Sunday, December 31, 2006


I resolve to be nicer. More compassionate and try not to judge so quickly. I resolve to stop imagining the worst of people, and the worst possible scenario. I resolve to find more than one thing to like in someone I don’t. I resolve to let go of the past; it can’t be changed no matter how hard I wish it, and though it can’t be changed, I resolve to learn from it.

I resolve to make cookies every month for the people I work with. To volunteer more, and get the Christmas Spirit back. I resolve to face my greatest fears and get past all that has held me back. To be more generous, and remember that in a heart beat that could be me. To say my prayers every single night, and attend church every now and then.

I resolve to say I love you more often and to smile more. To save money, and spend less. I resolve to learn, and teach. I resolve to be more patient, and understanding, and less sarcastic. To stop thinking I can’t and replace it with I can, and will. To stop saying I will try. To give more of myself, and less of my opinion, unless I am asked.

I resolve to be kinder to my mother, and listen closer to my father. To spend more time with those I love. I resolve to try new things. To come out of retirement from babysitting. To lose control every now and then and like it. To make more friends. To share.

I resolve to stop pretending I don’t see people I don’t want to talk to, and to watch more classic movies. To have salad for lunch but to eat dessert. To read even more. To confide in my sister and to write letters to my other sister more often. I resolve to consider going blonde. Seriously.

I resolve to make this the best year of my life, not by luck, but by working hard to make it so.

Friday, November 24, 2006

through the looking glass

I know you. I’ve seen you before. You’re so familiar, the way you tuck your thumb into your fist when you are sleeping, how you tilt your head when you are speaking and the way you bite your lower lip when you are thinking. Haven’t we met before? Or had a friendship, relationship? If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were at one time a part of my life. You look just like me; your voice youthful, your skin translucent. We are so similar, our movements, our language, and sense of humour. Maybe we grew up together?

Then, at what point did we become so different? And when did we stop speaking to each other? Why are we divided; you in the light, the warmth, and me in the dark, the cold? You do everything right. You’re kind, and thoughtful. Genuine; what you see is what you get. Everyone loves you. And you love them right back. You’re careful, and diplomatic, levelheaded, smart and strong. Beautiful, graceful and delicate. I do everything wrong. I’m selfish, and distant. I have a hidden agenda. I love the wrong people, and they don’t love me back. I take what isn’t mine. I’m rough, vague, and reckless. I am empty, useless and hopeless. I have a temper, and a short fuse. I am erratic, and unstable. I’m sneaky, calculating and deceiving. Heartbreaker, temptress and villain.

We are mirrored images; similar to the naked eye, but so different below the surface. How is it that we look the same, but live completely opposite lives? I will always be the predator, and you will always be the prey. How have we continued to fool everyone around us? When did I begin to hate you so much? And why did we fall apart, splitting up? How did I become the distorted and twisted version of you? Did I walk away from you? Or were you the one to run?

I knew you once upon a time. I knew everything there was to know about you. But you’re a stranger to me, an enemy now. Through the looking glass; you’re trapped, and I am the one walking free.

Saturday, October 28, 2006


There is something I never told you. Something you deserve to know. I never told you because I thought it would be selfish of me to say it. I held back, believing you would be better off not knowing. I always thought there were so many reasons not to tell you this, I thought that everything would hang in the balance, and I would be the one to lose. I didn’t have enough courage to tell you, when I should have. I let fear rule me and now it may be too late.

I should have taken more chances, dared to take more risks. I should have based my decisions on love, not fear. I should have been brave, and not afraid to make mistakes, or errors. I should have learned to live without regret, and not look back, but look ahead. If I had more time, I’d do things differently. I would live out loud, and honestly. I should have had the courage to tell you this a long time ago, despite what may have happened. And now I will never know.

I played it too safe. I colored inside the lines, and followed every rule. I never leapt without looking, and sat on the fence too much. I respected authority, even when I knew better and never listened to my instincts... even when they were perfectly in line with reality. I never rocked the boat, even when it was something I desperately wanted. I was seen, but not heard.

I love you. I am realizing now, as I write this, that it was selfish of me not to tell you. I was afraid that I would be hurt, never considering that it might just be the one thing you needed to hear. The one thing you’ve waited for. I feared that by telling you this, I’d be committing a crime, an offense against someone. There are far worse things in this world than loving someone. I couldn’t tell you without knowing if you’d reciprocate, but I never trusted myself that I would be okay even if you didn’t.

If there were time, I would tell you, how much I loved you. I’d be sure you knew that I loved you strongly, unconditionally, and without reserve. I’d want you to know that you were always in my heart, even now, and that I never felt alone because I carried you inside me. You would feel my love for you in my touch, hear it in my voice when I called your name, you would see it in the way I look at you.

If I could tell you that I loved you at this very moment, I would no longer be afraid of what awaits me. Time has run out for me. But because of my discernment, perhaps I never really lived at all.

Thursday, October 12, 2006

let go

We don’t see things as they are. We see them as we are. – Anais Nin

You convinced me to go to Cuba with you. I’d already been, and loved it so much, I was willing to forgo the fact that our relationship had ended. As we shopped for bikinis, shorts and sun dresses, I watched you, wondering, “Is this the right thing to do?” As if you could read my mind, you looked at me over the body of a mannequin and assured me that we’d have a great time.

I left packing for the last minute; having done this twice this year already I knew what I should bring, and what could stay behind. And at the airport I stood waiting to board with my ticket in hand, panicking. I shouldn’t do this. This is a bad idea. It felt like the fear of flying. Though this time I didn’t worry about the plane’s turbulence, I worried about ours. But I boarded anyways, and once we were up in the air, I started to think about our last vacation in an effort to pacify myself. Maybe it could have been different. Though, I’d still remember it the way it was, truly; excited early mornings that greeted us with the scent of the ocean, sleepy faced guests washed in warm sun, the creaky doors, wet bathroom floors, matching flip flops, sunburns, and Sunsets.

I knew it wouldn’t be any different, to you, or me. You’d see it the way you believed it happened, and so would I.

Though I know you’ll never read this, I am putting it out there, to let you go, for you to carry on; healthy, happy and fulfilled. I am sorry. I am sorry for what happened. I am sorry that I upset you. But more than anything, I am sorry I lost your friendship. I wish that you achieve your wildest dreams, your deepest hopes and your heart’s desire.

Friday, October 06, 2006

dirty little

Nobody knows that I’m living with you. That you’re with me from the very moment I open my eyes, everyday. What once began as perhaps a questionable relationship has bloomed into a full fledged regret. Though, I never invited you into my life. You helped yourself.

Now, our relationship is strained. I make secret plans to rid you from my life, but somehow you always find out. You’ll never leave me, I know; always promising, or threatening, that no matter where I go, or for how long, you’ll always be there. “I’ll find you,” you’ve whispered. I’ve cried at your hands, behind closed doors, though I tell myself it has nothing to do with you. I don’t tell anyone you’re the reason I’m most often upset. I mask my pain; afraid of rapid fire questioning that will surely follow.

Nobody knows that I fight with you every day, swearing, screaming, and cursing your name. You taunt me in a sing-song voice, “You have driven everyone you care about away. You’re a loser.” I’ve taken out all of my anger towards you on innocent people.

You’re abusive; never removing your ice cold grip from me, even when I sleep. You steal from me, and hurt me on purpose; to see me weak, to see me cry. Nobody knows that you scare me. I’m afraid of you, what you’ll do to me. You’re controlling me; never allowing me to lead a normal life, forcing me to make up lies. “You need me,” you say. ”I’m all you know.”

You’re my secret; dirty little and deep dark. I protect you, refusing to speak your name. I conceal your identity from those around me. You remind me, “No one will understand. You’ll be pigeonholed and stereotyped. I’m all you have.” You pretend to have my best interests at heart, but I know you just want to keep me all to yourself. You’ll suffocate me.

Monday, September 11, 2006

tasting winter

Somewhere in my future, on a deceivingly cold day, you leave your things at the door and press your cool face against mine. I can smell the winter on your skin. Bitter; warm sweat tangled with a stinging frost. Pungent like a cadaverous breath. Instead of pulling away from your cold, sour grip, I hold on tighter. I can taste the night in your mouth. Dusk; when I craved for the twilight of your face, your overcast voice. Miss for a man I didn’t know, and love for a man I didn’t want. Standing here, holding onto you, and swallowing your hellos, wishing for you, still. I’ll always fondly remember winter, just like this. Remembering my future.

Staring at her I could feel you next to me. Knowing everything would be different. Feeling it in my bones, in my blood, on my skin. In the children we have yet to have. Like ripples and waves in a field of wheat. Knowing, innately, upon the sight of creamy red Christmas light bulbs discarded on the wayside, it had to be over. Even if she didn’t already say so.

So absolutely you’ve settled, like silt, within me. A simple life, of faded wood, chipped paint and dripping water taps. Remembering the past of my future.

Friday, August 25, 2006

just to be better

I want to stop wanting something better. I want to stop wanting things I can’t have. I want for it to be alright for me to be sad. I want to know how people really see me. And then I never want to care about it again.

I want you to only ever say hello, never goodbye. I want to stop being afraid of people. Of myself. I want you to make me feel better, not just wish you could. I want people to understand me. I want for it to be alright for me to be me.

I want to know that I’m valued. I want to stop attracting my worst fears. I want to be brave. I want to stop being destructive. Self, or otherwise. I want to stop being hurt. I want to stop covering it up.

I want to stop looking at my life and seeing so much wrong with it. I want to only see the good, never the bad. I want to speak softer, be more kind. I want to handle difficult situations gracefully.

I want to be okay, even indifferent when I see you together. I want to understand why it couldn’t work out with us, and learn. I want to stop making the same mistakes. I want to be comfortable with a new path.

I want to know that what I see is indeed the truth. I want to just let go, fall, and know that I’ll be safe. I want to see the good in you, and I only want to know that of you. I want to know all your stories, without having to pry.

I want to go to bed every night satisfied. I want to be undeniably happy, and I want to shout it from the roof tops. I want someone to want. And have them want me right back. I want to know when I’ve got a good one, and stop fucking it up. I want to never want again.

Sunday, August 20, 2006


I’ll swallow you like a pill; taste the bitterness of you on my tongue as you consume my body. Lick my lips with a drop of water and wash you down inside. Crawl beneath my skin, like an ache. Rush through my veins; use my blood cells as life rafts. Raid my flesh, and strip me of my sanity.

I’ll draw you into me, slowly, breathe your sighs and inhale you like a drug. Multiply and invade me, steal my purity, and control me. Grip my wrists in your hands; tighter. Hold me beneath you, paralyze my virtue and guilt. Untie the corset of my fa├žade, and watch me unravel. I’m fluid underneath you, malleable to the warmth of your body, and the pressure of your hands.

I’ll drink you in like absinthe. And with every sip I take, you’ll shatter my grace and I’ll distort. I’m swallowing you but you’re devouring me. Taste the rapture on my skin, beneath the innocence; bitter under a thin veil of sweet.

You’re a silent storm radiating through me, in thunderous even pulses. I’ll savour the red velvet of your kiss, the salt of your skin, the taste of me on your lips, fingertips. I’m thirsty for your breath on my body.

Feed me on an IV drip. I’m addicted to your virus.

Sunday, August 06, 2006


This perfume I'm wearing, I like it. It's clean, smells like soap, warm skin from a shower. Little drops of water on my freckled shoulders. But every time I wear it, I want to crawl back into bed. I associate it with something sad, I think. Something sad, and being tangled in sheets wearing jeans, barefoot. Letting go of someone, wanting to hold on to someone else. Cuddling, knowing it would end, or conversely, never begin. It's pretty, but it hurts.

It’s a go between. Juicy summer scents and rich velvet and tweed perfume. It’s perfect for today; the skies are gunmetal silk, lonely and cold. I think of you when the streets glisten. Whoever you are. When I think of you, I see golden fields of wheat under a navy blue sky. A dark road to a warm and familiar destination. Drinking the cold air. White sheets beneath a down tent, and too many pillows. Wool and cashmere.

I can’t decide if you’re my past, or my future.

Monday, July 31, 2006


I don’t know you, but I know what you’re up to. I sleep in your secrets, wrapped in ribbons of your perfume. I’m a stranger in my own home, my own bed. You’re a ghost, a shade of a memory that rests between us, in the space that we once shared. You’re the line that he won’t cross, and I’m the intruder.

You’re tucked away in his pocket, the palm of his hand, the dip of his ear. You’re the salt on his lips, the foreign touch from his hands. I taste you in him, I feel you through him. You’re the hum that escapes his mouth when he breathes; you’re the one he sees past me.

I know that he avoids ‘we’, forgetting he’s a half. I’d try to be like you, if I knew who you were. Mimic your laugh, the tilt of your head, your words. Dress with garters under my skirt, and black lace under my blouse. I wonder how to twist myself to fit into your mold. You linger long past the whisper of flirtation; you’ve settled yourself into my life. No priest could exorcise you from my house, my life, or his.

I look for you everywhere. You’re haunting me, taunting me, laughing when I look over my shoulder. I know you’re there, I can feel you when I can no longer feel him.

I sleep in his secrets, bound by words he never says. He’s a stranger in his own home. He’s the ghost, a shade of a memory that rests between us, in the space we share. I’m the line that he won’t cross, and you’re the intruder.

Thursday, July 27, 2006

of least resistance

I want someone who’s been in my life previous to me falling in love with them. Why did I think it was a good idea to take this path? I’m doing something different. I was putting myself out there. Therefore, I can’t be blamed for being single. I took a chance, I ran at the risk and while it didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would, it made me realize: it just isn’t going to happen this way. I am not an easy way out kind of girl. I know now that things don’t come easily to me, and that this is just my fate. My cards have been dealt; it’s up to me to know when to fold them, know when to hold them, know when to walk away and know when to win.

This path is not falling in love. What a joke. It’s finding a good enough candidate and forcing it to happen. It’s having expectations – already planning out what you will and won’t tell the other person. There’s no other reason to be there, other than to hopefully cash out a winner.

I cannot take this path because it goes against everything I am. Jumping into a frigid body of water, and flailing around is not my style. Beyond taking risks, I never show my true colors until I know the water is warm. I never jump in, and not for fear of drowning, but it takes time for me to be drawn out, or drawn in. One never knows my true colors upon initial meeting, not after a few drinks, not after warnings about wrong impressions. You absolutely cannot rush me; I take my time.

Putting a profile on a website declaring who I am and what I want is everything I am not. I might wear t-shirts that bark snarky comments, but despite you perhaps knowing my bra size and my affinity for sarcasm, you really still know nothing about me. It takes time; months even, to see me. Who I really am as the wolf inside the sheep. No profile that only allows me only 2000 words is going to properly convey who I am. To anyone.

It’s not common knowledge that I like having my hair pulled when things get heated. No one knows that a gnashing of teeth on my earlobe sends me into a tailspin or that I like it when it hurts. When people discover such things they often follow up with a shocked, “Why are you single?” Because I don’t advertise, or broadcast what turns me on. And when I display kindness, thoughtfulness, or love they wonder even further how I escaped being snapped up.

I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve or my story on my surface. I traveled the path of least resistance because I wanted to put an end to the endless barrage of questions. I wanted someone to love, without having to consider if my love was wanted or reciprocated. I don’t want to be standing alone in a sea of couples at Christmas, because then, then everything that is wrong with your life is glaring, too apparent, and hard to swallow. When all you see is the perfect in others, the flaw in you is too obvious. I don’t want to have to have someone to make somebody else comfortable. I don’t want to have to have someone to fit in.

It’s not a compliment when people ask why you’re single, and then list all the reasons you shouldn’t be. Being single when you don’t want to be is hard enough, but then to deal with sideways glances, build-ups that lead to let downs is too much to bear. Being made to feel inadequate because you need someone to be someone is fucked up. I am an entire person by myself.

Love is not going to come to me over a broadband connection. It’s almost as unlikely as being a Bachlorette. I don’t know much about where my life is headed; I have ideas, dreams, and goals, but there is one thing I know is true. I’ll only find love when it is already a part of my life.

Sunday, July 23, 2006


I don’t even know you and I don’t like you. I don’t have to either. I’m off the hook – he allows me to dislike you. In every person I dislike I try to find one quality about them I could truly appreciate. Everyone has a story. Deaths, broken relationships, long winding love stories. I seek these stories as a way to relate. That even when someone’s obnoxious, lazy, and rude or just a snob, I can touch on one thing in their life. One thing I can understand. One thing that makes them human, just like me.

There’s only one quality of yours that I like. And that is him. With all my efforts to see past your surface, I only come up with his depth. Try as I might to search for something to empathize, I can only relate to him.

I’m excused from being friendly, even just polite, when you sweep past me as if I were not even there. You allow me to overlook you when you omit me.

Sometimes I feel bad about the way I feel about him, but usually, I just don’t care. You forgive me when you disregard him. I’ll never forget him.

Friday, July 21, 2006


I use the words fear, afraid, scared, and terrified way too much. There’s too much in life that I am afraid of: The dentist, the doctor, the eye doctor. I worry that they will tell me something I don’t want to hear: that I have to have a root canal, that my genetic disposition dictates I’ll have cancer somewhere down the line, that I am slowly going blind. I’m afraid of the dark, the unknown and deep water. I am afraid that I will never get married or have babies and will die alone.

I’m making myself available, putting my flaws and vulnerabilities out there, for someone to take. I’m opening up to the idea that someone will see all the shadows in my life, all the mess, the caked mascara and dust. I’m not afraid that it won’t happen. Now that I am trying, I could really care less – take me or leave me, just don’t dick around. I’m not afraid that a potential flame could hurt me; snap my heart in his hands, or judge me.

I am afraid that I’m going to be looking out the corner of my eye, trying to gauge the pulse on someone else’s life. I don’t care so much at this point if he hurts me, but I couldn’t bear to be hurt by you. I’m afraid that I’ll never stop wanting you, that even when I’ve found someone who measures up – he’ll still never be you.

Sunday, July 16, 2006


You’re bigger, stronger, faster.

You’re not Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde – you’re Hyde through and through, and I wish she had seen it earlier. She’d bush it off, the way you’d yell at her for over boiling the pasta. She’d swallow hard, but never react when you’d get mad at her for being late. She’d explain to her friends that you were just drunk when you slapped her for talking to the bartender.

Her family watched in fear when you’d handle her a little too roughly. The bruises were hard to dismiss, but she’d cover for you. She loved you, but she was afraid of you. She was afraid to upset you, make you angry, she feared that she would lose you if she ever told anyone that you pushed her down the stairs.

She obeyed you, learning to do things the way you wanted them. But no one is perfect, and sometimes she would forget. Your neighbours would sit on the edge of their seats, phone in hand, prepared to dial 911 at the first note of a scream. You would never allow her friends or family to visit, afraid that they would know how you control her. But behind your back her sister would visit and in soothing tones would tell her to get out.

“But I love him,” was always her response. She loved you despite the sex becoming too rough, your hands becoming too hard. She only wanted to make you happy, and when she failed, you punished her. You held her under your thumb, under your body. You’re suffocating the life from her.

I was watching last night, from the pitch darkness of my room. I head you making threats, banging your fist on the side of the van. Four letter words spilled out of your mouth one after the other. With the cut of one ‘C’ word, I lunged for the phone. You’ve got four letter words, and a five fingered fist – I’ve got three digits.

In a back alley, under a street lamp, you put your hands to her again. This time when she screamed, everyone heard. Much to my dismay, the Police didn’t arrive in time. Though it is my sincere hope they found your sorry, coward ass and gave you a licking that will lay you up in a hospital for weeks. And I hope she leaves you, lying broken in a hospital bed. Fucker.

But, no matter how strong you are, no matter how big you are, no matter how far or fast you go, you can’t out run God.

Sunday, July 09, 2006

shortcuts at the fork in the road

There always seems to be two different directions you could take. Be brave, take a chance or play it safe. You’ll never get hurt, but you’ll never live.

I don’t have enough bravery, courage. I couldn’t bear to put it on the line, and have it served back to me. If I did it enough, would it become like breathing? Would it become an involuntary action? Would I always bite the bullet, steel myself and go for it or would common sense enter and talk me out of it? I always do things the long hard way, even when there is an obviously much easier path to take. I rely too much on what I notice, or hear and not enough on what I determine through facts actually given to me, upon asking. Difficulty lies in the practice of intuition and perception. Asking would be like slicing a hot knife though butter. Too easy.

There are so many things I want to do, say, ask. I’m afraid of failure. Of making the same mistakes I’ve already made. I’m afraid I’d end up back at square one again. I don’t want to begin again. I don’t want to lose.

Either I make the safe choice, and go through life without breathing, or I take a chance and breathe fire. There’s always a choice. I just wish I realized that.

Friday, July 07, 2006

melodic magnetism

I like music that sounds like sex; slow motion. The sound of a tap on a drum like a heart beat, a soulful, emotional voice like rhythmic breath, chords of a guitar that sound like hips swaying deep and low, the deep throb of bass like lust swelling inside. A song, that you relate to, like the tension between the two of us before your lips close in on mine, a flutter in my chest when I think, “I thought I was the only one who felt this way”, like the butterflies in my stomach when you’re finally mine. I can’t help but imagine surrendering to you.

Connected by the cadence of the song that fills the infinity between us.

Touch me softly; run your hand through my hair, breathe a whisper into my ear. Kiss me sweetly; savor the honey on my lips, the purity in my sigh. Raise shivers across my back with the tips of your fingers and warm me with the electricity from your body. Slow me down to your hum, follow the lyrics across my flesh, and pour yourself into me like abstract.

When the melody accelerates, and the pulse of the bass radiates through our bones, and the swagger of the guitar amplifies, touch me like it can’t be a mistake. Tell me what you want. Tell me with your lips and the passion behind your caress. Grip my hair in your hand and hold me like you mean it. Seize my flesh, consume me with abandon. Leave a mark. Strip me of my inhibitions, and seethe at the scrape of my nails.

Put your hands on the curve of my waist with pressure great enough to leave a small indentation of fingerprints on my skin. Please, hold me like you mean it. Pull me under and close yourself around me. I’ll drown in your rhapsody; your rhythmic breath like an soulful voice, your heartbeat vibrating through my skin like the tap of a drum, your hips like the strains of a guitar, swaying deep and low, and my lust throbbing like bass against you.

Swell to the sound of magnetism.

Tuesday, July 04, 2006

bete noir

I hate what you’re doing to me. I hate what I am doing to myself, because it takes two.

I hate that you look at me like that, with her right next to you. I hate that I don’t exist in your world when she’s near. I hate that I stop breathing when you enter the room. I hate that my heart thumps when I hear your voice or your laugh.

I hate that I am hurt by this, that it makes me sad and jealous. I hate that I hear those songs, and crave your flesh. I hate that she sleeps next to you, and breathes your scent. I hate that she shares your life.

I hate that I am crying again over something I did to myself. I hate that I search for answers in the dark, blindly clutching at strings. I hate that I lie to friends and skate over all the bumps in my life. I hate when you touch me with your hands and the cool gold grazes my skin.

I hate that I miss you, that I’m disappointed when there is nothing in my Inbox. I hate that I avoid your glances because I feel neglected. I hate when you don’t look at me. I hate that I feel this way about you because it will never end with her, and instead I will have to end it with you.

I hate that I see only what I want to see, and when reality comes crashing in, I turn a blind eye. I hate that I think of you every day, every hour. I hate that you are present in my life, even when you aren’t around.

I hate that I hold onto hope, even when it’s clear as crystal there is none. I hate that I pray for a clear answer, and courage. Because I need help. I hate that I won’t stop looking for you. I hate that I deny the truth.

I hate that to get away from this situation I’d have to leave behind people I care about. I hate saying ‘goodbye’ to you. I hate when my imagination works overtime, and my intuition leads me astray.

I hate that I want answers but am too afraid to ask. I hate that I immediately knew a year ago how much I’d care about you now. I hate that we’re a paradox. I hate seeing that picture of you and feeling thirsty.

I hate that I want to be near you. I hate the way your hair is styled because I want to run my hands through it. I hate that even just after I’ve eaten, I’m hungry for you. I hate that I want to taste you on my lips. I hate that when I came back from holiday, I could’ve ended it. But I didn’t, because I’d miss you.

I hate that even when you’re a foot away from me, you’re still too far. I hate that I feel nauseous when I think of the worst. I hate that I want you so much.

I hate that I dream of you and when I wake my life feels empty. I hate that I’ve memorized your characteristics. I hate that I know the paths your veins take under your skin.

I hate that I wait for you to tell me. I hate that I measure everyone up against you, and they always fall short. I hate that I want to quit, stop, but I’m addicted. I hate that you hold back. I hate that you surprise me with sneak attack separations. I hate that I might not be the only one.

I hate that you have another life, one that I am not a part of. I hate that I didn’t meet you years ago. I hate that I will never have a permanent position in your life. I hate that I love you.

Saturday, July 01, 2006


Sometimes I don’t wash my make up off. On Friday nights, I don’t shower unless I have to be somewhere. I never have to be somewhere on a Friday night. I over pluck my eyebrows. I still haven’t gotten my wisdom teeth pulled because I am scared.

I’m afraid of the dark. I hate dusting. I’m just getting around to learning to separate my loads into lights, darks and colours. I let my cuticles grow far too long. I never fantasize about celebrities when I’m loving myself.

I don’t save money. I’m afraid of becoming my mother when I grow up. I’m lazy. I don’t eat enough fruits and vegetables. I hate pantyhose. I hate the word pantyhose. I don’t floss as much as I should. I swear. I’m satisfied when I clear a clogged pore.

I have stacks and stacks of back issues of Vogue even though I only flipped through them once. I keep nasty e-mails from people, just so that I can remind myself never to speak to them again. I never put my DVD discs away; they just sit in a pile on my bedroom floor.

I never file my pay stubs. I never open bills; I just guess at the amount (and usually pay more than I should). I have more than 30 pots of eye shadow, but really only use 5. I never drink milk. I’ve read my sister’s diary.

I never take advice, even when I asked. My sister unsuccessfully tried to talk me out of losing my virginity. I should have listened to her. I own several photo albums, but never get around to putting photos in them. I don’t fight for what I want. But I don’t give up.

I only listen to sad love songs when I am falling into or out of love. But I’m certain I’ve never been in love with someone; usually I’m just there by myself. I don’t always think about what I say, I just fix it later. I don’t own a cell phone. I don’t know enough people to pay thirty dollars a month to have something pretty, but useless.

I am picky about music. I’m pickier about food. I’m pickiest about men. Before I take a shower, I stand and critique myself in the mirror; my skin, my posture. I have no mind for politics. I lack patience with people. I’m self indulgent.

I hog the bed. I don’t work out. The thought of playing sports makes me nervous. Outings with big groups scare me and make me tired. As much as I don’t want to, I still gossip. I don’t like Stepford Wives; St. Albert Wives.

I like the idea of trying new things, but don’t like actually trying new things. I can be indecisive. I’m a wolf in sheep’s clothing. I rely too much on hope and destiny. I admit too much when I’m drunk. I don’t lie, but I do cover up the truth. I never deal with things when they come up. I procrastinate.

I’m broken. Sharp jagged pieces. Flawed.