odd sleepin’ habits


I am awake. I should not be awake, but I am in a self-questioning mode right now and it woke me up with a feeling of worry and regret in my gut. Not about the apartment, I am okay with that (I think), but rather issues of definitions and classifications. I am a firm believer in the power of language to rectify uncertainty.

I walked in to school yesterday. It took forty-five minutes and was awesome. It was a beautiful day and my t-shirt and jeans were appropriate. I watched many Westmounters out walking their dogs, saw a bunch of policeman guarding the flowers outside Dawson, and got to school feeling pretty pleased with myself.

I skipped a class because in a very fortuitous event, I ran into an old friend from CEGEP, Lorne, as I was walking by the metro. He was killing time between a dentist’s appointment and his scheduled tattoo getting session and we went out for coffee for a little more than an hour and shot the shit. It was great to see him more than once over a summer.

But class was on Proust, and as my current MSN display name indicates, Proust is god, so I ended up going to the later session of my class and, despite my sincere remonstrations of myself to not be as obtrusive in class as usual, I still was the only person other than Bryan to talk more than once. I love Proust. I am hoping he can put me back to sleep after this with his long-winded narrative.

Lisa’s mother made fried chicken and corn on the cob for dinner. Yum. I managed to convince her to drive me home and was sent with a week’s worth of cucumbers, tomatoes and apples. The glass of wine from dinner was starting to put me to sleep and I don’t think I lasted very long before passing out. I woke up around 10:30 to get into bed.

A couple of times the same snippet of conversation came up yesterday. It is related to my status as ultimate disclosure girl in a periphery way (as an aside, I am thinking of retitling this blog “ultimate disclosure girl: an epic adventure” any thoughts?). I hate lying. I embellish stories a lot, but no longer consider that the same as lying but rather a love of narrative getting the better of me. Outright lying and concealing of the truth bothers me. I purposefully craft scenarios to permit me a way out. I am doing this right now with my ex who suddenly showed up on MSN on Saturday and wants to go out for breakfast soon to catch up. I am avoiding truly updating him on my current status and doing so with tons of loopholes. When these loopholes close, I am going to be one unhappy person because I do want to stay in contact with him, but have no idea how. Six and a half years is a very long time to say good-bye to. Who am I if I deny the experience of those six and a half years? That is my entire adult life that I am reneging. I just can’t bring myself to do it, though holding on is bound to cause me considerable suffering. I guess I am a masochist at heart. In the words of a Silverchair song we used to listen to in Veronica’s basement incessantly but could never completely understand: “abuse me more…I like it.”


7 thoughts on “odd sleepin’ habits

  1. I used to love Ana’s Song. Now I want to get home and listen to it. An awesome song before the time when emo got super trendy.

    I’m not patient enough to walk anywhere for 45 minutes. If it goes over 20 minutes I break out the skates.

  2. “Who am I if I deny the experience of those six and a half years?”
    You’re Heather in 2006 who has grown considerably since the 90’s, but can’t understand how. It may not bother you now, but it will…

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