I'm not ready;

Let's take the scenic route through life; let's see where it takes us. Let's keep pace with the memories and stare down the bad'uns. Let me take your hand and hold it tight for now so we can cherish this moment together where we are but at the same time never were. I'll lick your cheek you'll laugh and we'll share a solitary smile (no it never really happened). Let me say I'm not ready this time and let's actually agree and not do anything at all. Let's take the scenic route through life and live and not live life at all.

are you listening?

How do you react to post-love: particularly when that love they gave you was all a lie? Let's take the scenic route and ignore the yellow signs. We'll yield to no one. Why should we when we failed to even yield to each other? I was mending fine until I realized what it was really like. Now the scenic route is just another way to roll into the ditch and die. It's so dismal to feel dismal but what can you do when you learn that the love they claimed to have was just bullshit.

This is post number 300

She told me I was her favorite person to hang out with because I made her feel cool. I wanted to cry. In that moment she made me feel more special than a rock star looking out at someone singing along with his or her lyrics. I felt more extraordinary than the skinny girl crowned Miss America. But all I could do was modestly thank her and smile. I smiled so hard I felt like my face would break. I wanted to laugh so loud that the world would succumb to its contagion. I wanted to hug her so hard her future progeny would carry it with them everywhere they went.

He took me into a rib-crunching embrace. I wasn't expecting it and sputtered into his neck. He looked at me cock-eyed and laughed, telling me about the preparation H on his neck-tattoo that was now on my lips. He also told me that the hug was from his parents and how they intended to see me again before I left. I smiled so hard. I felt the tears prick my eyes. I couldn't believe how lucky I was to have him and his family as my special friends.

No matter how many times I've smiled that big, oh how it beautifully hurts; my face has never splintered. But every time I smile like that I get another laugh line or two. I treasure them and give them names. 'Guess what, love? This one here I named after you.

I love you so much. I love you so goddamn much.

Here it goes...

I guess it's time to tell you what's really happening. You deserve to know, and there's no reason I should keep it a secret anymore.

A couple months ago I discovered a lump in my right breast. I tried to contact my family doctor but the office is claiming I don't have one, which is bollocks since my entire family switched over several years ago. I guess I haven't been sick enough so they think I don't have one. Either way, I got my breast examined at the mediclinic and they recommended an ultrasound which I received roughly a month ago. They suspected it was a benign fibroadenoma, which is a dense but non-cancerous lesion, but I asked for a biopsy anyway just to be safe. A couple weeks later, I had a biopsy and yesterday got the results back. The pathology report said that the samples confirmed it to be benign, but the "radiological features appear to be somewhat unusual" and they think it may be a cellular myxoid fibroadenoma, which means... fuck all to me, since I tried looking it up on the internet and all I've gotten so far is patient reports that don't tell me anything about what a myxoid fibroadenoma is. Either way, they say an excisional biopsy will be required so they can analyze the entire lump. That means surgery. Ew. And it's two weeks until I leave for Oakville, so there's no way in hell I'll be able to get in for surgery before I go.

I don't know my class schedule yet, so it's hard to say when I can even get surgery. I decided I want to have it here in Saskatoon, because this is where my family is and where most of my long-term friends live. Even though it'll be an in-and-out surgery, it's still... surgery. And I still don't know for sure whether I have a benign or malignant tumor. It's highly unlikely that it's cancerous, but there's still a chance. And this is the worst effing time for me to be struggling with something like this. Heh.

I'm only nineteen and I'm getting lumps removed from my boobs?!

Blah. Anyway, as I said you deserve to know. I'm under a lot of stress these days. My dad's getting married on Saturday. I haven't told him about the lump or the surgery and I don't think I will because he has this tendency to say everything is about him, so it'll be all, 'Oh woe is me, my daughter is getting surgery, pity me, feel sorry for me'. It makes me sick just thinking about it. My mom started to tell the family, so I decided I should tell the rest of my friends, too. 'Because you deserve to know what it is that's bothering me. I know it's a lot to take in, but please wish me well and pray for me, or hope everything turns out clean and okay.

I want to travel. I want to make art. I want to live a long life and be that old woman people smile at fondly when I toddle through the mall with my elderly brethren. I want to live long enough so that I can have children and so that I can see my friends grow, pursue their careers and have children of their own. Whatever happens, whatever the results be, I choose life!

Diminished

You know things are bad when you cry but you don't feel an iota of relief. The tears end but you can't stop screaming. You want to run yourself ragged. You want to punch until your knuckles are raw. You want to vomit until you choke up your intestines.

It's even worse when you have no one to collapse onto.



This is easily the hardest point in my life right now.
I can't talk with anyone about it because I don't want to have them struggle with what to say, what to do. I don't want that for you. All I want is a lap to curl into. All I need is someone who'll smooth my hair away from my face so it doesn't get stuck in the tears. I can't handle this. I'm not strong enough. I can't fucking deal with it alone.

Fucking Residue

I'm sick and tired of the residue.

It makes me shake and it tastes awful but I can't get away from it.

Don't turn around and say you didn't when you told me you did.

That fucking hurts worse than anything you've ever done to me.

fam·i·ly

fam·i·ly Audio pronunciation of "Family" ( P ) Pronunciation Key (fm-l, fml)
n. pl. fam·i·lies

1. A fundamental social group in society typically consisting of one or two parents and their children.
2. Two or more people who share goals and values, have long-term commitments to one another, and reside usually in the same dwelling place.

I miss his older brother, his younger sister, his older sister and her boyfriend, his mom and his dad. I remember the way his mom laughed and the type of jokes she'd make. I would visit her when he wasn't there, and she always treated me with such colloquial respect. She was very religious and superstitious and she had marvelous stories. She was an excellent person to be around. She didn't wear a façade for anyone, and she had a sense of humor that was very apparently her generation. I adored her.

I happily reminisce on the grandeur of his younger sister's sensitivity. She had a deep, tender knowledge that I drank like rich wine. Sometimes people wouldn't pay attention to her because of her ignorance, but she always had something nice to say about everyone, and she was able to see certain things about people that others wouldn't notice. Sometimes she would detect something incredibly subtle and the way she expressed her perspective floored me. Although she was younger than me, she was smarter in a lot of ways.

I can still feel how his older sister would take me into an embrace and how genuine her acceptance was. She would always engage me in witty conversation. I felt a connection with her; she was like my older sister, particularly when she'd patronize me. Other people might've been irritated by her jests but I savored every one. I enjoyed how her boyfriend would handle their two dogs, and the history I could taste in his accented sarcasm. I liked their relationship and how their cultures merged. It felt comfortable and right somehow.

I didn't know his dad well, but he was well traveled and the deep lines in his face told splendid stories of his excursions. He spoke to me of Africa, canned food, and Australia. I felt like I saw the places he knew through a dirty, bus window: bare glances of reality so raw and wild it made my skin crawl. I admired him as an individual, despite how little he saw his family.

I remember when his brother and I would have metaphysical conversations and how much I craved to discuss world religions with him after I completed my course in university. I honored his opinion and valued his perception of the world. Although I didn't always concur with his perspective (he could be pessimistic, sometimes), it helped enlighten me into another person's experience of life. I miss hanging out with him and our philosophical discussions.

I'm not sorry that I can't cultivate more memories with them. I understand and accept the fact that they'll be etchings in my history and be no more than that. But they are irreplaceable to me. Collectively, they wholly accepted me and I loved them in return. Once upon a time, I felt like I was part of their family and I'll be silently thanking them for that for a long time to come.

Take an oath

I'll remind you when the time rolls around, but this is important to me. If you read Llama Drama at all anymore, please commemorate its anniversary on September 27th. Do something simple, something subtle. Drink apple juice and think about sex or chew a rasberry and contemplate the nature of owls. Please. I ask you from the bottom of my heart. I beseech you... do this for me.

I wish I could have another blog party, but I can't. So whether you tell me what you do on that day or not, if you even just think about the blog I'll be happy. I'll know, don't worry. I don't need to see you. I'll feel it like tea in my tummy. You're warm there, you know; there in the spot in my stomach where I feel laughter the most.

nondescript naïveté

I was giddy, once, lost in the summer rain and glimmering fireflies and the sweet tang of blackberries staining my tongue. I was giddy when you entered my world, and it was because of you. We ran across the downs, the rolling hills; the long grass whipped at our knees and our pounding feet were enshrouded in silver fog that wisped and danced as if alive. I laughed and I meant it – for once my exuded happiness was genuine, pure as Donne’s melted gold. To airy thinness beat.

Five-hour conversations … I could have stayed there all night, high on the joy that bubbled within me like the exuberant fizz of champagne. Our fingers crept closer, hesitated, intertwined. The flash of a subtle smile in the darkness, a flutter of lashes, a goodnight kiss. I was smitten and I knew it, and knowing it I felt alive. The crickets sang in my ears.

And then it happened, the fateful words, the fateful flicker of the light-switch. I am content, I do not regret – but still I do not understand why you drew away. The distance widened; I called across the gulf, tentatively at first, then repeatedly, desperately. Still you did not answer, or garbled echoes of riddled words reached my despairing ears. I tried my best to decipher them, I fumbled, I made excuses. I blamed myself. I justified you, I justify you, even as the tears that are your doing roll hotly down my cheeks.

There is an eerie emptiness, now, where I once felt so light; it is as if a piece of me has been suddenly and forcefully torn away. Dull, lifeless, apathetic, my eyes do not sparkle anymore. Smile like you mean it. I do, a fool and a fake. I hurt and I can't deny it, and try as I may I cannot seem to reclaim my comfortable place in a shiny happy world.

I am a silly, silly girl. I know it well. But I cannot resent you, not truly, not when that hated sparkle of desperate hope still flares to life in my mind at the sound of your name.

Common-law

Do you feel the weight of the middle plane? My neck is wearing thin. We share a common law but we don't live in the same house. I can taste the straw-color of your hair even though it hasn't touched my pillow.

I love and I love and I lost. I laugh and I sing and I gain because both are off-key and tell the story without explicating a single thing.

We regard one another with inequality.

I said g'day to you, but you in your simplemindedness interpreted it as goodbye.

Don't fall for what you can't handle.

I find the right words, sometimes. You've told me I always know what to say but I know better than that.

Sixty-two plus four is sixty-six. Twist your fingers into a mix we'll see tomorrow just to fix that little window; it's jammed and it's broken. For three leagues I'll smile and for twenty more I'll laugh. We'll share a lollipop and then I'll ask if you have genital herpes in your throat. We'll laugh for six more leagues and then contemplate the question of whether we exist. But do we care now, when the stars are so much brighter when we look into each other's eyes?

A blackbird saved my life!

Relationships sever friendships. Fuck it. I refuse to have them again until I'm ready for babies. Friendships mean more to me, anyway.

...Arwen making babies?! Shit. I guess I'll never be in a relationship again. But the question is: does that disappoint me?

Ah, I understand now.

'Ever get a song stuck in your head because you sang it in a dream?

They say dreams are your subconscious trying to sort out your day-to-day problems. I'm not necessarily sorting them out but I'm starting to understand them better. Last night I turned my back on alcoholism. I walked through a city that was peculiarly similar to ours, but larger and with more overpasses and complicated routes. I hung out with people I didn't care for very much but the entire time spoke on the phone with people who mattered to me more. At one point I sang a song at the top of my lungs in an empty night-filled field. I woke up humming part of the chorus, 'where the hell are you when I need you'. I realized I was speaking to myself, and speaking through the minds of those who mattered most to me.

Yesterday I went into the attic. I didn't find any treasure. Later in the evening I was told next year I would, in this very city, and it'd be my friend who'd bestow it upon me. I should stop looking for hidden treasure and completely absorb myself in the gifts my friends subconsciously give me... all of the time.

Thank you, dear hearts, for everything you've done for me. I'm so glad to have you in my life. Although I'm sure most of us will keep in touch; keep in mind that no matter what happens I'll always remember and love you. I hope to God that you'll never feel like I'm leaving you behind, because I'm not. I'll always have your witty, amiable, complex self in my head and my heart. People in Oakville will look at me funny when I laugh aloud or grin widely to myself. I'll just flash them a double-set grin because it was you. It'll always, always be you.