the emotional planner: chasing a good vibe

ianuarie 2, 2012

i need structure to function, even if i understand moods. i think it’s BECAUSE i understand moods. plans are my safety net, and this shows again and again in my daily schedule, on holidays, and in writing. i am convinced that i’d collapse into chaos otherwise and i’d simply give up on doing anything, so i need to know what goes where, because i always anticipate and fear disruption. cue the following things about me that you may have noticed:
– seasonal depression (easier when i know it will be there)
– memory re: birthdays and other days
– getting mad as hell when making plans with someone and then they drop it. i never drop plans. ever. so it just feels unfair and leaves me hopeless.
and i mean at this point it’s not a problem of myself changing in order to become happier. it’s just one of making myself understood quicker/functionally.

anyway:
so it is important to me how i finish/start a year, because i am a firm believer in all that crap: even years SHOULD be good for me AND it’s the-year-of-the-dragon (good!), BUT i also need to: not be alone/feel hopeful and jolly/have a story about it.
i humbly acknowledge that these things can’t exactly be planned, and therein resides their beautiful madness. i can say that i’ll be at X party with persons Y,Z,W…but i have no idea how the night will go and what tiny signs might be sent for me etc. (did i know that a dog would bite me first day of ’05? that i’d cry disgracefully over NOTHING at a friend’s party in ’09, surrounded by friends? ugh rhetorical.)

what happened this year was this:
– i was supposed to go to somebody’s place and i was dropped 2 days before due to change of plans. annoyance. so i got stuck 🙂 with my roomie, i.e. she got stuck with me.
– we had a possible other invitation, but we decided to go out on our own and check out parties.
– dress up as ourselves! epically, cartoonishly ourselves. i had braids, pompom hat and fuchsia pleated skirt. we had wine and a jar in my turquoise bag.
– (getting on the bus with the jar-of-wine in hand, and a guy standing by the driver thanks us for using public transport tonight! 🙂 )
– st-laurent mainline theatre: slowdancing night. we arrived there right around midnight, got our champagne and the last dance card (dance card!!!) and were talking on the sofa when we realized that midnight had come and gone. I LOVED IT! the first year i can remember without countdowns and hysterical cracker bombs, where the passage was harmonious and no fuss, it just made sense.
– then we danced. i danced with my roommate, with two girls in boy suits, with a boy in an evening gown, with a series of other boys, one of which was a dancer. we knew the lyrics to some of the songs, some others i heard for the first time. it felt good and very montreal. i felt my body protest, my joints ache (old lady) and i did pirouettes to show off my skirt.
– then we walked home around 4 a.m, hungry and all. clearly it’s going to be a year for physical exercise…or something. texting. tarot. departures. more kind strangers.

Reclame

and song of the season/year:

decembrie 20, 2011

i found this song in a ’11 retrospective playlist (of course) less than one week ago, and am still playing it obsessively. i am so excited every time i actually start giggling nervously at the ringtone (see/hear below). i even had a discussion session w my roomie to try and figure out why this particular song has gotten to me so strong and quick – i am ashamed a bit when this happens: with people, with stuff…she just says, well, it’s a good song with a good video…there are lesbians in it…and masks – of course you like it.
then this morning i got it: this song is literally (i still don’t have a lyrics transcription but they’re easy to hear. especially if you are bilingual) about depression/procrastination. it speaks to me clearly every morning as i gather myself up to get out of bed and at the same time collapse under theguilt of finding everything/anything too hard or senseless to do. it takes good rhythm to get through to my apathy, it takes a breezy sound. i liked that the first direct message was that of lust. i liked the french insert, and the rapping. but in the end what i get out of it is me telling myself „gonna bust it out/ gonna work it out”. the voice of a different me trying to get back to me, blah. i could write a 10 page paper about it but i think i’ve made my point.
two days ago, drinking red wine in bed and twirling my dirty hair, i had the same hazy realization I KNOW i’ve had before: that subconsciously i am aware that things are fine, which is why i’m allowing myself to liminally wallow in this light pool of despair. except when i try to grasp it, it slips away, so in my day to day from a point on i sigh, put one foot after the other out of bed and start doing my minimum. here:


songs (winter 2011)

decembrie 16, 2011

h/t to: yael, the hairpin, captain awkward, rookie

1. feist – graveyard

2. mazzy star – happy

3. rilo kiley – breakin’ up

4. st vincent – these days

5. the kinks – village green

6. coma cinema – desolation’s plan

7. camera obscura – other towns and cities

„and if i go too long/without hearing your voice, everything goes/ all/ wrong”


end-of-year days

decembrie 11, 2011

Antilamentation
(Dorianne Laux)

Regret nothing. Not the cruel novels you read
to the end just to find out who killed the cook.
Not the insipid movies that made you cry in the dark,
in spite of your intelligence, your sophistication.
Not the lover you left quivering in a hotel parking lot,
the one you beat to the punchline, the door, or the one
who left you in your red dress and shoes, the ones
that crimped your toes, don’t regret those.
Not the nights you called god names and cursed
your mother, sunk like a dog in the livingroom couch,
chewing your nails and crushed by loneliness.
You were meant to inhale those smoky nights
over a bottle of flat beer, to sweep stuck onion rings
across the dirty restaurant floor, to wear the frayed
coat with its loose buttons, its pockets full of struck matches.
You’ve walked those streets a thousand times and still
you end up here. Regret none of it, not one
of the wasted days you wanted to know nothing,
when the lights from the carnival rides
were the only stars you believed in, loving them
for their uselessness, not wanting to be saved.
You’ve traveled this far on the back of every mistake,
ridden in dark-eyed and morose but calm as a house
after the TV set has been pitched out the upstairs
window. Harmless as a broken ax. Emptied
of expectation. Relax. Don’t bother remembering
any of it. Let’s stop here, under the lit sign
on the corner, and watch all the people walk by.

Postcard from the Party
(Wynn Cooper)

You have to be invited, and there’s nothing
you can do to be asked. Headlines and bloodlines
don’t help. It’s a long way from home but I’m
here, the view much better than I’m used to.
How did this happen? Dumb but good luck,
right place and time, the planets aligned.
No contract, no deadline, no risk. And what
did I do to deserve this? Slept with all
the wrong people, gambled too much on friends
of friends with light bulbs over their heads.
Wrote every day no matter what.

h/t captain awkward


dear people

noiembrie 26, 2011

it’s been so long again that i want to just get re-introductions over with. i have ACHED to update for this whole past month. it may not look like it, but this blog, as personal (in the bad way) and bullshitty as it’s been lately, does feel like a concrete gesture i’m making toward staying connected. not letting my slippery life slipper away etc.

bottom-line: things have somewhat changed again. new job (i work for the Forum of Montreal in a veery qualified janitorial position, more on which later. hopefully.), new weird learning habits (i’m doing russian biweekly if possible, lately over luscious (can i say that??) soy lattes in the concordia ghetto. i am writing essay drafts on my room-daily schedule-describing my family -my city – shopping dialogues on my dinner breaks at tim hortons. i have late breakfasts in bed and have read a string of interesting books. new…new things: i am volunteering to teach english to immigrants at House of Friendship, which is the nicest place of its sort in the nicest nice possible area in Mtl (duluth and coloniale, anyone? yes, being posh here.) I am trying to write again because it ITCHES. so far it’s been shuffling and whining, but we’ll see.

we’ll see about everything, won’t we? in the end. i sense the winter pre-depression panic creeping and i shrug and watch it creep. it snowed once so far, but it hasn’t been supercold, and cold is just one of the variables anyway. the state of my potential anecdote supply is very very promising, and the future as uncertain as ever. and my butterflies are from the same old sources. and you, my dear people, the thought of you is a rough thick blanket that i have to discipline myself to drag and set in place: but it’s here, with me, warming. i’m thankful for this and for you.


these pangs

octombrie 10, 2011

a quote to convince you to read „the rehearsal”, by eleanor catton:

(or maybe just read the book, even in spite of the quote):

” But at the same time, the feeling is shot through with a kind of sadness,[…]a bittersweet and throaty sadness that sits heavy in my gullet and i can’t swallow it down. it’s like i know that i am losing something; that something is seeping away, like water into dust. and it’s a weird idea, the idea that loss – the massive snatching tearing hunger of loss – is something that doesn’t start when a relationship ends, when she melts away and disappears and i know that i can never get her back. it’s a feeling that starts at the very beginning, from the moment we collide in the dark and we touch for the very first time. the innocence of it – the sweetness and purity of it, the shy and halting tenderness of it – that is something that i am only ever going to lose.”


look, no irony!

octombrie 8, 2011