5:00 AM: I almost bought those shoes in blue

This post's title courtesy of an obscure Grade 9 Drama memory.

I'd say "it's been a weird couple of days," but I suppose it has in fact been a weird life recently and I don't expect it to change.

Strange things happen to your mind when you go into isolation. Not that I'm meditating in a solitary temple somewhere in the Himalayas, but my general social interaction has obviously lessened these past few weeks.

No man is an island, we all need somebody to lean on, etc, etc. I find myself more often than not in my own head, y'know? Just kinda... spaced.

I have this friend, I guess you could call her. Well, I DO call her that, but it's an unusual relationship. We met a few years ago back when I had an MSN profile and would occasionally be sought out by fast-living girls looking to make polite platonic conversation with a decent-seeming guy. Nicole here has been the only one I keep in contact with, being as she periodically messages me to let me know what's going on with her life and see how I'm doing. Given that the circumstances of my life have only superficially changed in the past three years-or-so, we most often talk about her life, her boyfriend, and her seemingly never-ending supply of woes.

I don't know where the notion came from that I am a sympathetic cat. I do my best to say nice things but I'm overall not all that compassionate. I can be an ear to hang on, sure, but I won't be able to talk most people through their life troubles, because I tend to take a wider perspective on things. Now, you can't outright tell a teenage girl that all the problems she has, no matter how tragic-seeming, will someday seem utterly trivial. That's something she has to learn for herself. Unfortunately, there's not much I can do to remedy her problems either. She tells me, you know, what mean things people say about her/to her face, she gives me the impression of what she suspects of her boyfriend (that he's cheating with her other friend, or something,) she relates how people spread rumours. Nothing tragic, usual high school melodramatics (she's a year-or-two younger than me.) But she's very hung up in them in that high school way, in that same way I used to be many years ago and occasionally still am.

Me, I try to be supportive, because she's a nice girl and I value our friendship somewhat, but my ear is all I have to give. I mean, if she's looking for advice, I think she's got the wrong idea about me. The only thing I know is that I know nothing. And whatever advice I do offer will normally be met with indifference because, hey, I don't have a lot to give.

Thanks to the miracle of Facebook, I've started the process of catching up with my gradeschool best friend Drew. He was a cool guy, but our friendship was cut off because I was in the process of becoming a loner/computer geek and he was, y'know, party-guy jock. But I think we made a good team back in Grade 5.

I went back to River Oaks, actually, yesterday. I was picking up some comics and, taking the White Oaks bus back, decided to stop by the old neighbourhood. If I'd known I was going to take that detour, I probably would have taken the 19 River Oaks bus that goes directly by the school, but yeah, it was an impulse. Sort of, also, the desire to stay outside in my new jacket (with a hoodie underneath, it was actually quite chilly yesterday.) But mostly it was because of some dreadful news I'd heard that someone had littered the playground with razor blades. I actually didn't recognize the park when I saw it on the news and had to deduce from the repeated references to "Munn's Park" and "this public school" (River Oaks was shown) that it was, in fact, the park where I spent much of my youth. So I went by, observed how different/smaller everything seemed, and walked home.

I've done more reporter-work in the past few days than I did in my first year at the Sheridan Sun. Not that I've done a lot of writing per se, but I spent yesterday attempting to arrange interviews and get sources, etc. Working for the internship has kinda-sorta lit a fire under me as to what I can and am willing to do for stories, including be an actual journalist. In the meantime I've become a fixture in the back of the newsroom, chilling out, making conversation with the few first-years I know and also Alison, the woman who helps with the layout/e-mails a few days a week. I'd been meaning to break the ice with her for a while and it finally happened and we've made conversation.

It's not a bad life... just a weird one.

But whose isn't?

Keep on rockin'
-Yr Scotto