9.13.2006
I attribute many a needed pick-me-up to my beautiful pup, Marley. Happy birthday, Puffin--you're three months old!!!
6.27.2006
It's getting better, I must say. The first few weeks I wanted to slap everyone who started the conversation with "So how are you?". I didn't know how to respond. On good days, I'd reply with a noncommittal "I'm okay...". On bad days, I wanted to shoot back, "Well, how do you THINK I am?". I wanted to be asked and I didn't. I wanted people to know how I felt without having to articulate the mess that was going on inside. I wanted the perfect balance of empathy and patience and kindness.
That was then. This is now. Now it feels like it's too late to bring up. Now the gap in my heart has been filled by cement. Now I get irritated by the daily, seemingly inconsequential, trivial problems of others. Now I get annoyed by those who squirm. Now I want the perfect blend of silence, consideration, and respect.
It's getting better, I must say.
That was then. This is now. Now it feels like it's too late to bring up. Now the gap in my heart has been filled by cement. Now I get irritated by the daily, seemingly inconsequential, trivial problems of others. Now I get annoyed by those who squirm. Now I want the perfect blend of silence, consideration, and respect.
It's getting better, I must say.
5.24.2006
Why I love my Dad:
Because.
Even though he is physically gone, his spirit remains. I can still hear his voice, see his face. I don't want to forget.
He is at peace.
He is home.
Because.
Even though he is physically gone, his spirit remains. I can still hear his voice, see his face. I don't want to forget.
He is at peace.
He is home.
1.23.2006
I am a one way motorway
I'm the one that drives away
Then follows you back home
I am a street light shining
I'm a wild light blinding bright
Burning off alone
It's times like these you learn to live again
It's times like these you give and give again
It's times like these you learn to love again
It's times like these time and time again
I am a new day rising
I'm a brand new sky
To hang the stars upon tonight
I am a little divided
Do I stay or run away
And leave it all behind?
it's times like these you learn to live again
it's times like these you give and give again
it's times like these you learn to love again
it's times like these time and time again
I'm the one that drives away
Then follows you back home
I am a street light shining
I'm a wild light blinding bright
Burning off alone
It's times like these you learn to live again
It's times like these you give and give again
It's times like these you learn to love again
It's times like these time and time again
I am a new day rising
I'm a brand new sky
To hang the stars upon tonight
I am a little divided
Do I stay or run away
And leave it all behind?
it's times like these you learn to live again
it's times like these you give and give again
it's times like these you learn to love again
it's times like these time and time again
11.14.2005
"I see," said the blind man, as he picked up his hammer and saw.
I am the only person who finds this utterly hilarious?!
:D
I am the only person who finds this utterly hilarious?!
:D
10.12.2005
You are Rerun!
Which Peanuts Character are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
...
Yeah, that sounds just about right.
10.01.2005
Meet George.
("Hi, George.")
("Blub, blub, blub.")
George is my pet fish. Yes, yes, I know. It's a FISH. But fish have feelings too, you know.
Trust me--I'm an unlikely proponent of this belief. I used to make fun, much fun, of fish-owners. My disdain for the aqueous beings stems from my earliest years. To me, fish were the quintessential non-pet. As a child, I yearned for something loveable, cuddleable, soft and warm. Instead, my parents invested in pair after pair of slimy, googly-eyed, fat, orange Orandas or Lion Heads that all irrevocably died of some scale-eating disease. Quarantined goldfish would float aimlessly about an oxygenated bucket, usually off-kilter, sometimes belly-up. Time in The Bucket was the ultimate death sentence. One knew not far down the road, a toilet would flush, and a little one would be lost.
Perhaps it's because of the countless number of fish I've seen suffer such a demise that lead to my overprotectiveness of good ole George. I make sure George is fed the required three times every day, with the choicest selection of blood worms and fish flakes. I say "hello" to him when I wake up and when I return from work. I change his water at least once a week. I ensure he gets his exercise one hour a day. I show him off with pride to my few visitors and friends.
George, in essence, is my pet.
George = fish.
George = pet.
Therefore, fish = pet.
Indeed. My world has shattered. I own a fish...and am darn proud of it.
("Hi, George.")
("Blub, blub, blub.")
George is my pet fish. Yes, yes, I know. It's a FISH. But fish have feelings too, you know.
Trust me--I'm an unlikely proponent of this belief. I used to make fun, much fun, of fish-owners. My disdain for the aqueous beings stems from my earliest years. To me, fish were the quintessential non-pet. As a child, I yearned for something loveable, cuddleable, soft and warm. Instead, my parents invested in pair after pair of slimy, googly-eyed, fat, orange Orandas or Lion Heads that all irrevocably died of some scale-eating disease. Quarantined goldfish would float aimlessly about an oxygenated bucket, usually off-kilter, sometimes belly-up. Time in The Bucket was the ultimate death sentence. One knew not far down the road, a toilet would flush, and a little one would be lost.
Perhaps it's because of the countless number of fish I've seen suffer such a demise that lead to my overprotectiveness of good ole George. I make sure George is fed the required three times every day, with the choicest selection of blood worms and fish flakes. I say "hello" to him when I wake up and when I return from work. I change his water at least once a week. I ensure he gets his exercise one hour a day. I show him off with pride to my few visitors and friends.
George, in essence, is my pet.
George = fish.
George = pet.
Therefore, fish = pet.
Indeed. My world has shattered. I own a fish...and am darn proud of it.
8.07.2005
A granule of sincerity:
"To interpret the image, we must destroy the object."
Eric Scigliano, on the fine line between the restoration and destruction of ancient art.
"To interpret the image, we must destroy the object."
Eric Scigliano, on the fine line between the restoration and destruction of ancient art.
A few photos I'm particularly proud of:
Yosemite National Park, California
At the peak of Mont Royal.
Sunset, somewhere in Montreal.7.21.2005
I could make this a self-congratulatory posting and expound on the explicit details of how I've overcome trials and tribulations to make it to where I am now.
Truth be told, I'm still in transition.
Granted, Ottawa is hardly an exotic, extreme locale (although I do hear their winters are quite harsh). Nevertheless, I've committed myself to the nation's capital for at least the next year and a half, sans the relative comfort of home, with a mere smattering of friends and acquaintances in the area to turn to, count on.
A year and a half. A lot can happen in a year and a half.
I'm hoping (learning, yearning, trying) that with time and experience in this "real world" we call life come the wisdom and maturity of pseudo-adulthood.
Well.
Here's to hopin'. ;)
I'll keep y'all posted.
Truth be told, I'm still in transition.
Granted, Ottawa is hardly an exotic, extreme locale (although I do hear their winters are quite harsh). Nevertheless, I've committed myself to the nation's capital for at least the next year and a half, sans the relative comfort of home, with a mere smattering of friends and acquaintances in the area to turn to, count on.
A year and a half. A lot can happen in a year and a half.
I'm hoping (learning, yearning, trying) that with time and experience in this "real world" we call life come the wisdom and maturity of pseudo-adulthood.
Well.
Here's to hopin'. ;)
I'll keep y'all posted.
