Tan

I have a couple of themes that seem to crop up again and again in my writing:

1) My hatred of winter and cold

2) Heat, humidity, my obsession with grass and dew

3) My cynicism on the topic of love (and occasionally a lack of cynicism on the topic of love)

3) Death, violence, depression

Despite the usual morbid dreariness of my blog, when I write poetry, my favourite topic is the weather. Yes, sounds exciting doesn't it? The weather channel in stanzas. I'm sure you're turning away in disgust. Still, the one thing that makes me really happy is to lie on the grass, barefoot, hair unbound, in direct sunlight, with a tree in view. I let the ants explore my limbs and enjoy the feeling of my skin turning browner. So I try and capture that peace, that mellow joy when I write. And winter deprives me of that.

My prose on the other hand is often violent and depressing. I can't manage entire pages of happiness it would seem. And one can only write so much on the topic of grass.

Cardamom

I finally changed my template. To hell with Yaser, PhD comics and the Dictionary of Canadian English. I'll put links up again someday.... I still don't know what possessed me to go with lime green in the first place. The only reason I could think of was that I went by the name, the template being called "Son of Moto", a name I found amusing even today. I think I've previously covered how I'm easily amused.

Remember how I was gloating about not being depressed anymore? Hah! So much for that! But I am better. Not suicidal. Usually able to get out of bed and function. Having serious trouble leaving the house though. I'm afraid really. Afraid to even ask my parents to go out. It's so very stressful and the slightest bit of extra stress seems likely to push me over the edge.

I was inspired to write today. I was reading through this blog: http://beanay.wordpress.com/
and it reminded me of how good it felt to write. I dug out my "writing book", a lovely black leather thing that that best friend I have totally lost touch with gave me once. It has these long leather strings so that it can be tied up which allows me the illusion that my thoughts are safe inside. I know that the only things keeping my mother from going through it are a lack of interest and my legendary bad handwriting, (once on a road trip, people passed the time passing around my class notes and trying to decipher them). I scribbled down a hasty poem which needs work but is the sort of thing I write only for myself. Something meant to be cathartic and help me organize me thoughts that I don't see as being of a style that lends itself to sharing.

After I wrote my poem I took a look at the last thing I wrote. It was a few short paragraphs of what was going to be a short story and it ends very abruptly. I have very frustratingly not made any notes about where I was going with it; I guess at the time I was certain I get back to it soon. It's got characters from a story I no longer have, having left the disk with my only copy in a computer at Gerstein. The next day when I realized what I'd done it was too late. The disk was gone, no sign of it even in the lost and found. I was near tears since I'd worked on that story so long and it was a draining piece of work about a mutually abusive relationship. I didn't have the heart to try and rewrite it. Anyway, my paragraphs involved those same characters but was obviously set years before, when they were just getting to know each other. The writing is not the greatest; I think I was just trying to get down in words the atmosphere, the moment that had come to my mind at that moment. I don't know why the end is so abrupt and obviously incomplete, even if it was to be a vignette.

"...bent her head so he could feel her words warm and slightly moist against his jaw."

What words?? What the hell did she have to say? I annoy myself. Well, I've decided to make notes next time I write. I'd originally intended to extend that original now gone forever piece into a collection of short stories and actually had a second, (not missing), story already written.

As an end note, I've become somewhat better about back ups since that incident, but not much. This blog is certainly not backed up anywhere, not that I'm sure there's much here I'd want to save.

Picking up the spare

Posting two days in a row. Not something you're likely to see around here again. I appear to have emerged from my blue funk at long last. I went out today, (or yesterday rather) though I didn't stay for the play. And I didn't even consider jumping in front of any moving vehicles. Woohoo! All told, it was a pretty good day. I overslept so when I actually did wake up I was running around like mad, trying to get ready in time and by the time it occurred to me not to go, I was pretty much ready and just went with the flow. I got to the bus stop just in time for the lights to change and the bus to drive off but the guy drove just past the intersection and waited for me!!! Seriously, it was a miracle as regular TTC commuters will know. It certainly put me in a great mood. I even had a nice time with my friends after the initial awkwardness. So yay! I'm happy again!

Jump! Jump!

As may have come across in previous posts, I have certain issues. I get depressed. I know everyone does, I just seem to get that way more often and do it more thoroughly than a lot of people. Then I don't know how to handle it and set about messing up my life by avoiding it ("it" refers to my life but perhaps should also refer to my depression). I also cut myself. I have a long list of reasons why I think I do that. They are probably stupid. The few people in my life who know about the cutting disapprove. So I try to stop. I've succeed for months at a go, then there always comes a slip-up. I've tried therapy. Didn't help much but on reflection I think my therapist, while very nice, wasn't right for me. I've never tried meds. Mostly out of a sense of fear that if I ask for them, I'll be told I'm stupid and don't need them and should get over myself. I feel that if I really needed them, someone would have noticed by now.

I've been especially suicidal of late but tonight I feel like I'm starting to come out of it. I'm going out tomorrow to watch a play with friends I don't really want to be with right now. I've just lost that sense of connection with them. I'm dreading the whole thing but I'm making myself go. Or at least I think I am right now. I might talk myself out of going by morning. On the other hand I might go but jump in front of a train on my way, which I really don't want to do. It strikes me as an inconsiderate and selfish way out. Honestly, I feel disconnected from reality, like my actions belong to someone else. I'm scaring myself a little since I don't feel like I know what I'm going to do next.