Chapter 9: Neuroses are funny things

Time was, I wrote in this blog obsessively. It didn't matter if nothing interesting happened in my life - and it still doesn't. I was utterly in love with the idea of coming home after school, sitting down in the evening, and recording my every available thought here for the millions (or dozens) of readers to peer into.

Given that we are more than halfway through the month, and we've only got nine entries, this is obviously no longer true, at least not true for the time being. I'm roughly going every other day, and it shouldn't be surprising. The only thing that should be surprising is that I still do this. Three and a half years, that's over 875 posts, have come and gone. I'm still carrying on the way I did then. I don't know who's reading, although I know people are reading in Hamilton, Toronto, and Korea. And I know that occasionally, people will do google searches for themselves, which makes me wish I operated more as a roman a clef; but that would seem dishonest. You found yourself here. You know me. Use this knowledge however you please.

So I'm just staring back in awe at this monolith of a blog I've built up. It's overwhelming. So much baggage, so much joy and misery, everyone I know, everywhere I've been and every job I've had and everything I've seen, all here in white and black. And I don't really intend to stop now, no sir. I've always said this blog, it's a very long story with me as the main character, and while not an interesting one, a damn true one, with occasional penis jokes.

That, I wrote last night, Saturday evening, around 10. I was in a kind of mood for ruminating on the blog. It probably comes from the fact that I'm writing a story that is comprised primarily of the facts of my life, so I've been wrapped up in my head a lot this past month. NaNo, you know.

The week ended, as all my weeks seemed to, like the groan of an old man easing into a hot tub. By Saturday afternoon, Friday seemed so distant. It wasn't much of a day. Half-conscious, I attempted to contend with the very large philosophical discussions in my first tutorial, the all-told summary of Mrs. Dalloway in my second, and a summary of narration communicativeness (et cetera) in my third. I also learned that I managed, without reading the chapter upon which it was based, to get 9/10 on a quick quiz in Film last week (on Ozu's use of style in Tokyo Story,) so I'm pretty sure tht's the class I'm going to concentrate on most, as if I wasn't already.

Saturday morning, I let my alarm go off, and took care of my dog around 9. Once that was taken care of, I was about to hit the snooze alarm when I said, "Fuck it, I've earned it," and just shut it off. I think I say that to myself a lot lately. I slept until noon, around which time Eric and I went out to the mall, which is in the early phases of Christmas season (with the notable absence of Santa,) had a lunch, checked out Coles, and then I bought my present for (groan,) Fake Christmas.

Hard enough to believe, but it's the fifth go-around since our first Fake Christmas in 2003, and we have yet to come up with a catchier name. It's also known, by my mom, as "Our Christmas Thing" and occasionally just, "The, you know, thing." I bought, as per usual, a box of chocolates because I'm lazy/cheap/uninterested in wasting the effort on something interesting. Besides, they're good chocolates at Purdy's. As far as I'm aware.

The afternoon proceeded in front of the television. 5 O'Clock rolled around and it became necessary to get things moving. Earlier in the week, I had been contacted by an old friend who had had an idea for a TV series and wanted to discuss the possibility of collaborating. For years now I've had a reputation as the go-to-guy for these sorts of things and was glad to hear him out. It was only a matter of arranging the meeting. He was going out for the night to a friend's, and wanted to see if I'd tag along so he could pitch me the idea there. While it was a nice gesture, I was more in the mood to hang around the house last night. We rescheduled for tomorrow.

We ordered pizza from Pizza Pizza, seemingly the last place left with a "x minutes or it's free" clause. They upped it from 30 to 40 over the years, which is cheap but probably good for them since they had about 7 or 8 minutes left on the clock when it arrived.

I did some writing (the main reason I wanted to chill around the house) and whatever-else, when sometime after 11 I got a "Hey, wanna come chill?" from Lauren, back from Western (as has been the norm, but apparently not anymore.) So CB and I went over to her place, where Pat and Chris already were. We actually made two trips as I'd neglected to bring any booze, so we ran home and I grabbed my gin, a can of 7-Up (I prefer tonic but we were in a pinch) and How I Met Your Mother on DVD. We watched a few episodes, eventually CB left and we all settled in. Pat needed much sleep and so conked out on the floor (and later the couch in the other room,) the other three of us sat up late in the dark on the couches talking, as Lauren claimed herself insomniac and wanted company. So we didn't get to sleep until, oh I didn't see the time, but it was likely 4 or later. During that time, we talked in drunken circles the way people do late at night when they are, as I was, soaked in gin. I can't remember the exact details, but people do tend to focus more on the downers (relationships, other bummers) in these situations.

I woke up the next morning in a dry, bleary-eyed haze, wrapped in my sweater and a thin bedsheet (more for the sake of coverage than warmth.) I had that hazy headspace of a man who really appreciates a glass of gin, although managed to evade a hangover. It was about 9:30 and Pat had to get going, so the three of us drove off into the day.

The bulk of the morning was uneventful, but around 2:30, we went out for Fake Christmas. It was a hectic afternoon, punctuated by all the little kids running wild and having fun with each other. Cameron is positively obsessed with Spider-Man (and Venom, particularly.) It's kinda cute, really.

After dinner, we selected our presents. Eric had planned to pick his own gift, a bottle of liquer, and despite being the last to choose, managed this. I was second last and ended up, perplexingly enough, with some jugling balls. I might've taken it a bit hard, being so taken aback by it. Why juggling balls? Someone (my aunt, I believe) had chosen that gift, even though we're none of us kids. I may have seemed pouty a bit, but I didn't try to swap them out (Fake Christmas is more or less the game called "Yankee Swap" or various other games,) because down inside, I was amused. It wasn't so amusing when Tim insistently gave a lecture on his history as a juggler, but when little Aaron (my cousin's young son, about a year and a half old,) became fascinated by them, I saw a sort of innocence. I don't personally expect great gifts - last year, I got little jars of jam - I guess the point is to wind up, in this case, with something richly absurd you wouldn't actually think of wanting. I may be the only person who could have gotten the juggling balls to appreciate that.

After a lengthy session of sitting around, we left a little after 7 and my brothers and I watched wrestling all evening. I'm here now realizing that I've gotten two or three posts worth of material out, when these days it seems rare I should get any at all.

There's hope. That's always what's left, and it's what feeds our souls. I recently told a good friend, who confessed to feeling down, at the end of a conversation, "I hope you can enjoy the night. The world's too nice a place." And I mean it. My God it seems impossible to believe, a lot of the time we can't help but feel the kicks to our ribs, but surrounding us all in an infinite sea of hope and wonder. Grim as the gray sky may seem, not to sound too fuckin' cheesy, I have to believe this. It seems to me the only way we made it this far, that the world has some inherent good with any bad you can see. The sea washes away the grime from the air.

There may be a poem in that - which would be good, as I've got one due this week.

I'm taking tomorrow off. Mondays, being non-essential, are a good time to take care of some very pressing business, including but not limited to a dire assignment for Astronomy due the next day, and the remainder of Mrs. Dalloway (which both Alyssa and Aunt Lori confessed were among favourites. It's a pretty neat book.)

Sometimes it's hard to believe there's a world outside my head.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott