A Broken Crow

I got home from work and I had nine messages on my phone. I hadn't checked it all weekend. Most of the time, I just assume that no one is going to call.

Hells Bells was a great show. "If You Want Blood" reigns as their very best in my mind.

New rule: No more nights involving eye patches. It's waaay too dangerous.
New rule: Tom should always dress like a cowboy. Yowza. I'm perverted.
New rule: No more going to sleep angry, okay?
New rule: Ron should always be around to save me from creepy creepos.

"Hey! You're HOT!!"
"er.....thanks?"
*repulsive leering and mental undressing*
*enter super-ron with impeccable timing*
"This your girlfriend?"
"Yup."
"Wow. She's hot. Congratulations, man."
"Thanks."

....whew.

(hey you. yeah, you. I had a number of messages from Ian about you wanting to see me on friday at your party. If you wanted me to come, why didn't you just call me yourself? Why did you avoid eye contact with me last night? Oh yeah. That whole cowardice thing.)

p.s. I'm ill. So very ill. My brain is full of goblins and parasites, waging an epic battle just behind my eyes. Take that! Soon the sinus cavity will be ours! Mu hu ha ha ha!!!

Too much?

Someone put me out of my misery. Please.

*sings* hello codiene my old friend. I've come to abuse you again....

Once again, the CS lounge was the host for my debaucherous behaviour. Now when I drink there, I can say that I'm getting drunk at school AND at work. Fun.

Ron is the best Emo-Vampire ever.

I stole a skull. Alex hid it in his pants for me.

Melissa and I changed in front of Jon? Ha ha ha.

I sat on Santa's lap for a picture.

Let's beat up Sailor Moon, yes?

Shawn is a good dancer. He spun me.

Ron is a naughty naughty bitch! Melissa and I may have molested him...a lot.

Josh...did you find me upstairs? What did I tell you.....?

I love Kaitlin! We're going to dance tonight baby!

Ready for round two? Nope? Too bad.

My Second Cup uniform is too big. I am a mumu-wearing caffiene goddess. Last night I learned how to use the cash, how to restock and clean everything, how to work the weird stereo in the supply closet, which baskets and grinders are only for flavoured beans, which beans are only brewed in half pots, how long before i have to throw away old coffee and make new coffee, how often things get thrown away, (the answer is often: I will be eating for free often. Mike came to meet me and he recieved a coffee, a cinnamon bun, two muffins and some veggies for free).

But none of that compares to learning the secrets of the big, shiny, slightly scary espresso machine. I made my own latte. I drank it. I made my own mocca. I drank it. I made many kinds of fancy coffee beverages and I drank them all. ALL! After work I spent two straight hours twitching and losing my mind on Mike's couch. He feared for his life and politely asked me how much caffiene I had consumed at work. Honestly, I lost count.

I watched a movie last night called "society". It was old, full of short shorts and mullets and baaad pink lipstick. I still don't really understand it. It was some sort of commentary....on acid. It involved a hair-eating behemoth, incest, a giant hand for a head, maggots, the guy from General Hospital, a big, greasy orgy where people melt into a pile of gelatinous goo and a rather unpleasant practice known as "shunting". (ie: ramming a fist up someone's ass until it comes out their mouth. seriously)

This movie was not a porno. Somehow, it's considered an action flick? Fuck, man. Fuck.

okay. so my day has picked up considerably.

I made everyone laugh in my Brit Lit class. Even the prof.
I got an A- on a paper for another class. (It didn't deserve it, so i'm pleased.)

Here's the kicker: For the third time in six months, I've obtained a new job without a resume. Starting Thursday I work at the Second Cup in the CS building. I'm so excited. I'm joining the ranks of those who have "cafe experience". I already know how to use just about any cash. I already know and love all the people who work there. The uniforms are nice. I get to listen to my own music. I get free coffee. I love coffee. I love today. Today is awesome.

It's a shame I still have to write a midterm and work on a paper tonight. Oh well. Nothing could take the smile off my face right now. Not even a sack of dead kittens. Seriously. (teeheehee...dead kittens.)

Oh Freshmart. I hope you're ready for me to screw you over.

i'm in a miserable mood this morning.

i feel like screaming.

i feel like punching everyone in the face.

maybe i will.

My mind wandered across the ocean this morning on the way to breakfast. He was walking in front of me, purposefully cutting a path through a low drift of dead leaves. I was humming to the tune of his sneakers swishing. I lagged behind, but the wind propelled me forward. I was thinking of Paris. It was one of those nights -they all blur together now, a continuous streak of color and sound- the ones that involved drugs and chain smoking, boozy smiles and coffee at three in the morning. We were talking about places. The 'wheres' and the 'with whoms'. I chose Ireland for Ian, Cuba for Carolle. You and I decided that we would go to Paris. It was perfect then, but it seems nonsensical now. I actually pictured us, drinking french wine straight from the bottle, standing in front of the Eifle Tower, attempting half-heartedly to speak in our broken second language. It's amazing how what you think you know disintegrates over time. I can hardly string a sentence together in French now. It's like those years never even happened. It's like those nights never even happened. I look back, and I only remember Paris. An empty plan that went unrealized. Something that never had a chance to exist. Still, it's what I remember. Paris, in the fall, with the dead leaves blowing around our feet.

Everywhere I go...he's there. I can hear him invading my thoughts and my dreams, singing his song mockingly. He enjoys his torture.

"I'm a scatman!"

seriously guys...it's been a week and I sing this everyday. I can't stop.Every action is undertaken to the exact rhythm of "Scatman" Maybe it's because we listened to nothing but "Scatman" on infinate loop for two entire nights in a row.....maybe.

This is Alex's fault.....and Tom's.

hey...wouldn't it be awesome if i could get "Scatman" as my phone ring? Yes? No.

Everywhere I go, I'm compulsively looking over my shoulder.

I don't know what I'm expecting to see anymore. Fear is tangible, human form and following closely behind me. I feel like I'm on the brink of a nervous breakdown, perpetually trying to catch my breath, but always gasping a little.

If I change apartments, get a roommate, quit my job and hide out in a blanket fort, will everything be okay?

Smith street boys: Thanks again. You're always there when I need you, whether it's trouble with friends or interent stalkers...or both at once in my case.

Mike: There are no words to express the kindness you've shown me. Thanks for understanding that I just don't want to be by myself...ever. You're the best.

Tonight? Scrabble? Maybe?

so tonight the freshmart got robbed.

that's right...after a whole week of dealing with obsession, threats on the internet, police reports and the dean....i finally went back to work only to get robbed by some random guy. the ratty little fucker shoved me into the corner, grabbed a handfull of twenties and said "shut up or i'll kill you" before running out the door.

one question: why me?

have i not dealt with enough shit this week? this month? this year? seriously. this isn't right. no one my age should have to give police statements twice in one week about totally unrelated incidents. no one should be this stressed out. no one should be this scared.

i'm scared every second.

this isn't fair. this shouldn't be me, sitting here, wondering if it all even happened or if it was really all just a terrible dream. this is a nightmare. wake me up.

i have a cell phone now. a whistle. a dog repellant spray. but not peace of mind. not so much because i don't feel safe, but because of how it all went down. why did it have to be me? i was the only one that he ever believed actually cared about him. and i did. and i do. except now we can't talk. ever. because he's sick. because he can't separate our friendship from his sickness. you know what? neither can i. i just can't. the whole thing makes me sad. so so so sad.

i feel like i have to apologize for fearing for my life.

can i come out to play today?

no you can't. it isn't safe.

no one knows what will happen.
it's better if you stay away.

I got back an essay today that I didn't work very hard on. It was poorly written, underdeveloped and had a weak thesis. I got a B. I felt that this was probably more than I deserved, so I left pleased. But slowly, over the last few hours, discontent has crept up on me. It has nothing to do with my mark. Really, I could care less about it...that's the problem. It's disturbing how little I care. This has never happened before. I think I'm finally starting to realize that I'm supposed to be doing something else. I'm supposed to be writing, not about themes of "nostalgia" in T. S. Eliot, but really writing. I'm so tired of pretending to care about this unflavourful hodge podge called academia. I just don't. It bores me to no end, a perpetual mind-numbing literature coma. I like to read fiction. I like to get lost within intricate plot twists and stumble along with those few truly breathtaking characters. I'm talking about Kerouac, Hilsbury, Eggers...I want to write like them. I want to write fiction.

In the last month, ideas for three novels had fallen heavily into my brain. They are disrupting everything. My only counter-attack can be to write them.

There is a terrible calm to living alone. It settles heavily around my shoulders like an icy fog and obscures my vision. I try to counter it with music and company, but it's always there. I'm always cold here. Serenity has become alarming and silence, deafening. Everything and nothing is clear.

What if everything happened exactly the way it was supposed to? What if all the anger and ugliness had to exist to allow for something beautiful?

My poetry Prof told me never to use the word beautiful. He said it was hollow. Overused. Cliche. Meaningless. It isn't meaningless for me. The word still rings sweetly in my ears and sweeps the hair off the back of my neck. I refuse to cast it into the pot of the "unpoetic". I'm taking it back. It's been mistreated and abused for too long. I'm taking back beautiful.

Last night the scrabble gods bestowed their favour upon me. I defeated Sir Gillis by four points, despite having upwards of five vowels at a time for the whole game. Despite his 45 point, triple-score with a 'Q' word of "squid". I thought the game was to be his for certain. But the board was filled to capacity and he was left with a "J" in his possession. I placed my final letters, claimed the rest of his points and beat him by a hair. As in: he got massively robbed. As in: hehehehehe. When I proclaimed my cheapened victory over him, his face contorted with rage and disgust. He leapt up form the table, threw the score booklet to the floor and cursed violently to the heavens. It was a dark and cruel day for Sir Gillis. One he would not soon forget.

There's a smell in the air tonight that's like a slap in the face. It's pungeunt, almost exotic, perfume shed by trees. Summer is decomposing underneath our feet and we scuff our toes happily amongst the decay. I want to bury myself in that smell. I want to decay, be sterilized by a blanket of snow and ice and then awake in the spring, fresh and new, my skin raw and pink like a newborn. I want to start over every year. I want to skip these next few months.

Except that I still want to see you. I want to make supper and play scrabble. Will you play scrabble with me until we're screaming profanities at each other over high-scoring words?

Work was perfect today. I smiled at everyone and everyone smiled back. Dual transactions. An older man told me that I was a "sparkling little jewel". I think that's the nicest compliment. I have the rhythm's of *swipe* *beep* *bag* *count* down to a fucking science. It's like a dance that I practise and perform all day. Kathy told me that I'm always rocking out to the music in my head. I wonder if I look strange to people, but then I realize that I am weird and the general public should be able to spot the signs and rightly keep their children away. Alex came into the store three times tonight. The last one was just to "loiter" and ask me if I was busy tomorrow...which I am.

Everyday I wake up and it feels like day one. Blank and daunting. Pure and endless.

I'm waiting for you. I'm slicing the peppers for the stirfry. I'm setting up the scrabble board. I'm mentally preparing myself to kick your ass, english-geek style. You shall not be spared the wrath of my vocabulary.

"I put my head back
Where it belongs up there in the clouds.
I'm spreading love like
A terrorist now."

Last night was so awesome. I filled myself with whiskey and played Janis Joplin tunes to a room full of strangers. Appropriate.

There's few things than I enjoy more than good Geek Beer with all the girls. Suz, you are SO missed when you're not around. It's crazy.

I'm glad we had that talk, you know. It was hard but I think we're better off because of it. Thanks for listening. Thanks for asking to hear it in the first place. I hope it makes things easier for you rather than harder. And dude, seriously...that joke is hysterical. Go team fetus. *hits you with a flipper*

*hits everyone with a flipper* mmmm...slurpy.

As much as I hate the new Grawood, I'm so stoked on the bringing back of yards. Dangerous things they are, but what fun. Mike, Tom and I all left our mark on the new wood. I chose an appropriate Warriors quote. ("maybe i'm just looking for some real action.") Hot.
Bianca! I'm still in shock that we simultaneously quoted the Warriors last night. That's too awesome. That movie kicks serious one-fat-ass.

I bummed a smoke from a table of gross guys last night. They told me I was hot and asked me to lick my lips for them. I nearly hurled. That would've been really hot....but maybe wouldn't have resulted in me getting a smoke for Tom and I. Pigs.

I bought two albums this afternoon. Music before food. Always.

Sarah Slean's new one is incredible.

"I've got all the courage i'll ever need. I wax poetic on my enemies."

Perfect. Everything is perfect. I'm breathing here next to you and I'm happy.

I think i'm getting sick. now. of all times. fuck.

who wants to help me drink it away?

i learned a new song.

i wrote a new song.

i'm going to the gym, my brain requires 40 minutes of running.

My mom was just here.

she came over to give me my GST cheque. She also gave me a mochachino, a cookie, a new bluesy slide-guitar cd and a hug.

How perfect is that?

Zang! Who is that, striding over the wasteland! It is Woonchabie, hands clutching buzzsaw hand extensions! She grunts ominously:


"I'm going to reduce you to ash, and sell you as spice!!!"

"Those kids from Unicef neep our plasma." (yes. neep.)

(said swarthily) "Come here and slather me with love!"


Three words: Back away slowly.

hee hee hee....xoxo.

This morning, I picked myself up for the first time in weeks.
After weeks of writhing somewhere between revulsion and obsession, I just stopped.
I stood up. Took stock of the damage.
Dirty clothes. Ugly thoughts.
My knees are scuffed and my fingertips are raw.
My pride is in pieces, currently held together with chewing gum.
My heart slightly squashed, but intact. It's whole. It's mine. And I'm putting it somewhere where you can never touch it. I'm putting it out of your reach forever.

I'm looking up. I'm looking to the me that's past you. I'm beyond this. I'm better than this. Somewhere, you've always known this. Now I know it too.

You're just not this big. You don't have this much impact on me. You don't consume me anymore. You're a blip on my radar. If I blink, I'll miss you completely.

everything is fine. nothing is ruined.

you are scum. you are deceitful, selfish and slimy. you disgust me. you are the worst person i have ever known. you are the worst thing that has ever happened to me.

every time i think i've finally hit rock bottom, every time i start to heal, i discover something new. you always find a way to bring me even lower. you make me feel like garbage, and i am so fucking tired of feeling like garbage because of you.

you always get away with it too. i'm telling you that it ends now. you will not get away with it this time. you will not be forgiven. you left me used, abused, humiliated and shaking and for that i will spare you nothing.

you're actions have given me license to be the biggest bitch that i can be. the biggest bitch you've ever known. brace yourself. you don't know what you're in for. three years away from each other may not have changed you at all, but it sure as hell has changed me. i'm tougher than you think. i'm capable of more than you give me credit for.

i'm the biggest mistake you've ever made.

I just want to express my thanks to you.
What you did was truly sweet, and I really needed it yesterday.
It's nice to know that people are thinking of me, even when the person that I want to be thinking of me, isn't. You're an awesome friend. Just reading your PSST to me in the coast made me realize how many awesome friends I have. I'm really lucky. I may not be okay yet, but with people like you around, I know I will be.

yeah, I got all mushy. It made me cry at work!

also...isn't it strange that there was a PSST to me and a PSST written by me in the same issue?