It seems that all my entries in this journal are pessimistic and self deprecating. I hate complaining; it makes me feel like I have such a hard life, when in fact, I don't.

Maybe I am a bad person. Maybe I'm not worthy to have such good friends.

But at least my parents came home: they brought back the laptop with Sigur Ros's new album to lose myself in.

And I think I'm going to give up pot until I'm back in Kingston. And then give it up for a month when frosh week is over and classes start.

I feel so weird now, but that may be due to the pot I've smoked.

X X X

The summer has been, hands down, the best summer I've experienced. I spent so much time with some of the coolest people I know (sadly not all of them), and I loved every minute of it. From the weekend that's been coined 'E Weekend' to dancing like crazy alongside LCD Soundsystem and The Go! Team to drinking in a field to exploring a cemetery to driving with Scissor Sisters, The Killers and Kelly Clarkson to coming up with million dollar story ideas to all-you-can-eat sushi to secret midnight dance parties to 5am street cars to roof top undewear dance parties to cottage parties to smash brothers to "what, you mean in the ass?"--it's been one hell of a ride.

And I can't believe it's almost over.

In the Know

How do you know someone? How do you know when this is accomplished? Is it simply a matter of knowing what they're like in certain environments and how they react to certain stimuli? Do you have to know minute details like a favourite colour/food/clothing/music/band/hair style/actor/movie/book/website in order to know someone? What can you tell someone to get them to know you better? What do they have to tell you to achieve the same thing?

ANd so on. Maybe I"ll work on this later.

Hi.

I'm in a really nostalgic mood all of a sudden...which is probably due to the weed I'm currently smoking. Anyways.

I don't know why I've been thinking about my high school friends and how distant I feel from them as of late. When I think back, I remember that there were some friends who were sometimes really good to me and seemed to really like me--and at the same time I remember the feeling of how 'not cool' I was to them. (I must say it's a very confusing thought.)

I don't think I ever told my friends when I did feel wanted and loved. Was that a reason why they sort of drifted away? Who says that to friends? I would feel hella-gay if I actually said that to a friend, and I'm sure the friend on the receiving end (heh) would feel the exact same way...right?

I have given an effort and tried to get together with the people I've drifted away from, but I never really saw a return on that. I also feel intimidated when I'm trying to contact them. I dunno.

Oh, and I hope you're reading this, Claire: I might not be up when you phone. As you can see, this was written pretty late. I'm sure you can put 2 and 2 together.

I Love it when the News is Bad

When I think of my friends from high school, I realise that not a lot of them really respected me. My name was constantly smeared across insults by some members of my group when I wasn't around. I never really accepted this little factoid until last night whilst talking to Claire. Not a lot of the people I hung out with liked me for who I was. The people who I do talk to after high school are few in numbers, and some of them are people I wasn't really that close with in the first place.

Even now I have some high school friends who I'm not completely comfortable being myself around, or opening up to--and this is the reason why I have two journals. One journal (my Livejournal) is strictly for keeping in touch with some friends, and, well, to post random, inconsequential stuff. This journal is to somewhat express myself; to let some friends get a glimpse of my inner workings. I've only told one high school friend about this trite. I've built up some sort of protective wall to shield myself from some high school friends and their comments. I wouldn't dare post an entry from this journal in my Livejournal.

University has definitely changed me. I wasn't afraid of being me, or what my friends thought. The idea of my friends talking behind my back has never blossomed, and will most likely stay dormant. It's a weird and welcoming feeling.

In other news, I had to drop that creative writing course I was admitted to; it caused too many conflicts with my engineering schedule. Boourns, as they say.

Old Familiar Way

I tell Scott what really bothers me. He tells me he's sorry. I tell him it's okay. And then the cycle repeats. I don't know whether it's me being naive or me being in love with him that keeps me believing what he says. You can't change someone--I know that. Actions speak louder than words. Etc.

I don't know what it is about love that makes me addicted. Maybe it's the fact that it has fused itself to each living cell in my body. Maybe it's the fact that my brain has opened up new receptors to accept the drug-like emotion. I don't know how his smile fills me with happiness and I don't know how his touch sends me into realms I never knew existed. But I do know it'd be very hard to live with out those small and seemingly menial, yet wonderfully life-affirming, things. He's driven me to a point where I can't imagine a world with out him. When I think of the future, he's filling up most of it. He's making the glass half full. We were talking about the future, and how I want to do some major traveling after I'm done school. He said "I just hope you don't go anywhere I can't follow."

What is it about wanting Someone to see how we've evolved into the person we are today? Wanting Someone to prove our existence is worthy and just?

Maybe it's the familiarity that I don't want to let go of; everyone has some sort of fear of change embedded into them. But I doubt this Sameness causes my heart to skip a beat and my blood cells to glow.

I'm tired.

Smells like Bullshit

I can't fucking take this anymore.

An Opening

I think I know what it is:

Actually, I thought I knew what it was, but when I read what I wrote, it sounded retarded. And, thus, I'll swallow this uncomfortable thought and move on.

I WIsh I Had an Evil Twin

I've just been injected with this incredible urge to write. However, I have no direction or substance to help me out, so whatever's coursing through my veins is making me a tad frustrated.

Just a little while ago I felt like crying. I don't know what triggered such a state of mind--I was just minding my own business when it suddenly struck. One of the great mysteries of life, I suppose.

I don't know what to say. Maybe I'll go play video games to fill this void that's erupting inside of me.

Part Deux

I have found myself becoming an awkward twat when I'm complimented; I try not to blush and fumble around in the dark for something to say. I find saying "thank you" too traditional and I feel it doesn't really show how much the compliment means.

In high school, the best compliment I got was "you're so smart". I didn't feel out of place when it was said because I could prove it by doing well on tests and helping friends out in subjects like Calculus and Physics. The other day Eric had made a comment to Cindy when it was the three of us walking back from the Lodge: "I'm so glad your friends are cool" (or something to that extent). I didn't know how to respond--I was very rarely considered 'cool' by friends and, well, never considered myself cool. My less than suave response was to stammer and say, "thanks?".

What am I trying to say? I don't know; it was lost in the plot.

I think I feel bad for getting complimented because...sometimes I don't feel it's true. I was called all sorts of things other than cool in elementary school and high school, and I think it's screwed up how I take compliments. Scott's always telling me to take the damn compliment, and maybe I should listen. I don't want to boast or anything, but I never knew how good it felt to be called 'cool'.

How do you take a compliment?

Sleeping in is...giving...in?

I need more straight boy high school friends who won't flake out on me every chance they get and who won't get over emotional over everything and who will put forth a genuine effort to try and get together. It would seem this summer has been a blast on the occasions I've seen university friends or even friend's friends. (Give or take one or two events). Example: Scott's friends like it when I visit and try to convince me to hang out with them all the time. (I'm so glad I've gotten to know some of Scott's peeps--they're so cool and fun.) I may be on the outside looking in, but I've witnessed so many other groups of friends from high school who seem more tight than the group of friends I'm in. Hell, I don't even think I'm part of a group of friends from high school; I know a few people who I regularly talk to and who I sometimes see. Oh, well--c'est la vie, right? Hopefully I'll land this bakery job so it'll occupy the time when I'm not having a blast with friends who like to get together.

Fuckin'

There's this creative writing course offered at Queen's, y'see, and I think I'm going to apply. I need to rummage through my old short stories to find a good one to apply with, as well as write some cover letter describing why I want to take the course. This is due today. Wish me luck.

I've been in a weird mood as of late. I find myself wanting to write something with meaning and substance instead of the same old 'blandiocrity' that I continuously spew out. The trouble, however, is found in the fact that I have nothing to say. Or, rather, I have much to say, but I can't figure out how to say it so I don't come off as some armchair philosopher who's smoked himself retarded. Or maybe it's some deadly combination of the two, which just increases my doubt in my writing ability.

One of the main reasons why I want to take the creative writing class is so I'm forced to write. But what will happen if I'm forced to write when I have nothing to talk about? It might not blow over well, that's for sure; but at least I'll be writing /something/, which is a lot more than what I can say now. I hope the prof finds my short story as amusing as my old Writer's Craft teacher did...though I have a sneaking suspicion that she was just crazy and loved anything. I mean, in the middle of one class she splurted out, "my family has a history of mental illness" and giggled to herself before she continued her marking. I'll be sure to keep my hopes low.

I Drink my Liquor from the Pond

I hate being depressed because I feel guilty--guilty over the fact that I don't really have a good enough reason to feel this way.

Deja Vu

I thought I kept having little bouts of deja vu until I realised that that's not it; I've actually just been doing the same fucking thing over and over again since I've been back. My life has become so monotonous that it's unbearable. At least give me a fucking rock to push up a hill so I an accept the absurdity of /something/ rather than the absurdity of /nothing/.

I'm bored all the fucking time. My current life is as follows: I wake up around noon; I revamp my resume a tad to suit another job posting and apply; I realise that I'm not even worth the interview from previous applications; I read; I watch the latest episode of whatever I downloaded; I grow increasingly more annoyed at my brothers; I listen to my mother drone on about something (I love her, but she's a little much at times)...It's not even worth me getting of fucking bed. Slitting my wrists might prove to make me feel something other than this compounding bland experience I call summer vacation.

I haven't even heard from Scott since Sunday. He'll probably make more promises to keep me happy, but won't follow up on them like so many times in the fucking past.

It hasn't even been three weeks and I've already hit a rut of depression. My family is slowly chipping away at my happiness. The lack of job is slowly burning my once tasty dish of contentment.

That last sentence is retarded. It sounds like it came from VH1's behind the band (The Simpson's version).

End of Year Re-cap

How do you sum up eight months into a couple of paragraphs? I want to go into detail, describing some of the best moments, but I fear that the words I choose won’t convey the right message—some of the edge and magic of that moment will be lost. Like a copy from a copy from a copy: every time I retell the story it becomes just another barrage of words and sentences with out the intense luster it once had.

There have been so many experiences that I want to write down—not only for making Vanessa happy for completing this somewhat introspective post, but so I have a record of what defined one of the best years of my life. Every month had something of significance attached to it, something I want to remember. Where do I begin? Do I start off with homecoming? Where we cooked and drank? And tell how Vanessa drank some disgusting liquor from a hollowed out sausage? Do I continue with the shows I’ve been to? Like Metric and The Golden Dogs and Death from Above—all of which were amazingly fun! Then there’s Fake Prom, Halloween 2005, the make out party, Bernita’s themed parties, and the list goes on and on. Oh, and the dancing…so much dancing.

In order to complete this introspective-whatever post, I’d have to make special mention to some of the most amazing people I’ve come to know and love up at Queen’s—people who’ve helped me become the person I am today. The nights where a bunch of us would just hang out doing whatever have been so unforgettable—like how we spent our last night in Kingston, with the spaghetti war and honey and syrup in a bottle. Ah, this seems like such a cop-out entry (probably because it is)…

THen there's Scott, who I fall in love with more and more with each passing day. Whether we're dancing together to a band, or snuggling together whilst watching ST:TNG, I feel so (cough cliched cough) complete when we're together. He's unbelievably attractive, intelligent and has the same sense of humour as me--and I'm extremely lucky to be with him.

I think I’ve lost my flair for this thing.

Smells like Happiness

So you'd think after losing ~$750 worth of stuff (some of which I can't buy again as they were collector's items) I'd be more upset and stuff. But I'm not. My only conclusion is that the stress from exams is dominating all other emotions--so when I come down from this exam-high I'll be more affected, I guess. Though I think it's not the stolen goods that really make my stomach churn; it's the fact that someone violated my personal space. Someone came in with out permission and touched my stuff with their scum-like hands, making a mess in the process--the very thought makes me cringe.

This ordeal could have been much worse: if my computer was stolen I'd probably cry--not over the fact that it was expensive and the like, but because I have thousands of pictures, dozens of stories and other random shit on my hard drive that I'd miss tremendously.

The real kicker is that I'm not insured.

Moving on...

I've turned into my mom's safe wall again. They're declaring bankruptcy, and it's taken quite the toll on my mom. I was looking forward to living at home for the summer (unlike last), but things have drastically changed and it seems like it's going to be a stressful four months. Eric said he'd help me find a job here (he's like amazing when it comes to that stuff), so hopefully I can avoid living at home. We'll see what happens I guess. The upside is that it'll probably be no problem receiving OSAP.

Remember the rule "'i' before e, except after 'c'"? It’s bullshit.

I don't think it's only the anonymity of the internet that evokes random 'drama', so to speak. I think it's also the fact that the person making some rude/crass/whatever comment knows that s/he is safe when it comes to any physical harm. If people knew that their physical safety wasn't threatened, they'd speak up more often than not.

Cindy made a comment awhile back that made me somewhat think. She said that it was weird how I’m one of her best friends, but she knows very little about me. What does being a best friend entail? Does it extend to the point where I’m supposed to know every little detail about her? Or does the title just encompass me being there for her whenever she needs me, and include how we can always have a good time when we’re together? Regardless of this, I’m not one for being overly open for friends--which is weird because I’m not one for caring what other people think. All through out high school, I was always lending an ear/shoulder to any friend who needed it. When a friend had a problem, they’d usually talk to me about it (along with whomever else they saw fit). But when I had a problem, I felt really guilty going to someone and saying “look, I need to talk”. I don’t know where that stems from, but apparently it runs in my family. My mom is like that, along my grandfather--and he died because of it. It’s like we can help others but not ourselves. I didn’t know which was problem worth talking about and which was a douche-like problem.

I was glad I got a journal (albeit a Livejournal) because I could inadvertently say what was on my mind to some friends with out having to go into too much detail or looking emo--but I still lacked the (I guess you could say) courage to say more. Then I started feeling self conscious over my entries. In the back of my mind I thought that my friends would laugh at some emotional post and this would cause me not to post it. I feared for my (what I thought were decent) ideas and content when they were laid out in front of my friends--but not strangers.

So I created another journal, where I was more open on my view of the world and the like with out fear of who read it (because I knew my friends weren’t reading it--aside from a few whom I told). I could stand a stranger’s criticism or even a stranger’s rude remark over how I’m retarded--but if certain friends were to do that, I’d feel more self conscious because…I don’t know why, really. I now have told more friends about this journal because I’m more comfortable with them reading it. Maybe it’s because I know they’d be honest about their remarks over an entry. I don’t know.

What was I trying to say? I don’t remember.

My idea of a best friend in high school was someone who I knew everything about--their favourite colour to their worst fear. My idea of a best friend now is someone who I get along really well with and someone who I know will be there if I need them. I don’t necessary know everything about them, but enough to know what I love about them.






Claire - “Be prepared for Claire.” Ahaha, she rocks my world.

Acid II Revisited and Other Ramblings

The visuals I saw on Friday night were incredible. For example, when I noticed some sort of marking on a wall or door, it didn't just appear; it drew itself in a la the beginning of 101 Dalmatians. While waiting for Scott to queue up Metropolis, I saw a shower of multi-coloured arrows fall from above, twisting and curving themselves so that they wouldn't touch anything. I saw a row of paper thin, dwarf like wizards hopping along the edge of the bed. I saw Brad Pitt in a very large gun fight on a brick wall. I saw colour in a black and white photograph.

When reflecting on these visuals, I, again, realise the power of this drug. But it is time to leave the drug to rest for quite some time. The next trip isn't planned until late spring for next year--probably around a warmer time (read: closer to summer) so we can spend a longer period of time by the water before the cold wind kicks us out.

* * *

I hate the volatile relationship I have with one of my closest friends. I hate how instead of leaving it at “we’re at an impasse” he takes it one step further and tells me to fuck off. I should be comfortable with him telling me to ‘fuck off’--he’s told me countless times to fuck off or some variation thereof like fuck you--but each time it really takes me aback and creates a sinking feeling in my stomach and leaves me somewhat raped of happiness.

He told me not to tell him about the next acid trip, and so I didn’t. But he found out (I had nothing to do with this) and got really pissed. (As he put it: drugs are pathetic and the people who do them are pathetic). I’ve tried to assure him that this is definitely not habit forming (though it looks bad), but he won’t see it any other way.

I don’t know what to do other than to wait to see what he does. And, like always, the waiting game sucks--so who’s up for some Hungry Hungry Hippos?

* * *

When I reflect on my relationship with Scott, I find myself feeling depressed at times, thinking that he could do much better than me. I do feel lucky, but unworthy at the same time.

* * *

There’s too much to do and not enough time to do it. Time flies when you’re running low on it.



And I think I'm done here.

Acid II

When I see someone--anyone--at some point in time, I wonder how they got there. I mean, why is a middle aged man in line at a drug store at 10 pm on a Friday? Where was he coming from? Where did he intend to go following his night visit?

Anyways.

This acid trip was very disappointing and it no where came near to the majestic and warm-glowing feel of the first trip. Everything felt surreal--to the point where I got panic-y. The hallucinations got really confusing--like, I was staring at a tree, but it wasn't a tree anymore...more like a conglomerate of thoughts and ideas of what the tree resembled and what the tree could be.

The beginning of the trip was nice--by the water, watching the sun set...I was taking in everything Nature had to offer. But then a course of events played themselves out leaving me highly uncomfortable and weird.

Walking alone from Lauren's house to Scott's with a head full of acid is an experience I won't soon forget. Everything I witnessed slowly drenched itself in a mix of "what the fuck is going on" and "is this actually happening?". Everything I saw had some huge significance attached to it, and for the life of me I couldn't figure out why--it was as if I was experiencing it all for the very first time...all previous memories of what I was feeling/supposed to feel were erased and they were being slowly painted back on.

Watching Hedwig and the Angry Itch was, for the lack of a better word, incredible. I’m afraid I cannot put into words what I felt throughout that movie…the visuals were over stimulating to say the least--to the point where I had a difficult time distinguishing what was what (which happened more often than not).

I feel bad for abandoning Vanessa and them, but I had to get out of that room. The trip started off as how I wanted it to go, but, like previously stated, a course of events made things incredibly overbearing. Until, that is, I got to Scott’s and was able to just relax with him--and enjoy the confusing visuals.

When I first dropped the acid, I didn’t think I’d be handling coke--but lo and behold it happened. (By handling it I mean just looking at it through a small baggy to see what the stuff actually looked like). That in itself was surreal moment…and I’m glad I left before people started cramming the blow into their heads. It was the simple stuff like that that became overbearing and almost tedious to deal with while ‘tripping balls’--under any other circumstance I would have been fine.

In conclusion the next time I drop acid, I’ll make sure the conditions won’t change to such a degree where I’ll find myself having a difficult time adjusting to the way things are flowing…

And, yeah, I believe I’m spent. I really can’t imagine how disjointed this entry must be.

Wearing Thin

I'm starting to lose the momentum I had at the beginning of the semester--and I can easily blame this on the nine midterms and asswads of labs and assignments that pummelled me to the ground (not to mention the stress of deciding to change degree programs). I still have some labs and assignments to do, but I'm slow at getting back up; I have no desire to do any work at this point.

I took Monday off because I just needed to sleep. It was quite nice sleeping in until 1pm with Scott. Too bad this can't be done all the frickin' time. Oh well--c'est la vie, right? Right? Thought so. Now if I can work up the strength to keep on truckin', as it were, and finish up three assignments, one lab and two design projects with enough energy to start studying for finals.

In other news, I've e-mailed a bunch of people asking for their advice: should I switch into Engineering Physics or Honours Physics. Hopefully I get a lot of responses...or else.

No Words

I've never seen such a disgusting display of human behavior. A lot of people have found the livejournal belonging to the boy responsible for the school shooting, and made a mockery of it. Posting comments like "LOLZ, you're cool, add me" is incredibly disrespectful. How can you call yourself a human being after showing the world you're an insensitive prick? I feel like I want to throw up. I feel like I've been violated by human kind after witnessing this vile indecency.

No Words

I haven't seen a disgusting display of human filth in a long time. A lot of people have found the livejournal belonging to the guy responsible for the school shooting, and they have made a mockery out of the entire thing. It's unbelievably revolting, ill-mannered and vile. How can you call yourself human after posting a comment like "LOLZ you're cool, add me"?

I feel so...violated by human kind after witnessing comments like that.