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:)