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.