Dashboard Confessional.

how do you feel right now?
be honest
~Joe. Seth's best buddy, during an MSN conversation that started about sheep. More specifically, the sheep that was on his display picture, which had evaded capture for 30 days, solicitating great respect from Joe.

I replied that I was a little discontent.

only a little?

Being honest:

I'm walking up to broadway from my gym near Kits beach. Walking around Kitsilano, on a warm summer's afternoon. Of all the cities/municipals/precincts in Canada, Kitsilano has got to be the most cushie place to land yourself in. Ostentiously flambouyant in character, unaware in spirit and sheltered in mind, slim built professionals fuss over their MEC winter jackets and Lu Lu Lemon yoga mats while projecting an affected air of perfection. Just the right degree. The houses are drapped in flowers, neighbourhoods sit together compliantly, sipping tea and chatting about art and finance. Hollow laughter jingles in harmony with the bank accounts.
Their wallets overfloweth.

Perhaps it's because I haven't been seriously seeking God lately, or... well it has to be becuase I haven't been seriously seeking God lately but I find that the heavy sense of disapproval I had of such frivolity fade into jealousy. I won't go into details here. Quite unnecessary.

But here's where the honesty kicks in. In the midst of all this lusting and wanton desire, I find myself scratching quite disgustingly at my new found job at the Taco place. I never expected myself to be working at a fast food resturant, I never wanted to but I believe that my word is being put to the test. After working at the Law firm, I left disillusioned, with a good deal less respect for high-ranking professionals. My new mantra was this:

Only when no job is beneath you, then will there be no job above you.

Easier said then done. So I'm a little discontent because I don't want to be working at Taco Del Mar when the rest of the people around me are driving internships in Khattar Wong and the like. Hell what am I doing with my life? How will I ever earn enough to upkeep a Kitsilano life...

and you know where this leads to: Utter nothingness.

I am ashamed of my attitude, and above that, more surprised that I had managed to keep it hidden from myself for so long. What with all that talk of 'maybe I should work as a cleaner to really learn that...' and 'we have to know what's for us and what isn't, I'm not drawn to IRSA becuase I don't think that that's where God...'.

I'm not saying that I won't try and strive for the best, but I want to do so not for myself. And maybe the reason why I'm not striving for the best is because I fear failure. But at the heart of it, I want to strongly believe in the calling of Christ and the readiness of the spirit to give all. All.

All so false. I am a liar, I am a fraud. Here is where my biggest brokenness lies.

"If a drunkard signs the pledge, or a rich man gives all his money away, they are both of them freeing themselves from their slavery to alcohol or riches, but not from their bondage to themselves. They are still moving in their own little orbit, perhaps even more then they were before."

It took me a long time to decide to post this.
Here's the start of vulnerability.

I'm off to do the dishes and clean the washrooms.

I am living testimony to the fact that if you don't get yourself right now, you'll never get yourself right later. There's no such thing as 'if only...' the only true issue is the self and no amount of circumstantial change will alter reality.

I finished my last course of the term today, and despite writing a good paper, I was not content with the fact that I was done.

I called the Taco Del Mar guy and they have hired me. somewhat. But I am not content with the fact that I have a job.

I could attribute it to the fact that I haven't sold my bed, and that once that was done, life would be perfect, and I would be content.

I finally remember what I was thinking of lying in bed that night 3 nights ago. I was thinking about how my dad once said that he felt sorry for my brother and myself. That after we leave the nest and fly away, life will be a lot harder. And it's true. I no longer have a nice place to live in with nice furniture, no longer am I at liberty to buy whatever I fancy, and my access to very cheap, and very comfortable flights will soon be over. I think the main difference between economy class and business is how the attendants treat you. In business class they are only too delighted to serve, in economy, I once had a flight steward scowl at me (at a perfectly legitimate request too).

I'm starting to suspect that my pining and attachment for 'home' and 'mummy' (are you reading this Dustin Ens?) is symtomatic of a deeper realization that I'm about to leave all this behind. I am probably mourning the death of a time in my life, a very sweet, cozy pocket of existance.

Sweet, cozy and nice...
...Are not enough to build a life upon.

Time to start getting things right.

Whole

I was lying in bed last night and thought of something that I'd have liked to share in this corner of the blogsphere. Unfortunately... yeah, I lost it by morning.

I think my recent lack of creativity on my blog is reflective of the fact that I have nothing left to say. It's almost as if I've gotten a grip on life (how misleading!), crusing along with, really, nothing to deal with except a bed to sell, a job to get, and a budget to balance.

Your problems seem so... superficial.
~ Mel. After me lamenting about being unable to sell a bed.

And as I told him, oh the big convoluted existential, philosophical theological questions I can handle with one hand tied behind my back. Not a problem. Not that I've gotten it all controlled, I just.... well.. handle it well. I think.

I wonder what's going to happen with something really big happens.
~ Mel. After me screaming about being unable to sell a bed.

Not much really, I told him. This is the worse I'll get in my ability to handle traumatic events in my life. For those of you who walked with me though my break up with Seth and the death of the Hannah-Dennis alliance, flag me if you disagree. But I have to say that throughout the soul-numbing pain, I believe that I was as functional as I ever was. Plodding along though life, doing what Hannah does, if anything, better. With the one exception of having more fulfilling blog updates.

So while I lack the capacity (and desire) to corpse out on life during severely traumatising events, I'll take every opportunity to do so in the tiny ones. When it really doesn't matter. That way, life goes on, nothing is disrupted and I get my share of drama.

My blog writing will suffer though. But you'll know that it's because life is good.

I am blogging with beautiful internet.

So lately the internet in this basement has been a bitch. The router corpsed out on us and the only way to access the net is if you're plugged in directly into the modem. We tried to talk Leon into buying a new one for us, but his solution was to take turns. using. the internet.

So for a while my little heart was broken with the inner-most core of my being discovering the meaning of loss and abandonment.

Then David shows up, via a crigslist advertisment, selling a wireless router for $20. Leon tells me to 'GO AHEAD' and here I am doing my usual tryst with blogspot.

God is becoming more prominent in the little bits of my life. Like the router, like how Darlene's plane tickets come via courier the moment I'm out for laundry (so I can actually HEAR the main door being knocked), like how I manage to substitute a $90 textbook for a $6 photocopying crime.

I'm just going to have to learn to be focused.

Om.

Ok.

I have never quite seen pain like this before. They say you can feel a person's pain when you look into their eyes... or some crap along those lines.

But it's true.

Whenever I comfort someone I'm always wary of playing a role, a falsified facadical face that emulates some apt emotion.

But not today. I'm learning to love, I'm seeing what it means to be vulnerable and realizing how much I want to be that.

While you're turning over tables
With the rage of a jealous kind

Love of a jealous kind.