The dead has kept me awake lately.
The lifelessness of my dusty past.
That should have remained inanimate.
It moves within as a block, as a whole, dropping flecks of necrosed moments.
My eyelids solidfied opened, unable to slide down on the dryness of of my eyes.
Fragments, chips, flakes falling over my irises, green becoming grey.
I have to see, I have to look.
I am awake.
For fuck’s sake, why do you think it’s called a bike path? Does it say pedestrian path? Is there a little stick man painted on the asphalt? NO! So get the fuck out of my way. Seriously, lovers strolling, grabbing their asses, taking the whole fucking width, or families, with brats running all over the place. I’m coming full speed, braking, saying excuse me, you’re playing fucking deaf and act surprised when I give you shit. At least stay on one side, at least walk in the same direction as the traffic, at least watch behind you once in a while, at least teach your kids to be aware that there are people coming at 20 miles per hour in both directions. Better yet, why don’t you find a fucking sidewalk and stay off the fucking BIKE path.
That being said, I got my new bike today. A great ride. I love it.
On another note, I’m very pissed off at myself today. I had a horrible day at work, a coworker lost it and screamed at me like I was a piece of shit, basically because she can’t handle the work load I give her and she keeps fucking up big time. As of December 2005, she has cost the company over 5,000$ in mistakes, and a major one could’ve cost us around 100,000$ but we were able to repair it. But she’s the wife of my boss’ friend. So. Anyway, all that to say that instead of telling her to eat shit and die, I ate my emotions. Gummy bears, Goodies, Pretzels. Like a damn pig. And I hate it, I hate that feeling. Those feelings. Tomorrow I’m going to come into the office and kill the bitch.
J’en ai pas beaucoup. J’en ai jamais eu beaucoup. Mais depuis quelques temps, des gens se rapprochent de moi, par eux même. Et ça me déconcerte. J’ai passé le temps où je m’en faisait avec ça. J’ai passé le temps où je me questionnais sur mes aptitudes avec les gens. J’ai compris depuis longtemps que je ne les aime pas. Et qu’ils ne m’aiment pas en retour est tout à fait normal. Des fois, quand il y a trop de gens autour de moi, les gens au travail, la famille, j’ai juste envie de leur dire:
“Allez donc toute chier tabarnak. Toute la gang. J’veux pu rien savoir, de personne. Appelez pas, chu pas là. J’veux juste qu’on me crisse la paix. C’est tu assez primal comme cri ça?”
Je me sens rarement seule, à en avoir mal, à ne pas pouvoir fonctionner. J’aime le contact physique des gens que j’aime, mais je n’ai pas besoin de leur compagnie pendant très longtemps.
Et pourtant, en ce moment, je crois que j’ai des amis. Des gens qui ont recherché ma compagnie. Et ça remet toute mon hypothèse en question. Toutes mes idées à mon sujet. Parce que j’ai aussi envie que ces gens fassent partie de ma vie maintenant. Et je me sens maladroite, j’ai peur de dire ou faire ce qu’il ne faut pas. Je ne connais pas les rouages de l’amitié. J’ai été blessée profondemment en amitié, des blessures plus difficiles à guérir que celles dûes à l’amour.
L’amitié comme à la télé, l’amitié comme celle qui m’est racontée par d’autres, je n’y connais rien. Et si ça m’arrivait? Et si j’y arrivais cette fois?
Sometimes the boulder is a real one.
Sometimes the boulder is just a prop, like in Hollywood.
Looking at them you’d never know the difference.
Anticipation of the effort ahead is misled.
I gamble a lot.
There was something wrong that summer.
She was drunk a lot, he was high a lot.
Too many people were sleeping over.
The music was always too loud.
Someone made me drink a glass of Tia Maria with milk.
We had a new car, a summer home, new furniture.
Something wrong.
We were three for the last time.
This is me, this was me.
I remember everything, except what I forgot.
So this is where you’ve taken me
On the edge of your time, your space, your conditions
And I bend over to see what’s down there
But not too far, not too bent, not sure
About that hand of yours, resting on my back
That hand that has led me, brought me, hit me, loved me
Found places I thought were dead, did not exist
That hand that I still feel hot, burning, searing
When it’s gone to another one’s secrets
That hand that has never belonged to me
So this is where I stand
On the edge of my will, my reason, my desire
And as wide and open that my canyon is
As full and available I let it be
You will never bend over to see what’s down there
There is a taker
Does not necessarly mean
There is a giver
Well, some would love that… lollll, but that's not my point. My mother tongue is French. I always lived in a French environement. I have no idea why English came so naturally to me. When I was a kid, I watched tv in both languages. Sesame Street, Road Runner and Tweety Show, later the after school specials, the sitcoms and then the movies, the news… It seems that I always understood English, even before I could speak it.
In my teens, when I started to write, I did so in English. It was bad, but it made sense to me then. And when I went back to school at 22, I went to Concordia University, even if I never attended an English school before. But never before I started to write here did I think about this seriously. I never questionned the reasons why I write in English. But surely it means something.
When I have a post, the idea is born from my feelings, which become thoughts, which become words. At what point does it take a language? Because that's what happens. I don't decide. The words do. Just like they have to be put down, typed, written or said, they need to be so in their own language. But what does this say about me? Does it mean anything? I wonder about duality, about split personalities, but mostly about remoteness. Does this remove me from what I try to express? At the moment I write, no, because I feel, I'm completely immersed in the sound of my words, the rythm of my fingers, my breath held, I sway on my chair and I am gone for the moment. But after. After it's out, not when I hit publish, then view. But later, a day or so. I read my words and wonder about the woman and her torments. Then I realize they're mine.
I'm not too sure if there is a division, a schism. I am my words, as they are me. The sound they make when spoken has no importance. The way the letters are put together, arranged has no importance. What they mean to me is all that matters. For the rest of you, well, there's always babel fish!
Alors j’ai décidé de fêter ça avec un gros bol de crème glacée Coaticook à l’orange. La crème glacée Coaticook, c’est la meilleur au monde, point final. Écoeurez moi pas avec Ben & Jerry’s pis Hagen Chose m’en sacre. La Coaticook, au sucre d’érable, aux bleuets, au brisures de chocolat… mais surtout, surtout! à l’orange.
Je viens de vivre un épisode blogmad. Pas pour le traffic, vraiment, ça me dérange pas d’avoir 1 ou 100 lecteurs. Je pense que j’en ai environ 12 ou 15 réguliers, c’est le fun, je les aime tous 🙂 Mais j’hais la barre de navigation de blogger. Next blog, c’est d’la marde. Alors là je peux choisir le genre de blogs que je browse. J’avais envie de voir d’autre chose, lire, lire, lire! J’ai trouvé une dizaine de nouveaux blogs que j’aime beaucoup. Là le site semble chrashé, mais c’est pas grave, j’en ai tiré ce que je voulais. J’ai quand même une quote de 6.75 sur varb, ce qui semble assez bon comparé à la moyenne, je suis flattée. J’ai aussi surfé sur top blogues et fait d’agréables découvertes 🙂
J’ai des fois l’impression de m’enfarger dans les mêmes sites, les mêmes places, où je ne me sens pas toujours à l’aise. Surtout les blogs en français. Finalement, j’avais juste pas trouvé le bon répertoire. De plus, même si j’écris surtout en anglais, j’aime lire en français. Je sais pas ce que j’ai ces temps-çi, j’écris toujours en anglais. Comme si la division était plus profonde, comme si une autre moi prennait place devant l’écran l’instant d’une montée de désespoir.
Les émotions n’ont pas de langues, mais les mots pour les exprimer, des fois, trouvent leur langue à eux. J’aimerais apprendre l’espagnol, l’allemand, le latin, le mandarin…
Là ça va, il fait beau, il fait chaud, la fin de semaine s’en vient, pis je mange de la Coaticook 🙂
Je me sens même un peu naughty…
I’ve been using hotmail forever. I don’t know 8, 9 years? I don’t know if it’s just me, but lately it’s been acting up. Some delays in delivery. Sometimes for up to 2 hours! Just tonight, I tested it, and there’s a 5 minutes lag when I send from Hotmail to Yahoo. I send from Yahoo, receive right away in Hotmail. But once in a while I will get that 60-90 minutes lag, usually when it’s something sent between Hotmail accounts.
Now, five minutes is not a big deal. It’s nothing actually. But anything over thirty minutes is ridiculous. I use both Lotus Notes (what a heap of shit that is) and Hotmail at work. And I am now considering switching totally to Yahoo. The main problem is that I can’t install Yahoo messenger at work, so I would have to keep a browser window opened at all times. I actually installed the Yahoo bar, and it gives me alerts when I have new mail. But I still have to have that window opened. And I’ve customized Hotmail so much over the years, folders, options, blocked senders, signatures, etc… just the thought of doing that all over again on depresses me. I would also have to alert all my contacts, which can be done quickly, but would require a lot of reminders as well.
I love Yahoo’s interface, it’s alot less busy. And all the options and folders are easily accesible, not tiny and buried under huge flashing banners. Yahoo is saying that you will be able to access your Hotmail account from there soon. That would be great.
It took me five minutes to switch from IE to Firefox (well, Mozilla at the time), but this change might take a while longer. But I think it will come, unless I’m not crazy and Hotmail is really having problems (right, like they’re going to tell us) and are working on it… Man I’m lazy.
But it’s all good. Damn if I can’t learn from my mistakes. I let things overwhelm me, inside. Never outside. I’m cool. I’m the fucking embodiment of cool. Inside, inside is where it’s going on.
Learning also to let enough shit to seep out, keep enough in. Balance. Oh, it gets heavier on this side here once in a while. But never enough that I loose sight of reality. Of the world outside.
Just add some fluff. Just add some light. Just add some laughs. And you got me. All of it.