Another endless night.
It's 4:30, I'm listening to Ryan Adams' song "stop" on repeat.

Look around there's so many of us..
There's so many of us..
you are not alone..
ever...
ever...
ever...
Stop.


Probably not a smart thing to do.

Tonight started out as a study session but it ended up as another one of those nights.

Why is it you contemplate everything except what you are supposed to when it is time for finals? I have so many questions and there isn't an answer for a single one of them.

Starting with why can't I sleep?!?!?!

ok I have an answer for that one.

I wish I had something to say. The truth is I am just so tired of being alone that I am writing here so I feel some connection to something outside of my own head. It's getting to me - all of it.. the loneliness, the lack of closure, the ex-husband that treats me like dirt every day.

Yes I know that is just how he is but for 10 years I have been raising his child alone and, if I do say so myself, she has turned into a FANTASTIC young lady. Not once has he said anything positive but everything negative is my fault.

I am selfish, my priorities are wrong, I shouldn't be going to school, I'm Satan, I don't care, I'm a fat cow and what was the quote?.. If I would "stop eating everything maybe I wouldn't be so fat and she would have some food in the house."..

The funny thing about that last one is how little I actually eat.

The latest is I took the insurance off my car. I have no money for it and now that Ray takes the school bus to school I don't really have to worry about it. I never go anywhere and If I do I have the bus pass I already pay for. Anyway because of this I don't have my priorities right and I can't be a parent without a car. Has he not noticed how many people parent without a car everyday??

The finally came out that he is just mad that he will have to drive more often.

It's easy for him to talk about priorites, he spent the last 9 years in vancouver shacking up with his girlfriend and running off to mexico or Europe every year. He paid 100 bucks a month. I on the other hand have not been able to do any of that. I have been a parent full time, not just during the summer.

Look, I don't claim to be perfect. In fact, I am realizing just how messed up I am as time goes on, however.. I try my best. Yes sometimes that isn't good enough. It's hard to go to school and raise a daughter with no money and raging bloody depression. It's not my ideal world.. but I do it because I have to, and yes maybe my grades suffer and maybe Ray doesn't get enough time with me but I am making every effort to give my all in both departments. It is so easy for him to sit back and judge me.. and why does he.. this is the question. To him I am Satan but why? I try my hardest to respect him as a parent, even when he doesn't act like one. His relationship with raychael is and always has been extremely important to me. He spends his time bad mouthing me to her. THe latest was him telling her I will die soon because of my weight... I spent an hour with her crying over that promising that I wouldn't leave her.. But I'm the bad parent.. ARe you kidding me!?!?!?!?

I was as good to him as I could be, hell I still want to stop acting like children and be friends but no matter how much I try he treats me like shit.

yet...

I have to spend the holidays in my shit house alone while he takes MY daughter to vancouver to have christmas dinner with his ex girlfriend who treated him, and my daughter btw, like shit.

I realize that life isn't fair, I am not a two year old, but really how much is one person supposed to take???

I am NOT this strong. I cannot handle everything alone and one of these days I will flip. It's not far off.

Honestly, If everything I do is wrong what the hell can I do?

He is the only person I am in constant contact with, he is the only person to walk through my front door. I wish people would take the small things less for granted. A friendly smile, a phone call, a hug, just someone that cares, really cares. You don't realize how important it is until you don't have it.

I am tired and lonely and sick of it all

I miss Derek. fuck.

the sad thing is.. this post is as close to talking to someone as I can get..

and the pity party rages on:)

so I have one of those internet stick things through rogers.. my story starts there.

I am behind on my payments because I got a coupon for 50 dollars off, to cover the payment. but I have, as of yet, not had the time to send it away. Because of this lack of time, ambition or whatever I got a phone call the other day at work... this is roughly how it went.

lady: hello this is rogers blah blah payment blah blah blah

Me: oh, yes I'm at work right now, this is a really a bad time

Lady: something about payment, when are you going to pay blah blah.

Me: I would like to talk to you about that but now is a really bad time, could you call me tomorrow

Lady: blah blah when are you going to pay.

Me: I would really like to talk to you but I am at WORK and will be FIRED if I don't get off the phone, can you please call me tomorrow.

Lady: Blah blah blah payment

Me: look: I am at work, I can not be on the phone. I would really like to talk to you about this but it is a bad time, can you PLEASE call me tomorrow.

Lady: will you make a payment blah blah blah

Me: fine, ok, whatever

Lady: so if you don't make a payment by friday they can cut off your service.

Me: fine




and blah blah blah.

so fast forward to today.

I call rogers to talk to them about my bill payment and I tell the lady that I have sent the thing off and what not. she says something about having to make arrangements because they will cut off the service blah blah, I say, that's what I am doing. she again mentions arrangements I, again, say that's what I am doing right now, making arrangements. after this goes on awhile she says there is already a broken promise to pay on my account. ..... huh?

rewind to stupid woman while I was at work, apparently I made a promise to pay in there.

I say to current woman that I would like to complain about that actually, I was forced into agreeing with whatever she said, she would not let me get off the phone.

Lady: I understand you were at work but you made a promise to pay

me: no I didn't, I was trying to politely get off the phone so I didn't get fired

Lady: but you said yes

Me: No I didn't, I blindly agreed to whatever she said because she would not let me get off the phone after trying numerous times.

Lady: but you said yes

Me: I don't consider it saying yes when I am forced to do it.. she forced me, she would not let me get off the phone. I would like to file a complaint

Lady: you can talk to the accounts receivable to see if you can set up another payment promise but there is already a broken one

Me: I don't want to set up a payment promise I want to complain who do I complain to?

Lady: the woman was doing her job

Me: no, her job is to get someone to agree to a payment not force them into blindly agreeing.. I am a TELEMARKETER.. my job is also to get money from people but if someone asks me to call them back I do I don't force them into anything. Can I file a complaint

Lady: no

Me: No? I would like to speak to your supervisor

Lady: you can talk to accounts receivable..

Me: I don't want to speak to them I would like to speak to your supervisor....


This went on for awhile, it got heated.

my point is this:

Whatever happened to customer service? I was trained at Mcdonalds and we were told that the customer is ALWAYS right. Now, that is not to say that I expect to be able to do whatever I want whenever I want but come on.. don't tell me I can not complain about something. That is horrible. To be forced into saying yes to something, be held to that and not be allowed to complain is just vile. Next time I will just hang up on her, I didn't want to do that because I am a telemarketer and I know what it feels like.. next time though....

anyway, that's all I wanted to say for now.

I just accidently found out I can drag what I type here and save it on my desktop. God Bless Macs!!!!


Trapped in a room with an orange carpet straight from the 70's and a bare brick wall. I love it! The white couch, however, does not agree with my dirty shoes.

I have to read Austen (Emma), can someone please explain to me why everyone likes her so much? Nothing happens, no characters have depth, they are all the same, and the father keeps whining about EVERYTHING!!! This is the woman people compare great literature with??? God, give me Corelli or even a Shelly any day over this crap... Marie Corelli, there was a fantastic author (Wormwood: A Drama of Paris), she got bitched at for writing like a man. What does it even mean to write like a man? Her novel was from a man's point of view-isn't it then a testament of her talent to have written like a man?

anyway nothing much to say, not much of a life really, attempting to read ALL THE TIME!! I blame Radcliffe. 4 english courses may not have been the smartest thing to do:)

However--

Half way through the final first half.. if that makes any sense...... The end is near,

Guess I should go see how Emma responds to Elton coming on to her in the carriage, my knickers are in quite a bunch indeed with anticipation.

back to school

school rundown- nothing exciting, just a rundown.


English 327 -Medieval and tudor Drama
English 409 - The Gothic Subject
English 223 - Post-colonialism
English 349 - 19th century Literature - The novel
Psych 229 - Abnormal psychology

What does this add up to? Hours of reading 600 page novels and analyzing the reasons I was stupid enough to take on four english classes when I only need 3 to graduate. That's right, I need three courses to graduate, lets make this clear, three courses TOTAL. Not three english than a bunch of fillers, three total. How many am I taking? 10.... yes 10. Why? Clearly I am an idiot and I enjoy debt. The actual reason is I am trying to make up for two years of slacking by killing myself for 8 months and how have I spent the first two weeks? Slacking. That's not actually entirely true, I have been working 4 days a week and spending time with ray who just came home last week so really.... sigh. This is actually going to be quite short because I have to read some plays for Medieval drama for tomorrow, (they are in old english) and my prof tends to call on me.

327-First class, first time he calls on someone who do you think he calls on? Of course, me. and it wasn't a question question it was "what do you think?" well what he was talking about I didn't really have an opinion on so I had to make something up, hopefully it sounded ok because the breaker of my heart earlier this year's brother is in my class (i know god hates me) so if I look like an idiot it gets back to him. Needless to say as happy as I was to see him tuesdays and thursdays are going to suck, stupid constant reminders. Oh well, I am surrounded by friends in that class and the prof thinks highly of me so that is good. For the record I really missed Bowers (the prof) over the summer, he is so happy and so excited that it is hard not for that to spread.. I love listening to him talk.

409 - My Gothic class has like 5 people I know, it's a record I'm pretty sure. My prof has an accent, always good. Our first class was spent analyzing a coleridge poem, changes made from a first draft to a final draft. How cool is that? We looked for changes in even a word here and there and why he did it. I was so happy! The prof is definitely not as dynamic as bowers but he is really knowledgeable in his area, I feel like I am going to learn a lot in this class. This class is also closest to what my masters specialization is going to be so I am super pumped for that.

psych 339 - Lots of people, lecture hall, prof that talks fast, abnormal psych. Not a lot to say about this class but I love it! It's nice to be back in a psych course, I feel more at home. Also, no papers!! HURRAH!!!!!!

349 - I have to read Jane Austin for this class:( I had almost made it all the way through without having to read her crap. I enjoy the prof, although the first book we had to read was dreadfully boring but the other ones look ok. I'm excited to read Caleb Williams (written by Mary Shelley's father). He seems cool but I missed today so I don't know how he is going to approach the literature itself.

223 - I'm very blah about this course. I don't like James Joyce and don't have much knowledge about post-colonialism, nor will it help me in my studies but I needed a course in this category. He is a nice enough guy, Irish (always a plus in a Callahan's eyes:)). Wants to work us on our writing so I am really scared he won't fit into my do my essays the day before class way of working, we'll see.



Well I'm sure this has been thrilling. Time to get to the drama.. god, 11 at night, and yet again I sleep not:)

loneliness.

When Superheros die - Roland majeau

A lonely day a troubled night I saw the little children cry
On the street and in the sky I watched the future wave good-bye
The day that super-heroes die

No more feats of strength to rescue us
No more flying through the air
No more lifting of a city bus
No more victories to share

A lonely place in our hearts
Is now the space that we abide
A colder world is torn apart
And all our dreams are laid aside
The day that super-heroes die

No more feats of strength to rescue us
No more flying through the air
No more lifting of a city bus
And no more victories to share

A lonely room in our house
Is any room that I am in
The tears we cried to say good bye
My broken heart was broke again
The day my only true love died
The day my only true love died
The day my only true love died

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0K7F6Dh1SrM

I'm feeling deeply lonely and not sure how to handle it anymore.

The graveyard chronicles part 2.B

Elmer Armstrong. He doesn't have a tombstone yet, just a small plastic black sign. Elmer Armstrong.

The graveyard chronicles part 2

I'm in the graveyard again. There is a ladybug exploring the bench next to me. Oh now she's just resting. I wish I could do justice to all the thoughts that go through me while I am here but sometimes a moment can not go beyond itself. That is what it is like for me here. Those are moments that make life something worthwhile, the ones you can never share. These moments, these are for me alone; I try to share them in here but once the journal comes out the moment dies and a new one is born. My thoughts leave where they were and start to focus on the movement of my hand and the letters on the page. I envy this lady bug. My thoughts here do not come as a steady narrative stream, rather they come as flashes, glimmers of a hidden depth I may finally be able to find. There are two other people here today visiting loved ones. A woman has been here for half an hour with water and a spade tidying up a plot. The man stayed for the amount of time it took me to write this entry. Both share a common hurt but neither will share a single word. Neither acknowledges the other. Both left as I wrote that line. They lady bug is still here. The wind is calm and cool. I slowly walk between the rows, reading all the names and sentimental thoughts, smoking my cigarette. This is my place, these are my friends. We have never met but we are connected through a sort of an understanding. They know what death really is and I understand there is more to it than the sadness people impose on it, we share a secret joke. There is a newly dug grave here today. I don't know who's it is, there is no name yet. Faux grass lines the opening, is this because people need to have the illusion of life even then when the body is lowered? The barren dirt is too depressing I guess. I look down this grave for a long time wondering what I would do if I dropped my cell phone, wondering what it would be like to be in there. I would never go retrieve it myself, this is someone Else's place of rest, I would not dream of contaminating it with my worries or stresses or anything else that life has me soaked in. I realize this talk of death depresses most people and that makes me sad. Right now, staring into this fresh dug space, I am so peaceful. I think momentarily of the family and my peace vanishes. What are they doing right now? Are they mourning his death or celebrating his life? I hope people don't mourn my death. I try to tell people, I'm ok with death... not that I'm going to rush into it or anything I have things to do first, but when it is my time, I want to go. Please remember that my friends, and remind my daughter. Death is another adventure, and if it is not than it is a rest. Either one of those I welcome. I have to go back to work.

The graveyard chronicles part 1

Yesterday I spent my lunch with Joseph Charles, A. Turcotte D145444GNR RCA 1936-2000 and Colin Comeault Royal 22E RTegt-sgt 1937-2000. Courageous and loyal soldier, Devoted father and loving husband, who is still waiting for June M Coones 1938-.

I walked through the rows of stones peppered grey. Each one proclaiming that someone important lay underneath. Someone who fought in a war they may have believed in or they may not have; it did not matter then and it does not matter now. Regardless of what they believed they each sacrificed a part of themselves, and not a small part, not a part that can be replaced – they gave their innocence. Take a moment to think about that, I'll wait.... I realize how cliché and silly that sounds.. What the hell is innocence anyway? Think about it. Once a person sees death-I’m not talking last breath, final words, in a bed surrounded by loved ones death; I’m talking knee high mud, wrong step, body parts flying, entrails hanging, could have been me if I was half an inch to the right death-once a person sees that, there is no hope left, there is no room for wide-eyed enthusiasm or the cup half full – How can there be? How can you believe in the good of humanity when you see first hands the depth they will sink to? Men ripped apart, Men ripping others apart, the sorrow, the grime, the innocence in the eyes of the child moments before the grenade goes off, the baby crying with his mother in pieces a foot away, an old man cradling the still shell of his fallen wife. This is the depths we sink. I can’t even fathom the effect of the words I am typing, and I am only using naked words, I can't express the pain, the noises, the smells, the filthy shit covered people slithering on the ground. Men who used to be lawyers and students with promising futures turned into targets and the walking dead overnight, scared and alone clinging to a token of a forgotten world, a picture, a letter. No, my words are nothing, their meaning is hollow and Hollywood. I am still an innocent. When I think of war I think of Platoon or Red Dawn, images on a screen, chocolate milk syrup mixed with corn syrup and red food coloring. That’s what I think of. Actors who stop crying when the director yells cut. These men, for them there was no one to yell cut, the crying continued and I believe it would have continued until the day they died. That is what I mean by they gave their innocence. They gave theirs and we keep ours and say “good work boys!” They come home, some of them come home and we give them a parade and a day to mark off the calender and we think it's all good. None of us can ever truly grasp… but I digress.

As I walked and looked at all of their names, dates and ranks; looking at the many flowers, some old and dead themselves, some young and fresh; sunflowers, roses, poppies,.. as I felt the unsympathetic cold of the stone on my hand and the soft loose dirt or regrown grass under my feet; as I felt the warm of the sun clash with the cool of the breeze, I thought of those men and women, what they gave up and where they are now...

A box of wood, a mound of dirt and a pile of de-fleshed bones.

The bees search for nectar above them; birds find an afternoon snack in worms who may have explored their decaying bodies. There is no pomp, no circumstance, just a few words etched in stone, filled in by dust carried by passing winds or simply faded with time. Chipped statues of angels sit at the base, words chosen from a book sit unread save by some vague passerby, the meaning lost and gone. No one salutes them, there is no more “Good work boys!, there is no more them

They are no longer there.

I am not saying they are in Heaven or Hell, I’m not saying they are not. I don’t have the first clue about any of that stuff, nor will I pretend to, but I do know they are gone. They do not notice the chill of the ground, they can not envy as I brush away a wisp hair blowing in my face. The storms blowing or the sun shining, it makes no difference to them.

They exist in name and memory only. Soon the stories they star in, the moments retold at family get together, Christmas, thanksgiving, the laughter surrounding the mention of an old quirk they had or joke they told, they will all cease.

The laughter
replaced by a casual mention
replaced by a vague recollection
replaced by silence.

The memory will be gone.


These people become nothing more than another name carved into a rock amidst a sea of others. Gentle sentiments, well intentioned promises "Lest we forget, forever missed". There is no choice but to forget, time takes care of that…. and forever? It is a simple illusion. It doesn't exist. Time is simply a complex puzzle consisting of collective realities, always stopping and starting but there is never one constant forever, no flow. Forever is simply a word to give romanticism to the lines of the poet. It is an illusion we keep alive to help soften the blow that one day we will join McElroy, John Joseph 1934-2001 in his existentially challenged tomb and we will simply be gone, Remembered for a time and then gone...

So goodbye Matthews, William E (Bill) July 20 1916-April 22 2008. I give your name this moment and I give your memory this passing thought. As for you, I give you the promise that I shall enjoy the breeze, love much, cry when hurt , and join you soon. Your forgotten soul will not be alone.

That is all I can give.

Unforgettable, that's what you are...

I went to a wedding this weekend in town where there were many people that I knew.. and by many I mean two... when I lived in GP. One of them I hadn't seen for 7 years. As everyone who knows me for even a second's time knows I am having issues with feeling overall insignificant lately so you will understand when I say it didn't help matters when both of them had no idea who I was. Now granted the guy that I know better did figure out it was me when I hit him and got on his case for walking past me, he knew my voice. The other guy I had a complete conversation with and finally told him who I am. At this point he hugged me an apologized but the damage was done.

Don't get me wrong, I am not mad at either of them. Actually after that I had a fantastic night (for the most part) but I just... I don't know. Have I really changed that much? unrecognizable?? (the grooms dad didn't know who I was either but we hadn't worked on many plays together.. still, three people..) Everyone wants people to care, everyone wants to believe they made a difference in peoples lives. The cold reality that when I leave the picture people's lives go on as if I wasn't there is a harsh one to grapple with.. (is grapple a word? if it is I like it). This is not a pity party; it is a fact of life that I am contemplating. Both of the guys said they didn't recognize me because I look younger, I think it is because I have gained so much weight but they didn't want to be rude (alright fine, that was a pity party), whatever it was the bottom line is I am forgettable. We are forgettable. Interchangeable pieces of lego, you lose one in the couch cushions it doesn't matter, there are 20 billion more. Sometimes I will see them when I am cleaning and vacuum it up anyway because I don't feel like wasting the energy it would take to bend down and save it. A single lego piece is expendable. We all are, and I suppose that's ok, but then why do we all spend life trying not to be. And why do we spend so much time caring about what other people think? Christ, I can't do anything with out being concerned, to the point of paranoia. I'm now scared shitless to leave my house, which I suppose is not such a bad thing if I am as forgettable as I think I am:) Honestly, I can't hold conversations, I have recently realized that I don't even laugh for real.. I think things are funny and I make laughing motions but I don't really laugh... who doesn't laugh? What the fuck am I doing?

I want to be someone special... this is not saying I want to be rich or famous or any of that superficial bullshit that everyone thinks is important. I could care less if I never have more money in the bank then I need for food and rent... and movies... and books, but beyond that, I have owned the same handful of clothing for years.. I just don't care... and famous? Please. Not a chance in hell do I want to have people watching my every move.. famous people are not artists.. they can be I suppose but the majority of them, if they were artists to begin with, lose that along the way. The only pure example I can see of someone who hasn't lost that yet is Matthew Gray Gubler... check out his website if you need proof. Ha, you thought I was going to say Tim Burton didn't you? I love the man and he has more artistry in his little toe than Lucas and Spielberg combined but if you think I think he doesn't sell out every now and then.. come on, I'm not delusional.

All I want is to be important... that's all. Not to everyone, not to a lot of people even. Just a few. I want to write songs that people will listen to when they need that company or that understanding. I want to write a book that will make people think.. even if it's only the five people that buy it. I want to make films that challenge people to look at their own lives with a new prospective. I want people to stand on their desks... not for me, with me.

I want people to remember my name when I walk by them on the street.

But life isn't what we want is it? It's not even what is given to us. Life is made up of instances and events that we borrow for a time being, and not even to use alone. We are life's third wheel. They have been used before us, they will be used again and at that exact same time that we are using them 14 million others are using them as well. Whether we go with it or not, they will never be changed.

Seems like it's kind of asking a lot to be remembered as one person doesn't it?

My imagination is gone, title to follow

I wasn't going to stay up tonight. As I have mentioned way too often, I don't do nights well anymore - that is an understatement really, despairingly is a good way to describe it now; it's pathetic and it's getting worse. Anyway, as I was saying, I wasn't going to stay up tonight - but here I am.

My whole life I have been searching for something- we all are I realize but, my blog my search. I'm not sure really how to define it poetically so I won't bother, I desperately want someone that I can lean on every now and then. Someone that will accept me with my faults and believe I am worth...well something But this blog isn't about the search..

I am trying to come to terms with the fact that this just doesn't happen. When all is said and done, you can't depend on anyone to be there through it all. You will have people here and there but rarely will you find someone in it for the long haul, someone who is willing to put in the effort deep friendship takes. This is a hard concept for me to grasp, but it's life right? It is changing everything I have wanted and believed in life, and I am trying to get a handle on the vast darkness I'm being left with, and be ok with being alone. But this blog isn't about the emptiness.

So Gynger what are you babbling about tonight?

Well, when you lose a belief so important and vital to who you are, you spend a lot of time looking at the space it used to fill, hoping it will just come back I guess. It doesn't of course, at least not for me, but it causes you to see things you might normally miss. When looking into recently full spot of emptiness, things that have been left behind seem to come to you a little easier.. this brings us to the point of this blog..... music.

I don't remember a lot about being a kid, I can't even tell you about my relationship with my parents. I think I was close to my dad but this is based on the desire to be close to the image I projected on him, which I don't even know is real or not, I don't admit that often. I read things my mom wrote in baby books so I think I am on the right track but I can't remember a single solid moment from my childhood at all.

I remember Crystal Gayle though, I feel her voice. I remember all the lyrics to Roger Whittaker's Durham town. The static sounds of the record player still ring through my head, I can still feel the sharp of the needle on my finger as I wipe off the dust and hear the echo of that action amplified through the player. The gentle click of the arm leaving the record, locking into place in its holder.. It makes me smile every time I think of it. I remember the dusty air of the Co-op the day I bought my first tape (Bon Jovi slippery when wet) and the way the plastic felt as I unwrapped my treasure. The first time I heard Living on a prayer... sigh.

Isn't that weird.

Jr High means nothing to me, I could walk into that school and not care less, but I cried when I watched New Kids on the Block walk on stage after 20 years and still knew every single lyric to every single song. I remember sitting in my darkened living room watching the video to Step-by-Step, Squealing when Joey McIntyre sang his line and watching him in his black and white outfit with is curly cute hair, those bright blue eyes and dazzling smile. As I watched that grown man sing "Please don't go girl I could hear the little boy with the prepubescent voice lulling me to sleep at night with a smile as I hugged his pillow (teenage girl people focus.. we all did it). I couldn't help but hug my daughter close as if she were the pillow I was used to.

I was in Edmonton at my cousins house when I walked into the living room where they causally had the news on. Bon Jovi was in town (that's why we were there) and they were showing clips of interviews... my first glimpse of Jon Bon Jovi's new haircut. I may have screamed a little, it was mortifying. That was the only time Jon Bon Jovi let me down. I went to the concert that night in my 300 seats and we yelled "I love you Richie" (sambora, The guitarist, keep up people) until we couldn't speak anymore. Thousands of fans and I felt like at times it was Jon and I, although I couldn't even see his face. 20 years later when I stood in the crowd as Jon and Richie walked right by me, I had that moment I had dreamed of while Jon Sang "Wanna make a memory," he looked me in the eyes and smiled at me, I was 13 years old again.

I have never been good with the idea of being adopted. For a young girl the idea that your mother didn't want you is hard to handle. (Not saying that is how it really happened, it was simply the way I, as a child who knows nothing of the world saw it) Apparently (I have been told) I struggled with it for as long as I knew, and I knew very young. Ideas of abandonment and worthlessness are not easy for a little girl to handle alone and, although they have followed me my whole life, so has Annie Warbucks. Little orphan Annie has been right there with me every step of the way. No one else could understand how I felt, but Annie could. When I sang along with her "She may be playing piana, he may be straightening his tie" we wanted the same things. We both sat in our rooms crying as we wondered. "Their one mistake was giving up me" Annie KNEW. Even now as I write this I am tearing up thinking about the bond that Annie and I will always share in my mind. Carol Burnett was in town last year and I went to see her. Sitting in the audience I was that 7 year old girl again, I cried just from the presence of Mrs Hannigan in the room with me. She didn't even talk about the movie but.. I can't explain it.

These people, they will never leave me. Yes, John Denver may be dead but "Sunshine on my Shoulders" is alive and will be whenever I need it. When I need to be upset Soul Asylum's "Misery" is a click away. Music will never fail me. I may not be able to keep a friend for long once they know me well but "Wanted dead or alive" doesn't care. Guns n Roses knows I need to scream and they scream right along with me. I know what song I need when I need to cry, laugh, smile, remember, and that song will never be too busy or too mad. The power of music to comfort and sooth is incredible. The feelings I am too frightened to express are there in a song, "you've seen me, I always leave with less than I had before" (Bruce Springsteen, The Wrestler). I am NEVER alone. Which finally brings me to tonight.

I was going to go to sleep but I thought I would throw on Colbert. His guest tonight was Yusuf Islam, most people would know him better as Cat Stevens. He sang, not just a song, but THE song that I needed to hear tonight....

Roadsinger

Roadsinger came to town, long cape and hat,
people stood and stared then closed their doors, as he passed,
he strolled the empty street, kids banged on tin cans,
then the panting dogs began to bark, as the Roadsinger sang

Where do you go, where do you go,
when hearts are closed,
when a friend becomes a stranger,
nobody wants to know

Where do you go, where do you go,
when the world turns dark,
and the light of truth is blown out,
and the roads are blocked

He stopped by a stall, between the barrels and sacks,
a child's face peeped out and gave a smile, and ran back,
behind a misty glass, on a windowpane,
a little finger drew a perfect heart, and a name

Where do you go, where do you go,
in a world filled with fright,
only a song to warm you, through the night
Where do you go, where do you go,
after lies are told,
and the light of truth is blown out,
and the night is cold

Mmm.... Mmmm.... Mmmm.... Mmmm....

Roadsinger rode on, to another land,
though the people spoke a different tongue, it understand,
they showed him how to share, and took him by the hand,
showed him the path to Heaven, through the desert sand

Where do you go, where do you go,
to find happiness,
in a world filled with hatred, (Cheers)
where do you go, where do you go,
if no one cares,
and everybody's lost, looking for theirs

I have watched it three times and I am still up waiting for it to play again in 2 minutes.

Music ALWAYS KNOWS!

How does it do that? The words I couldn't think of, the words I needed to hear, the words that remind me that I am not the only one hurting, they are right there (and he sang them beautifully, right when I need them.

where do you go, where do you go,
if no one cares,
and everybody's lost, looking for theirs

I am not alone.

and a little bit of that empty space feels not so empty anymore.

a song

well this is way out of my comfort zone and this is a really bad version, trying to clean it up messed up the guitar (took out certain notes from the actual guitar playing so the beginning is nasty) and there are many mistakes (I'm sure my favorite is the cracking of the voice, makes it very obvious it was recorded at 3 in the morning:) Also, the song has changed, not lyrically but subtle changes in the tune but I feel like posting it... so remember before judging... really really rough...

also they wouldn't let it go on as just a song so I threw some comics on to make it a movie.. welcome to the world of the insomniac.

a poem

Glimpse into a Mental Mind


What a tangled web becomes my mind
When images flood my thoughts,
Of the lives and loves I’ve left behind
Of the dreams I’ve never sought.

What a twisted mess becomes my heart
When feelings coincide,
When the hope I’ve tried to keep apart
Meets the fears I’ve held inside.

What a vile stench becomes my soul
When morals come undone,
When the mug of truth is not quite full
And the jury ends up hung.

What an empty shell becomes my life
While my days wear on and on,
As my bitter years so full of strife
Submerge my youth long gone.

What a blessed gift becomes the end
When all you’ve done is cry,
When all your time has been pretend
What a thrill it is to die.

One day I will finish this.

To question the certainty of these words would surely be a cruel and treacherous thing to do, for who among the living – if it can be assumed you are, in fact, among those most ungrateful of beings – may dispute that said of the breathless – of which I have become – for there is nothing for us to be gained in dishonesty. What may be perceived as fable is far too bleak and hideous a ponderance to be of the minds concoction. Alas, the tale in which you find yourself entangled, the moment which sealed a fate before it began, it belongs to me; and I to it. No matter what would become; what insufferable woe would befall us hereafter, we were to be bound together in hell and in eternity. It is in that hell I burn, I shudder, I share my most imperishable of moments with you. You who, without fail, shall come to know the betrayal, terror, and loathing, which forever stifle my never beating heart.

Had I been able to partake in the scenery around me I would tell you of the never ending, bloodless mounds. I would share with you of the lands that were to remain immortally barren and would evermore succumb to the unquenching, unforgiving, ever beating heat of the overhead sun. I would describe the silver paths laying to the left and the right of the enclosure – upon whose fleeting shade they trespassed to shield themselves from the bitter rays – one leading to life, the other, more vivid of the two, to death. Had I the chance to gaze out I would describe the rift which, through unutterable darkness, ended the existence of one panel while giving life to another. What lay through the wooden curtain I was never to know. I shall admit– though it is with profound disdain these words are spoken – I was yet withheld from all those sensations which are so effortlessly cast aside by those whose world is full. Aye, I assure you of these sights I know not. Oh, mournful and heinous contraption of loathing and despair! Oh vile betrayal against life itself! All I have known is darkness. Darkness, hell – and that sound, that ever-present sound. The sound that has haunted my dreams and overtaken my reality. That sound was to be my death for I knew, as long as that steady beat, beat, beat, continued – mine would not. My moments were fleeting and soon would come the vessel leading to a torture so grand it would rip the essence of my being right from my vehemently pleading soul.



**To give a little background, I am obsessed with the language differences between Edgar Allan Poe and Ernest Hemingway. Both I classify as my favorite authors and largest influences on my writing because both paint such vivid scenery and invoke an emotional reaction but they do it in such contrasting ways. Hemingway seems to hate words and will leave his sentences as sparse as possible while Poe seems to use every adjective he can possible fit in there. Hemingway is the king of the sentence fragment while Poe is the king of the run of sentence. I, because of my love of both of them, end up being the queen of both, as any professor I have will tell you.

The assignment was to do something creative. I was blocked for the longest time, to the point where I actually had to get an extension.. My big idea was to write a Hemingway story in the style of Poe and see what could be born. This was not as easy as one would think. To change the writing style of someone is to change the deepest essence of their story. Anyone who knows anything about these authors knows that the narrator is kept very distant within a Hemingway story yet with Poe the narrator is the heart of the insanity. Therefore the narration of the unborn fetus was born. Finally I put the computer away and got out the parchment and ink quill, exchanged the lights for a few dim candles and set to work on my moms old wooden desk with my whiskey by my side. The only way to write Poe is to be Poe.. Did I succeed? Not as well as I would have liked but I am proud of the result (which is actually only the first paragraph of Hills like White Elephants plus a lot of Poe-like Banter I felt needed to be added.) and I think it creates an interesting look into what style adds to literature...

This is the original Hemingway:

"The hills across the valley of the Ebro were long and white. On this side there was no shade and no trees and the station was between two lines of rails in the sun. Close against the side of the station there was the warm shadow of the building and a curtain, made of strings of bamboo beads, hung across the open door into the bar, to keep out flies."

That was about all I used.

One day I will finish it but writing this much was quite a moment and I don't want to take away from it. I did combine my story with the rest of hills and make a complete screenplay out of it but that was another direction all together, more of the Hemingway sparseness.

I keep the half finished bottle of whiskey (Yuck by the way) in my living room as a silly reminder of Poe and the reason why I love literature.

These are my friends. / See how they glisten. / See this one shine, / How he smiles in the light. / My friend, my faithful friend. / Speak to me, frie

I feel like I always start out strong.

That counts for something right?

In my defense it is constantly an uphill battle (my life always has been), so it's not like it's easy, it is actually quite painful. For the first little while though it's the good pain; like that you feel after a fantastic work out or a long night of dancing. The pain that only pushes you to do more because you know with each step it could be the one that crushes the pain and leaves it behind. From there on the "uphill" battle becomes more of an even ground confrontation, or so I assume; I never make it to this point.

Three years ago when I made the decision to go back to school it was one of the hardest decisions I have ever had to make. That seems silly doesn't it? You are sitting there thinking "But isn't further expansion of one's mind always the right decision? That's just silly Gynger." Well in theory perhaps; but I used to have dreams.

The nominees all sit holding their breath in as elegant a fashion as one can muster while turning a slight, unfashionable blue. The sound of the envelope opening is magnified, not exactly by the silence of the room more so by the microphone sitting in front of it...

"And the Oscar goes too...Gynger Callahan"

In a moment all the breath I am holding escapes and the slight blue turns instantaneously to bright bright red. I stand up and an graciously accept the orange and gold bowling trophy that the back of the couch offers amid the defining cries of my fans and peers.

"I would like to thanks my husband Johnny Depp and my best friend Alyssa Milano for standing by me..."

Give me a break, I was 7.

Later, after high school, when practical parents ("You would make more money as a prostitute on the streets than acting" my mother actually said to me once)and a sufficient amount of self-loathing had successfully beaten that dream into dust I concentrated on dream number two - the housewife.

Long story short after 2 years consisting of much emotional abuse and control (I wasn't allowed two watch Will and Grace for christ's sake), I finally mustered enough strength to get the hell out of there. So at 22 I started what would be the rest of my life's journey as a statistic.. the single mom.

The first thing I did when I kicked my husband out was to volunteer at the local theater, a place I wasn't allowed to set foot in while I was married. This started 4 years that could have been the best years of my life, if I was allowed to enjoy them. I worked my way up quickly in the theater, not on stage, between my own self-loathing and my husband killing any spirit I might have processed before, we made it quite impossible for that to ever happen again, but backstage. I found a home and support I had not known for a long long time. There is a but, there is always a but... no one in my family agreed with what I was doing.. "You need to be putting Raychael center, you spend too much time for no money at the theater..etc etc" 4 years of that. When I directed my first.. well second play I invited my mother to come.. she didn't because she felt like flying to toronto for the weekend.

The thing is I was good.. a little unpolished and a lot unorganized but good. I took a really bad The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe script and turned it in to a dark haunting show with original music and dance worked in.. I took The Wizard of Oz and killed the main character, not in a creepy I want to see bloody way but in an elegant symbolic goosebump raising way... who knows what I could have accomplished with training and time but (always) I am a statistic.

So, this brings us to school. Deciding to go to school was admitting that those dreams are never EVER going to happen. Am I passionate about english? I do like to read, always have but that's not passion, that's a hobby. No, I am not passionate about English. The decision to take English was made because it was as close to creative as I could get. I did have a professor that made me passionate about the chance to teach, (Actually I could go as far to say he was the reason I was able to keep going.. Being a professor is a powerful role.), that was something. If I could give just a portion of the encouragement or transfer just a drop of the passion he did for me I will feel truly, truly blessed. I realize anyone that is still reading this is wondering what my point is, here it is....

When I started school I had to only take one class to see if I could handle it... not the work, the people. For a year I had been trapped in my mothers basement, never leaving except to take or pick up ray from school. The only person I spoke to was my best friend via the internet because he lived in edmonton, I led a very human contact less life- this was for a reason. Going back to school was hard, I didn't speak in class at all, didn't even notice if someone was sitting beside me or not, but I did it, and started full time. The first year was fantastic and I transferred to U of A with a 3.8 gpa I was extremely proud of. I beat my mental illness, I beat everyone's expectations and I was on the way to actually succeed at something and then, of course, everything fell apart. Ray didn't have her cousin anymore, I didn't have my mother to watch her. The friendship that was my rock and strength, as I have spoken about many times, diminished in worst way it possibly could for me. No matter how much I don't spend money or how many emergency student loans I get I am always having something cut off or not eating. I was going to finish my degree in three years but now I am back to four and quite honestly I don't give a crap if I finish at all. The grades that I had been so proud of are gone and Grad school is not really an option so there goes teaching, it sucks because I would have been damn good at it but heaven forbid universities do away with enough of their elitism to see that sometimes high grades aren't always doable. My daughter doesn't go to sleep until 9:30, she is an only child, this means that I am her only source of entertainment from the time she gets home until bed, this means that if reading gets done it is not even started until 10 at night, sometimes 11 depending on what all I have to do. My house is clean for the first time all semester and it has stayed clean for the longest time in a year, that is 4 days.


This is quickly turning into a rant which I don't want, I'm frustrated but my point is it's really really hard to keep fighting that uphill battle when you never get to take that step that levels the ground and leaves the pain behind. How long do you have to stay strong before you get to relax a bit? I have given up everything I want for what I need. I have lost everyone that meant the most to me. I have proven that I am stronger than I think, I get it, lesson learned.. when do I get to move on?

I always start out strong, but (like this post:)) it always seems to unravel before I can see the end.

At the beep, please leave your name, number, and a brief justification for the ontological necessity of modern man's existential dilemma, and we'll ge

- do you know who I hate? People on message boards, specifically these people:

I have to do a report on (insert some theme found in some movie here). Can you guys tell me you thoughts on (Insert said theme)?

Umm no, I can not. I probably have a thousand opinions on your topic but, and this is hard to understand I realize, I am not writing your paper.. you are. Unless your prof can phone mine and give me credit for doing the work for your lazy ass I am not going to.. go away.

The (insert idiotic comment which serves no purpose other than to make the person looks stupid) person.

This person comes in many different varieties

For example, on the Devil's advocate board - The mother uses a quote from the bible to talk about New York. The person actually asked "In the bible were they actually talking about New York?" Now I don't usually respond to these people because I'm hoping they are 11 however, this needed a comment. I told the person probably not since New York wasn't really the hopping Urban Centre it is now in biblical days. The person got mad a me. I'm sorry but if you don't think before you ask the question then you deserve the response.

another example -

"Dude Has Adams Apple and these idiots think he's a she...Anyone that stupid I don't feel sorry for."

This genius is talking about boys on an episode of Criminal Minds who get raped and killed by someone they think is a girl but turns out to be a guy. Ignoring the obvious, yes clearly that is a reason to deserve being killed, aspect of this argument, Girls, how many times have you met a guy in a bar and thought "Christ what a sexy adams apple that one has" ? Personally I know I won't look twice at a guy unless his adams apple makes me hot. Christ. First of all, it is a bar, it is dark, it is busy and you are drunk. If you see someone in a dress with long hair it is an automatic assumption it is a girl. Guys, how many times have you been making sex eyes at a girl across the room and broken that to look down and think "thank god, no adams apple, free to proceed?" I believe there is simply some homophobia in this guy that he needs to express because he went through the entire one hour show thinking about how much he would like to do that chick.. seriously, save it for your shrink.


"I think morgan and Garcia have done it"

First of all.. done it? really? welcome to a sixth grade boys locker room. You realize it's a tv show right? If you haven't seen it, they haven't done it. Yes I realize that there are back stories and whatever but this is ridiculous and stupid. Characters can have good chemistry on screen and not have "done it." I especially love when it is followed up with.."I dont know why. Maybe they havent done "IT" but i think there has been a kiss, an intimate hug...something." Clearly. I have much more to say on this topic but I will just make myself mad.. you have way too much time on your hands, please go back to your room and flip through the copy of your dads play boy you leave under your mattress and leave us alone.


Kirsten Vangsness is lesbian?

or Cameron Diaz, or Sean Penn, or Neil Patrick Harris, or Ally Sheedy or lassie or any other person who Has ever played someone Gay or little outside of the gender box. First of all who cares, Second stay out of their personal lives and third, for those of you who say "they play gay so well so they must be," I realize we are living in a time of mediocre acting at best for the most part so good acting is difficult to grasp but usually that is what it is.. good acting. God this one really annoys me. No one asked if Hugh Jackman was really a superhero after he played wolverine. Or if Mike Myers was really a big green ogre...


"I just found out someone I know is playing a dead body on this show"

Fascinating, you get a cookie, moving on.

"OMG OMG OMG i CAN'T BELIEVE WHAT HAPPENED IN TODAYS EPISODE!!!!!!!!!!!!! REID KISSED A GIRL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!'

"OMG OMG OMG YOU ARE AN IDIOT!!! caps lock is not your friend, in fact it hates you, leave it alone.

There are more but I have homework to do.

This have been a petty judgmental post brought to you by my lack of sleep.

Hope guides me It is what gets me through the day and especially the night. The hope that after you're gone from my sight it will not be the last time

It is 2:42 in the morning.

I am tired and want to sleep, I have a paper to write and class in 8 hours but I do nothing. I just started A Knight's Tale for the second time around; good movie, made me cry, although most things do lately. That's not entirely true, I have been getting better.

I used to crave the solitude of the moon. Night time was the dear dear friend who gave the comfort I could not find anywhere else. Cliché? absolutely.. for a reason. My favorite thing to do what to sit outside at 1,2 in the morning and listen to my ipod, the particular song of the day would change, lately it is The Wrestler by Bruce Springtsteen, but the staples remain, Frank Sinatra, Chris Botti, Idina Menzel, Iron and Wine; Voices that calm and allow me to reflect- not always pleasant reflection, for the night is not always kind, but safe and true reflection- moments shared with those who know me best.

Isn't it rich, Aren't we a pair?
Me here at last on the ground
you in midair
Send in the clowns.
...
Just when I'd stopped opening doors,
Finally knowing the one that I wanted was yours,
Making my entrance again with my usual flair,
Sure of my lines,
No one is there.

Sinatra is perfection.

I would sit there outside, stare at the sky, listen to my music, and sometime smoke a cigarette while I reflected on where and who I was. The air is crisp and vibrant at that time of night and the noises are minimal. I was alone, as I usually am, but there is something different about being alone at night; I was alone by choice. The rest of the world shuts the door to the stars, says goodnight to the crisp night air, and succumbs to the need to sleep but I would defy it. In doing so I steal a bit of time and we engage in a secret conspiracy, which as close to cheating death as I will get:) It creates a feeling of being alone without the loneliness, the beauty of which I can not fully explain.

I dread it now. I start trying to go to sleep at 7, sounds like a joke but it's not. The darker the sky gets the more hollow I feel. He was just a friend... I don't believe there is a "Just a" anything. Everything in our lives is important in some way, nothing can gain a place in our lives as a "Just a." Anyway, my night once full of healthy reflection is now full of self deprecation and regrets. "If I would have said this.." "If I would have done that.." "If I was a different person." Thought patterns that I hoped were a thing of the past, attack me with forces stronger than I could have ever imagined. They say with time things are supposed to get better but it's been three months. It isn't really him anymore. I do miss him and sometimes I have a hard time realizing that he is not in my life. The little things take me by surprise sometimes, stupid things I see in the news, my favourite on American Idol, Idina Menzel being pregnant; it’s hard not to pick up the phone. A friend that treasured is hard to come by and even harder to lose but it is something that can be overcome. It's the feelings that the situation fortifies that I am having a problem with. Once again I have to deal with all these feelings I have spent the last 4 years telling myself were silly and untrue. Now in the darkness I can not ignore the emptiness that I am filled with. Every thought is magnified because now not only do I feel it in it's original strength but I feel every moment I was told it was not true, or not going to happen, and the truth of the lie weighs hard upon me as well. My most comfortable friend has been ripped away from me as well and replaced with insomnia and emptiness.. Him I can get over losing, my nights, I will never get over that. Hopefully one day I will get them back.

Blah, what a ramble. I am tired. I want to go to bed but I don't trust myself to lie there and sleep without crying tonight.... I'm tired of crying. whatever.



ps, my titles are always movie quotes.. a cookie to the person that figures out which movie:)

You don't know how lucky you are being a monkey. Because consciousness is a terrible curse. I think. I feel. I suffer.

So I have issues. We all do, I realize this.

My issue is abandonment. I am not going to go into detail about this because it is irrelevant. Because of this issue and past patterns in my life I am a little neurotic about certain things. For example, I need to be reassured every now and then that my friends, when it gets to a certain level of friendship, still like me. A simple verbal "Hey Gynger, I think you're great" or "you are a good friend" or, when I am feeling really insecure a "Yes, you are my best friend, shut up already."

Recently a situation has arisen in which I had to tell someone this was needed. No I am not going into details out of respect to that person but the part that is relevant to what I want to say is the response I got to that. "I'm not going to take on that role." "my role" which I transform into "not my responsibility" (this translation comes from other things said.)

It is the responsibility of my teachers to teach me
It is the responsibility of my family to make sure that my life is on track and things are ok.
It is the responsibility of my hairdresser to not give me a shitty haircut.
It is the responsibility of my ex husband to treat me like shit every time he talks to me (apparently)

If it is not the responsibility of my friends support me when I need it or to let me know that they care about me who's responsibility is it??

It is absolutely my responsibility to tell Sharilyn that her smile is one of the most beautiful images I can think of; or to tell Lisa that our talks finally make me feel like I belong in this university; or Jasmine that if I didn't have her to talk to this past two months, I don't think I would be here; or Kristy that even though I never strike up converstation, I remember her with fondness and she is in my thoughts and concerns daily.

Just because I fail at my job as friend, does not mean that the responsibility is not mine. This is why we have friends and the closer we are, the stronger this responsibility is. That is the essence of what the role of "friend" is and I take mine very seriously. I don't necessarily believe in the term "Unconditional Love" because I find it redundant. I believe love in it's definition should be unconditional, especially with friendship. Is that wrong? Am I alone in thinking this? If I am I will attempt to change.... no I won't.

There is not a lot I do right. I am not overly intellegent, beautiful, conversational etc etc... but I am a damn good friend. I do have issues, I accept that, but I accept, and love, my friends with all their issues... not inspite, with, I sure as hell am not going to apologize for expecting the same return. Is that an unrealistic expection to put on someone? Not a friend, with a friend it should come with the territory.

So, yet again my life takes a turn that I dread with all that I am. I am heartbroken and I am not sure I am mendable this time but I will not apologize, I will not change that aspect of myself, I will merely pick up the salvageable pieces of my heart, wipe them off and I suppose wait for it to happen again because that's what friends do....

We're not in infinity; we're in the suburbs.

I have five minutes before tickets for the Jonas Brothers tickets go on sale. This moment, well these 5 moments, are the only actual time my Office Admin Certificate comes in handy. Thank god for being able to type 80 words a minute, 3,000 dollars clearly well spent.

And that is about all I have to say. For a first post this one ranks right up there with cold pizza and warm milk, both of which have their moments to shine I suppose.

3 minutes. My stomach always hurts when I wait for tickets to go on sale. Is that normal? Even Jonas Brothers tickets. Actually it hurts more because I could really care less where we sit but Ray will care immensely.

Immensely is my favorite word, is that weird? It's not pretentious enough to break out the fake English accent and baguette but enough to hint at the possible partaking of the occasional scone.

Section 203 - thanks but no thanks Jonas Brothers, her eyes are little and mine are old. I guess I'll try again tomorrow when they go on sale for the public..

Cheerie o.... or however that is spelt.