parts get loose and droopy.

So why is it that men don't realize this until years and years after women? Of course I'm generalizing (sorry guys) but in my experience, none of them seem to want commitment anymore. An explanation will be appreciated.
__________

Dance quote of the week from 6-year old Tiffany:

"Does anyone remember what a syllabus is?"
"I think it's a bus they take you on when you break your leg."
__________

So this past weekend I took a trip to Toronto to visit my best friend, and had a good ol' time. It was reminiscent of our teenage years of taking shots of straight vodka out of a water bottle on the way to the bar. I can't remember the last time I was so inebriated. When I'm drunk I am rude, blunt and disgustingly honest while trying to be cute and flirtatious at the same time. And for some reason men love it. There's something about insulting them that makes them want to sleep with you. It must be about the chase. They think I don't like them because I'm saying all these rude things to them, so they try extra hard to get me. A challenge I suppose. Or maybe it's the saucy attitude that they like. Regardless, I love pushing people's buttons when I'm drunk. I'll say the most outrageous things and see what reactions I can elicit. A game I like to play with people.

And yes, it works. These guys were practically begging me for sex. One guy whispered all the dirty things he wanted to do to me in my ear, and when he was done I smiled and said, "that sounds like fun. But only if you can tell me my name." And did he know my name? Of course not. In fact, he called me by my best friend's name.

Needless to say, he didn't get sex that night. Even if he knew my name he wouldn't get any. I just like them to think they have a chance. Does that make me a tease? Probably.

Good times.
__________

The Subconscious vs. The Unconscious

I don't believe we have a subconscious, which may be strange as a Psychology major. I especially don't buy into Freud's definition in which every person is motivated by something unknown to themselves, and usually that something is the desire to sleep with his or her parents. Of course, Freud was a quack. A brilliant quack who had some serious issues himself, I can imagine. But regardless, I can't subscribe to the idea that we make most of our choices based on something we are not aware of. I mean, we are clearly not consciously aware of every process going on in our brains but humans are metacognitive beings. We are aware that we think, we think about our thoughts and we can change them as we see fit. That is what makes us unique from almost every other creature on this planet. So how is it that, being conscious of our own thoughts, we can still be motivated by unknown operations? Don't you think we would individually discover these processes if we thought hard enough about it? On a daily basis we delve pretty far into our own minds, I'm sure something like that would surface eventually. Most people know that they do not want to have sex with their parents, and maintain that through their respective lives despite what Freud says. So I can't believe that there is some kind of process going on beneath our conscious thought.

However, I do believe that there are some things that we may not consciously know about ourselves. Sometimes there are things in our unconscious (note: not the same as subconscious) that we don't want to face or can't admit about ourselves. After all, people are discovering and rediscovering themselves every day. They are learning new things, changing opinions, adopting new strategies and getting to know the world a little bit better.

Which brings me to my point. I read a theory somewhere that says people are in exactly the type of relationship that they need to be in at that time. This seems strange considering that almost everyone complains about their relationships. No one really seems to be completely happy at the time in whatever romantic situation they are (or are not) in, including myself. I'm perpetually single, and I hate it. But I started to think about it a little more deeply. I don't want to be single. But I also don't want to be in a relationship with just anyone. I want to be with someone who will appreciate that I'm an amazing girl. I want someone who is strong and independent and who knows what he wants. I want someone who can't take his hands off me, who wants all of me, all the time. That's a lot to ask of someone, and I wont settle for less. Thus, we come back to my perpetually single conundrum. If I know exactly what I want but haven't found it yet, it makes sense that I'm still sitting here alone. Loneliness is what I need until I find what I am ultimately looking for.

Think about it. Wherever you are in your relationship right now is exactly where you need to be, subconscious processes or none.

Never quite satiated, I am an addict.
Your dirty thoughts and slanting eyes are my pills and needles.
Make me make you want me.
Make me test you, play my games and break all the rules.
Turn me in circles, push me to the ground and twist my wrists until I cry out.
Push my boundaries and get me angry on purpose.
Step out of your comfort zone and pull me out of mine.

Hurt me, but only if I beg you to.

Ode to Ryan

Of all the incriminating photos I have of my roommate, this is in the top ten. He is typically tanned, good-looking, happy and intoxicated in this one. As I'm sure he would like you to know, I wont be getting many of this kind of picture anymore. He and a few of our other friends have decided to take the high road for their New Year's resolutions and not drink for a while. Some of us aren't so strong.

Ryan is a break dancer, a lifeguard, a snowboarder, a human furnace and the best boyfriend ever (not mine, of course.) He is one of my favourite people on this planet. He and I met in our first year on the same floor in residence and decided to move in together the following year with four of our other friends. We've become much closer over the time we've been living together, and every day that he's gone I miss him. Which is every day now because he is a brilliant economist and on co-op in a different city for the next few months. (Jerk.)

Ryan is the most kind, loving and affectionate person I have ever met. He's my couch cuddle buddy, my surrogate husband and my dear friend. It's rare to find a kindred spirit, but Ryan is one. I respect him, I admire him and I take his every word to heart. Ryan is a beautiful person in every respect, and those of us who know him know just how lucky we are.

"You're beautiful of the soul and of the face."

(Love ya.)

Anyone here wanna see me naked?

A student asked me today if next year is my last year teaching. I never realized it until she brought it up today. I guess I blocked it out, not wanting to have to think about saying goodbye to my career teaching dance. Next year is the end of an era. Graduation, starting a new field of work and cutting ties with the community centre which will have been my home for five years. I've left my mark of course. I've influenced change and brought new ideas and creativity to the dance program but I don't want to fade into the background. I couldn't handle coming back and not being known. I've worked too hard.
__________

I saw Urinetown, a musical put on by LMT, the other day. It was so well put together, so incredibly well-done and all the actors were so talented, I was blown away. It made me miss my musical days where all we did was rehearse, day and night. I got bruised, I lost my voice too many times to count, I've cried from laughing and from being yelled at by the stage directors. I learned how to dance on a narrow, slanted, moving box, I learned what a camel toe is, and I learned not to date anyone else in the show. Ever. I love theatre people. They're so eccentric, out-going and loud. I forgot that the time commitment is worth the experience. Next year, people. My re-emergence into the theatre world will be witnessed.
__________

Anecdote of the day: My dad met the Foo Fighters. It's sad when you're dad's life is cooler than your own.
__________

The only people who hate Valentine's Day are those who don't have a valentine. I hate Valentine's Day.

My girlfriends and I are going to make dinner that night in the Valentine's Day lingerie we all bought together and try to appreciate the fact that we're all hot even though we have no boys who want see us in our sexy garb. Or who want to see us out of it. And by that I mean see us naked. This is the point where you tell me you want to see me naked. Anyone?

I have never had a valentine. The only person to ever get me roses is my dad (and all those other people at my dance competitions and musicals, of course.) The point is though, no boy has ever bought me flowers and I've never been with one long enough to buy lingerie for on Valentine's Day. I love the stuff and will buy it for myself, but really it's no fun if there's no one around to see you in it.

Again, anyone wanna see me naked? Please?
__________

A Beautiful Disaster

Nothing magnifies self-doubt like uncertainty.

I look more worn-out than I feel. When I get to this point, I look like I've aged ten years with these dark circles and tired wrinkles around my eyes. I'm emotionally exhausted. I get plenty of sleep, it's the waking hours that take the energy out of me. The waiting, the ambiguity, the unresolved loose ends. If it was in my power, I would tie up every loose end in my life and make sure everyone lives happily ever after. I can't handle uncertainty in the present, but uncertainty about the future is necessary.

I'm a living, breathing contradiction.

A graceful wreck. A calm and collected disaster. Yes, my flaws are beautiful, but can others see the beauty in them? And if they don't does that mean I'm destined to live my life walking alone with nothing but my exquisite mistakes? That's the catch isn't it. You can believe all you want that your flaws make you special and unique, but if others don't see them that way you're fucked. Doomed to be alone.

Maybe no one has taken the time to see the beauty in my imperfections. Maybe no one cares.

But then maybe I just haven't given them the chance.