September 22, 2010 3:16 AM

Sleepless, 

I met Melissa for drinks yesterday afernoon. We talked about Eroupe and all the fun we had. Those two weeks she was there with me where the best two weeks. 

She pointed out that I have once again hit the repeat button I alway hit when I 'leave jordan' and she is right in saying so. It makes me sad that to know I am walking in circles but glad I have a friend to point it out when I don't notice. 

I thought about Anne, does she have a repeat button? What did she leave behind to go to Europe? What did she leave there? What did she come back to?I wonder if she has skelotons similar to mine?

In the mean time I tried new things, while doing this I discovered that I have missed my side of the bed.

Reused Memories

Sept. 30

My first week in my new campus office. It is quiet and lonely on campus. Classes don't start for another week. My office is about the same size as my closet at home. Granted, my closet at home is rather large, I converted my den into a walk in closet. The lack of a window troubles me a bit. I live in a basement suite and the lack of sunshine in the winter is taxing on my happy levels. I think I'll get a fish. I think I'll get two fish. One for this sunless sanctuary and one for the hibernation zone I call a home. 

Aug. 31

The Tri is creeping closer. I am so very much looking forward to it. I'm terrified. Not so much of the race as after the race. What will I do to drive myself then. I love my new job. New classes are starting soon, but I need something to push me on physically. Something to nip at my heels. Something to get me out of bed in the morning, to excite my muscles and lungs, to make my heart beat steady after oddly coloured dreams. 


Training with Kate helped. Accountability. 

Sept. 1

I hurt. I can feel my body telling me to eat it, to stop my sniveling and move it on forward. I’m doing this race. No matter what. The swim excites me the most.  Pull, kick, kick, kick, pull, kick, kick, Pull, kick, kick, kick, breath, repeat., driving oneself near death is the best way to feel alive. Agreed?

Sept. 2

I have moved most everything around to how I want it in my office. Tanner moved the shelves for me and we shuffled the couch to the north wall. It feels right in here now. Something should feel right no by now. Race day is close and I want to be in the water, but I love being here. Tanner brought the fish he bought me. The poor thing is nameless and might be that way for a while, I hope he understands that these things take time. 

I went in search of baskets, boxes and other storage such things today. My best finds where at the Value Village. I still need a few more things to keep the clutter contained.

I had never been to the reuse centre before.  Cadence suggested I come here, reminding me of my bitty little budget. I like her, she will keep me grounded. It is mostly junk in this place. Buckets of junk. I think just as many hoarders visit the place as dumpers.  I didn’t find any hooks, or the low lamp table I was hoping for. I did find a Tupperware box of what I first thought would be a button-making goldmine. Upon closer inspection I realized that this jackpot could not be so frivolously spent on button making. I found a shoebox and started loading it with photos. Hundreds of photos, photos of flowers, wildlife, couples on their holidays, Scottish castles, a series of shots of a Mediterranean guy making beautiful pottery, duck, trucks, snowdrifts, trees, gulls, bridges… who would discard this? Post notes... 

I looked for a long while at the sloppy printing with leftover handwriting habits sewn in, black fine point felt ink pen. I can see the person’s hand and the exact type of pen they held to write this. I have about twenty of them scattered around my house and car. I wrote post notes in that same city with that same type of pen, with similar penmanship. I felt a kinship knitting itself together as my imagination created my own personifcation of the stranger who had written this post note. She was in Northern Ireland, Belfast, the picture is of the Grand Opera House. It doesn’t look like I remember it but by the time I got there I was too worn out to make anymore solid memories.

A heavy film of regret fell over me and began taking a tight form to my jaw, neck, shoulders and down. Why was this in here? Why where any of these here? I stood there for a few seconds feeling as venerable as each of the thrown out pieces of pasts, and I stress the use of pasts as plural here, I was now holding in my hands. I was struck.  My imagination assaulted itself with a few of the million possible reasons and circumstances that caused these photos and post notes to end up being tossed to… to the floor... The bottom fell out of the box that had contained these memories I had suddenly taken a defensive ownership over. 

I stood silent, after on loud four letter word, stunned and staring at my shoes surrounded in a five foot diameter of photographs and the odd post note. 

I found a much stronger box and picked up the photos and post notes angry and frustrated. I thought of an ex boyfriend or girlfriend tossing away the leftover boxes of the person they once claimed to love unconditionally. I felt a bitter anger for these imaginary possible people for being so inconsiderate, surely they must still share a mutual friend with their ex lover or at the very least the contact information of someone who would get these memories back to their rightful owner. These are the ages of Facebook for gawd sake! You can find anyone.  I thought of the tiny box of twenty or so photos, a half-full bottle of cologne, a t-shirt and an old coffee mug that I had moved four times since my divorce. Sure I hadn’t gotten them to my ex yet, but I hadn’t thrown them away!

I picked up and began to read a post note, my anger subsided.

“Hi Guys!

How are you? I’m visiting John right now. It sucks a bit since we’re both sick. but it’s GREAT to see him. We’ve been having fun just hanging out, but we did do one bus excursion to Downpatrick. John says hi, and that Belfast is a very oppressive city (which is kind of true, although it’s very pretty when the sun shines). I have developed a strong taste for Hot Whiskeys and have drank far too many of them lately, and I have been wearing my new boots!

Hope you are both well

Miss you?

Love Anne”

My bitterness turned to compassion as I started to think of possible semi-valid reasons for these treasures to land here.  Maybe Anne or one of the addressees had passed on? Was Anne the dark haired girl in some of the photos I noticed while recollecting them after they spilt to the floor? Maybe someone’s life had spilt to the floor... Maybe they couldn’t bare to hold onto these any longer but couldn’t bare to throw them away? Maybe this… Maybe that… the maybes kept on for days. 

The world spun madly on, I raced, I contemplated, I spent some time in my wagon rut. 

Sept something... 

On Campus I am full of life. I could bounce from wall to wall. I go home and look in mirror. The person looking back is weary and red faced. I wonder if Jordan was keeping me back or keeping me young? I give myself a mental slap for even considering that I had made the wrong choice with Jordan. But why am I so tired..?

Sept 20

Jordan taunts me. I have horrific nightmares that I watch without reaction until I wake foggy, stirred and confused. I want to gather everything Jordan in the house and burn it. The nightmares don't have anything to do with the Jordan years, they leave the same bad taste behind. The taste that makes me feel I waste my minutes on frivolous this and tedious that. 

I spent the evening cooking, baking, writing and questioning. I have two more weeks to distract myself thinly through my sanity. Tomorrow I must remember to ask Sunday to look for an early morning training program at MacEwan or near my house. I need a physical goal, something to drive me forward. I have fantasies of my TV going over the Heart River Bridge and bouncing off the sandstone. Crashing into many very undisruptive pieces Thank you Duffy for that vision... it will always make me laugh.