Recent Journal Entries

  • trigger.

    by Fallen Leaves on February 01, 2015

    The black fingernails on my rigid hands clench a red solo cup filled with water, my catatonic body unable to move along to or even acknowledge the music. "Why do you look so sad?" the boys asked me, and I flinched. "Uh, just... just a long week, you know?" "Tell us, Fallen. What's wrong?" Drunk people jostle by with beers and muttered apologies. "It's... I dunno, Beau said something tonight that kind of hurt my feelings. It's Adam's birthday. I don't know." "Oh, girl. Just go if you need to. I love you." A kiss on the forehead, a tight squeeze of a hug. 

    Make it twenty steps out of the bar before the muscles of my throat threaten to strangle me, before my makeup turns into black stains under my eyes. I start to cry in the elevator in my building, and it stops at a floor to pick up a new passenger. "Are you crying?" she asks in fractured English. I laugh, confidently, smoothly, like you would expect Fallen Leaves to. "Yes, but I'm fine. How are you?"

    I never really understood what a "trigger" was until I saw a movie representation of it on some website. "Not this feminist bullshit like 'THAT'S MY TRIGGER,'" the comments read.

    On Friday, we were watching a movie about Martin Luther in class and it showed this kid dangling from a noose, and it showed someone cutting him down and his mother throwing herself on his body, and the peasants pleading, "Father, is he damned? Is he damned because it's a suicide?" And suddenly my throat was filled with the slamming of my racing heartbeat, and I was clenching my eyes shut and feeling sweat bursting out of my skin, and I thought I was just going to have to grab my things and run out of the classroom like a child.

    It was kind of like when a group of us (including Adam) went to a haunted walk for Halloween, and a dummy was dropped from the rafters to swing back and forth lifelessly on a fraying noose. My eyes grew big like plates before I wrenched them shut, before Adam caught on and pulled me into his chest.

    Those triggers make sense. You see someone hanging from a rope, you picture your friend who hanged himself.


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  • january 31.

    by Fallen Leaves on January 31, 2015

    Last night, one of the girls in my group had people over. She told us not to spill beer on the new rug her parents had imported from Nepal because it cost them $14 000. We sat in the other living room drinking beer and champagne and wine, eating Doritos and telling stories. The party moved downstairs for drinking games and I talked for half an hour to my friend's girlfriend about school and classes and the education experience. It was the first time I actually talked to her, although I've seen her around a lot.

    I curled up on the pull-out couch that felt like cardboard and cloaked myself with a papery blanket. My friends kept encouraging me to get up and come party but I just felt too damn tired. 

    Last night I dreamed that I was playing hockey back in my hometown but I couldn't garner the strength or skill to do anything productive. It enraged me and I shoved the butt of my stick through the squares of someone's hockey mask and then got kicked out of the game. My coach came to yell at me, and all I can remember is cowering naked in a corner in fear. The ultimate vulnerability. But then the dream switched, and I was staying with Lance's parents for a while because I needed somewhere to stay and Lance was out of town anyway.

    And it switched again, and I was about to go onstage for a play but didn't know any of my lines, and Lance was there, so I ran away to cry in the bathroom. I kept thinking about how the year before, my friend Austen was there, but now he couldn't be because he was dead. I ran into old classmates upstairs, the ones who would tear me apart almost every day while I still was in school with them, and they asked why I looked so scared. My throat squeezed shut and I whimpered, "He was here last year, but now he's not, he's not he's not he's not." And my high school tormentors grabbed my hand to pray with me, and I was mortified and confused, because I wasn't used to their kindness or their Christian expression.

    I woke up and marvelled at how it's been almost nine months since Lance and I broke up. And how today is Adam's twenty-second birthday. 

    Yesterday my friends were prodding me to tell them more stories about growing up on a farm and through stories of delivering calves and butchering chickens and comical mice control, I thought about how lovely it is that Dad brought us kids out to see the brand new fawn our horse had just given birth to. How we could watch this thing stand up for the first time, wobbly on its pencil legs with knobby knees. Instinct.

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  • hopeless & awkward & desperate for love

    by CleanLaundry on January 30, 2015

    although I'm not entirely sure why, I think I needed a hiatus from writing, so I decided to take an internship on an organic farm in the woods. ftr, I study lit and stuff. I'm no agroecologist and have a pathetic lack of green thumb, but for some reason whenever I try to fall asleep at night after long day on the farm, I toss and turn because I know a part of my soul stays there when I leave. there are tree orchards everywhere, soil to saturate with carbon and secrets (I've been informed it's nutritious for the plants), and no limit to free vegitables. today I sat for a fucking hour watching bees pollinate mustard seed flowers. the gal that showed me the ropes told me her name was "river" and I accidentally rolled my eyes and I sad, "like phoenix?" and then she rolled her eyes, and said "I'm just messin, it's actually kelly." Kelly is like the real life version of one of the girls from harvest moon: plaid shirts, braided crowns, chai tea in mason jars,  smells perpetually like orange blossoms, which drives me crazy, because they aren't even in season. I mean she's more than a trope, I'm sorry. everyone is more than a trope. I happen to know that she has thing goin with one of my good friends and that she gives rides to drunk strangers. as she works she sings to the kale crops and the brocoli and the cabbage. the other day, I brought out a stereo and a bunch of cds. I'm going to do this science experiment, grade school style, in which I play different genres of music for different pots of the same plant and measure their growth. currently, I've got some reggae going, some alt rock, some beethoven, some drake, and an old dashboard confessional album which I'm counting as "emo." I've got this scientist thing down pat. there's this other intern named gary, and when I met him, I knew right away what he grew. he asked me if I wanted to buy and I hesitated, because I'm trying to sober up. 

    when I got home today, my housemate was pretty stoned and entranced by a live stream of the vancouver aquarium jellyfish cam. will have to try that at some point, maybe in my british canon poetry class where I sit in the back row for two hours and try to not let my thoughts race eachother to tangles.

    sometimes. I don't know. sometimes I am baffled when girls at parties ask who I like to read, then proceed to interrupt with "wait, do you like bukowski?" what about me do they associate with a dirty old man? I mean I like bukowski a bit, but he also got a lot wrong with life. god, don't get me started on kerouac. I frankly don't understand how a girl can read kerouac and sincerely like him. 

    last week I went to a poetry slam and this guy got up and spat about the lumbersexual aesthetic. I mean hypermasculinity is not a revolutionary topic to write a slam poem about, but what this guy was saying felt like a bear trap clamped around my heart. 

    on the way home we somehow witnessed a huge car accident and had to be interviewed by the cops. in my area the police are utterly asinine and I was scared because a lot of people died, but didn't feel like I could admit this to Lexie who was kneeling on the ground, shivering. when they finally let us off, it was 2 am and I was warm with anger and my retinas were blurring. I carried Lexie home and when she curled into me like a leaf, yeah, I felt pretty manly. I tried not to have bad dreams that night., like the one about the boy I saw on the cover of Newsweek when I was in 5th grade. it was from the Bosnian war and his face had been hit by artillery fire, and it was mangled and his eyes were obliterated and his nose was gone, and his mouth was a slant. when I wake up from those dreams, my nose is always burning with that smoke that signals that you're going to cry. how many times I've extracted myself from a girl sleeping beside me and sat on the toilet in the bathroom, breathing hard.

    I don't know if I even feel like posting this anymore. I was okay when I started writing and now I'm in a shit mood. like, woe is fucking me. here is your Tinder date, sipping craft beer at an underground bar with sad eyes, a hyperpermasculinety complex and an unrealised dream of living in an isolated woodland shack. congratulations. you're dating the reincarnate of henry david thoroeu.

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  • Delusions of reference, maybe

    by artemisagrotera on January 28, 2015

    Taken down


    Ground into dust

    Clawing through sadness

    No strength to feel lust

    I despise feeling numb

    No penalty's worse

    I'll trot out that cliche 

    and climb into this hearse

    Take me somewhere

    So I don't have to care

    I no longer come on command

    I might see the door

    I could maybe forget

    If my body'd obey my hand

    The force of the vortex 

    Threatens to drown

    It's a shame this shell goes to waste

    I wish you were free

    But you're not

    It's too bad

    'cause I just want to give you a taste

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  • Four. I Just Want an Entire Pizza

    by freckled on January 28, 2015

    Have found that the most successful way to maintain a running schedule is to update my workout playlist almost daily. I get bored with music like I get bored with people who listen to Pit Bull or don't vaccinate their children. On days when I have a lot of feelings and need to outrun them, I listen to really dirty Niki Minaj songs, i.e Truffle Butter.

    Mark's birthday is on Friday and I have to make it perfect. Thinking a bonfire on the beach with our friends and some moonshine and then later I'll try to harness my inner Niki Minaj. 

    There are days when I'm perfectly productive and drink like 64 oz of water and do my homework and go to work and go to sleep at 10 pm like a good girl. But those are the days I feel like I'm a permascowl slapped on an empty shell. Whattabore. 

    As Karl Marx once said 

    "We are living in a material world. And I am a material girl" 

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  • messenger bird - attack in black

    by Fallen Leaves on January 27, 2015

    You should keep writing / you should keep trying to find your way. ( - the song starts at 2:00.)

    Messenger Bird, a website with an endless sound loop of a thunderstorm, a candle by my bedside that smells like campfire - oh, it's a writer's dream, how romantic this feels.

    I was blessed with a burst of memory from my drunken Saturday night, when that friend-of-a-friend with horn-rimmed glasses and a reputation for being douchey sat himself next to me. "You," he slurred, "you're Natalie Portman from Garden State. No. You're... you're Zooey Deschannel. Something. You're - what do you call it? You're a manic pixie dream girl." I laughed.

    As I was wondering if there was a male equivalent to the manic pixie, Iron & Wine's cover of A Postal Service's "Such Great Heights" came on and wrenched my insides. I don't know if there is a male equivalent, but I bet Adam would be it. Evidence: the thick-framed glasses and dark stubble, the way he sounded when he sang "Such Great Heights" in his bedroom, how hard he made me laugh the time he pinned me down to whisper in my ear, "Mmm, baby, I'm gonna wear all the sweater vests some day."

    The thing is, I'm not sad about Adam specifically anymore. I'm more at a loss because I don't have someone to, well... do manic pixie bullshit with. Someone to save me from another damned night of paralyzing boredom.

    Still, there I was eating soup in the kitchen wearing my bright blue bath robe, engulfed by a new wave of the feels, when I realized that it is January 26. And one year ago today, Lance and I lay wrapped in one another when he asked me a simple question. And I froze. And his face twisted into surprise and concern while I stammered, "Uh, I, uh... uh..." before finally giving up and bursting into tears. He didn't ask questions. He just wrapped his arms around me while I sobbed heavily, my whole body ravaged by distress.

    And then I told him the only real secret I ever had. I told him something I wasn't sure I believed until I said it out loud.

    It was the beginning of me getting better. I'm still working on it. It's still a bit messy.

    But I want to just text him to thank him, but you shouldn't really text your ex-boyfriend out of the blue to talk about the darkest part of your life.

    Last night, I dreamed that a group of masked men broke into the lounge of my residence building. I knew they were coming to kill me. I was with my dad, and I grabbed his hand and asked, "What do we do?" He pulled out his rosary and said, "This, this is all we have  left," and we started praying together. I had a hope in my heart that I wouldn't be killed if I was praying, like how Hamlet spares his uncle. A man grabbed me and shoved the end of a gun in my face. "This won't happen, I will be saved just in time, I'm going to be okay," were my final thoughts before he shot me in the face. I stayed dreaming for long enough to feel cloaked by a suffocating warmth, thinking, "This is it. I am dead."

    I feel nothing or I feel everything all at once, deeply and completely. There is no in-between.

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  • january 25.

    by Fallen Leaves on January 26, 2015

    I don't even know where the past week has gone. Last entry (Tuesday) I got embarrassingly drunk. I talked to the drummer boy for hours on the couch in my friend's apartment after the bar closed down. I gave up on subtlety and leaned into him for some, any, physical contact. It's been too long. He drove me home at five am. Again, I expected him to kiss me or something. Again, he didn't. As it turns out, he went home and messaged Anna to ask for her number ("I couldn't ask in front of Fallen, I think she's into me").

    I felt pretty humiliated the next day but my friends reminded me that I did nothing wrong whatsoever, and that everyone assumed he was into me too, and that it was a shady move to lead me on and then go for Anna. I shrugged. Minor crushes don't leave wounds.

    Wednesday, I was a hungover piece of garbage all day.

    Thursday, I was driving to volleyball and I ran into the woman in front of me. My car needs to be fixed and I now owe my parents a grand for the repairs. 

    Friday, I went to class and did homework. Drummer boy was texting me, so I politely called him out on his confusing intentions with me and his pursuit of Anna. "I was just so confused by you," he said, "and I still don't understand whether or not you're into me, or if it is just your personality." I went to see some band play with some of my boys. Drummer boy and his cute roommate showed up at 1:30, hammered. He throws his arm around me and apologizes profusely. I end up taking their car keys and driving their drunk asses home. "You actually rock. You actually really rock," he told me.

    Saturday night, drummer boy's band was playing at the bar down the street. A bunch of my friends and I went. He was polite enough to put me on the guest list so I could save myself the ten dollars. I showed up to the show with the boys, already very drunk. One of them just broke up with his girlfriend, and although I wanted a medium night (I swear, I'm still hungover from Tuesday), I decided to be a good bro and join him in his alcoholic endeavours. The music was great. The people were great.

    Weeks ago, I met Beau's best friend, an elusive fellow named Mark who dons cute glasses and stubbly facial hair. We hit it off. When he went to the bathroom, Beau pointed at me and firmly said, "NO." "But Beau, he - " "Fallen, NO." "But why?!" "I already know how this one ends. I'm not cleaning up this mess." When Mark came back he asked me to dance but I took Beau's advice and refused the offer.

    Last week, the three of us were at a show together and Beau was giving me a hard time as usual, so I smirked and cocked an eyebrow. I turned to face Mark. "Mark, did you know that Beau forbids anything from happening between us?" Smoothly: "I believe I make the decisions in this matter." Hello, arrogance, my old friend. "Ah, well, I just thought you should know." Beau shakes his head. I've seen Mark around a few times since then - we got high and watched TV with some friends, we saw our friends play a show in a sketchy-ass venue in the art district. 

    "Dude, I think Mark's actually into you. He won't shut up. He keeps asking me if I'm banging you." Beau's eloquence, my uncontrollable laughter. "I didn't mean to catch his interest, but I guess by saying I was off-limits I did a pretty good job of it. And fuck no, me and you aren't banging." Beau: "I told him I would literally rather be gang banged by the Brady Bunch than ever have sex with you." We bro-fist and I say, "Awe, thanks, man."

    Last night, we sat by the pizza place on the long wooden benches. My memory is hazy, but he and I talked for quite a while about heavens-knows-what. "So why did Beau forbid this?" he asked insistently. "You two have got to be fucking. Or he's secretly in love with you." The idea is so bizarre that the only real explanation I could give was an incredulous laugh of denial.

    We left together, with my half-block walk on the left hand side and his car on the right. "Need a ride?" "No, I live half a block away." "Oh, okay. Goodnight." By the time I'm back in my dormitory, he's already texted me: "You missed half a block of sensual Bon Iver. Your loss." We go back and forth. He's still perplexed by my apparently ambiguous behaviour. "You're a confusing girl," he says. Is it possible to feel sexual tension through text message?

    2:30, Beau asks if he and our other friend can crash in my dorm. I say yes. 3:00, they call again and ask if they can have my beer to go to a party. I say yes. 5:00, Beau calls and asks if he can crash at my dorm after all. I say yes, and he appears with a bag of McDonald's as a peace offering. We talk for an hour. He passes out on my concrete floor. I wake up at 8 to go play volleyball, ignore how the room keeps spinning, step around Beau, and leave.

    Be a hungover piece of garbage almost all day.

    Go to an amazing show with some of the boys again. This night it was bluegrass musicians covering blink-182's Enema of the State. You haven't heard "The Party Song" until you've heard it with a mandolin and pleasant yodels.


    I realize this entry was shitty and I am too tired to care.

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  • Modest Mouse - Coyotes

    by freckled on January 21, 2015

    Coyotes tiptoe in the snow after dark
    At home with the ghosts in the national parks
    Mankind's behavin' like some serial killers
    Giant ol' monsters afraid of the sharks

    And we're in love with all of it
    And we say, "What can we say?"

    Walking with ghosts in the national parks
    Coyotes tiptoe in the snow after dark


    Another branch on the tinder-bound tree
    Birds flying low, looking downwards to feed
    Mankind's behavin' like some serial killers
    Giant ol' monsters afraid of the sharks


    [Bridge] x2
    And we say, "We're in love with all of it"
    And we say, "We're in love with everything"
    And we say, "What can we say?"

    And we say, "We're in love with all of it"
    And we say, "We're in love with everything"
    And we lie, we love to lie

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  • Three.

    by freckled on January 21, 2015

    My boyfriend tries very hard to be political. He is so comfortable before a crowd and I'm am so comfortable within it, making sleepy eyes at the emcee who's been happily dethroned. I knew I knew that guy from somewhere. He used to be so drugged up in French, this emcee, but he was staring at me with the upmost lucidity and my heart began to BEAT.

    Five shots of cinnamon whiskey + one party hop + two Purity Ring songs and we were both sweating hard. People and their warm boozy breaths down my neck, sent me lunging for a window in the bodies, which revealed S leaning in close to that girl from the city hall internship and I felt a slight twinge between my eyes, but not much other than that. Emcee was pleasantly sober, and pleasantly, pleasant? And he was giving me the look look and backing up. Backing up into a bedroom, and then into a bathroom. I followed, like a dog, delightfullly dizzy and all sorts of other appropriate alliterations. Anyway that's how I found myself dancing to purity ring in someone's shower in my underwear. ,He tentatively put his hands on my waist and tried not to shiver because I was hogging most of the water, because I am inherently selfesh. That is why my boyfriend was snogging that girl from the city hall. That is why the Ssssssssss key on my keyboard is broken and I have to hit it 20 times. 

    Me and emceee boy are hanging out tomorrow whoot whoot. And I'm like, Walking with ghosts in the national parks / Coyotes tiptoe in the snow after dark

    Oh, there was something else I was thinking about a lot. I go to a very conservative school. I'm not a slut. My visa is expiring in January of next year. Sigh. 

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  • january 20.

    by Fallen Leaves on January 20, 2015

    I added a new post. It's been a whole month of "I-have-a-WordPress-blog" and I have posted two whole entries. Go figure. I suppose my narcissism drives me to write the more biographical mundanities here than to focus on writing that's less me-me-me. This post was what happened when I let my fingers wander. It isn't much.

    But at least the itch to write until my fingers fail me is encroaching once more. 

    Coming soon to a coffee shop near you: Fallen Leaves drinking warm beverages, tapping away at her laptop keyboard!

    Enthralling, isn't it? No, not really, but at least I'm trying to work on my writing outside of my self-involved SongMeanings journal. 

    I dreamed last night that I was assigned to guard a young man who was infected with an apocalyptic virus that would eventually turn him into a cannibalistic monster. Just as he was about to escape the containment facility, and I was trying my best to wrestle him away from the door, my friend thrust a hearty blade into his back and through his chest. I was showered with his blood (and then the boy vomited thick, olive green vomit all over me). We thought we had killed him until his bloody body, once limp on the floor, began to crawl up my leg in another attempt to escape. We had to hack him up with the knife, limb from limb, to ensure that he was dead.

    I don't know what this means, but I don't think it is particularly normal to dream of such things. Or to dream so, so vividly. There's a whole other world of detail that I didn't bother to share with you. I remember what the facility looked like, I remember the look on his face when he was stabbed, I remember who it was that forced the knife through him. My dreams are so often entire stories, with a beginning, middle, and end, with characters and a background and a setting and a context.

    I was telling my friend Chris about this, and I think it made him feel uncomfortable. He said he was sorry I had to deal with these horrific dreams. I'm pretty used to most of them by now. Dreams of this ilk are dreams I can handle; they just make me curious about what the hell dreams are for or what they do or what they mean. Dreams that are more representative of my real life are the ones that scare me. Fist fights with people I never liked, getting news that someone I love is dead, encounters with boys I loved or almost loved, my friend's limp body hanging in a noose from the rafter.

    I have this idea that it's better for me to be dreaming vividly rather than not at all. I virtually stopped dreaming altogether this summer when I was busy being a depressed, blathering mess. I started dreaming again when I met Adam. They weren't necessarily good dreams, but they were something.

    Enough of that, though. I'm going to put on a pair of blood-red tights. I'm going to lace up my new black boots, which come fully equipped with sturdy heels (who am I, even?) and insulation to stave off the cold of the Canadian winter. My dress is new, too - a lovely little thing that's fitted and then flows from the waist. Cream coloured with a dotted black pattern, a thin black belt to cinch the wait, and three-quarter sleeves. 

    ...what? Describing my outfit was important for context *and* to lighten the mood of the entry.

    Off to go dancing.


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  • january 18.

    by Fallen Leaves on January 18, 2015

    I'm so busy right now I don't even have time to write. 

    On Thursday, I was in a great mood. I was on my way to grab a copy of the student paper (my article is out!) and I saw Adam walking by. I called after him. He turned, surprised to see me. Surprised to see me wanting to talk to him, probably. We talked on the sidewalk as it snowed for twenty minutes. Twenty whole minutes. The questions went both ways: how was your acoustic set, how was your Christmas, how are your friends doing, have you moved yet, will you move, how were your exams, how's your new semester. Under every question I was wondering, do you miss me, do you regret your decision, do you realize.

    It was a very weird experience, I think, because the whole time it was so damn easy to stand in the cold and pass the time with good stories and a clever turn-of-phrase. My friends asked how I felt about it, and all I could say was, "I don't know. We still have that chemistry."

    But honestly, I kind of forgot about the whole experience because I had a friend date planned with a handsome friend. We went skating on the river and got hot chocolates and mini donuts. I went to class and then played a game of volleyball, then met up with some friends to watch our other friends' band play. I went to bed at 2am and was too tired to care that I had a real conversation with Adam for the first time in two months, and that Adam is, well... just so fucking dreamy.

    Friday I went to class and shopped for apartment stuff with my future roommate. It wasn't much of a party night that night; I just got high with some of the boys and ate pizza and watched Adventure Time. Saturday I did homework, played shinny on the ODR (translation from Canadian English: three friends and I went skating and played a game of pick-up hockey on a local outdoor rink), had people over in my new apartment for more pizza and board games, then we went to see some other friends' band play.

    This morning, I got up to play volleyball with a new co-ed team I joined. We won. I went to my apartment and cleaned a bunch of shit up from last night. I'm going to squeeze in some boring reading before heading to hockey (and then I have a two hour break before having to go to dodgeball).

    I know nobody in their right mind would care to read this whole play-by-play of my life, but I just needed to write a little something. Even if it wasn't creative, my head needs a break from my strange and hectic life.

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  • i am the quietness and the quietness is me

    by aberforth on January 17, 2015

    I'm having trouble with friendships. They are odd and difficult to maintain. I always have to be outgoing and witty and funny, and basically everything at once. When I am with myself, there are no expectations for me to reach and take a hold of with thin hands. And I feel like my friends and I skim the surface of what a friendship should be like. It's always just  jokes and crude humour and bitchiness ( I hate using this word, but it's true) and hate, but nothing more. My psychologist says I need more intellectually stimulating friends, but I just can't find any. And maybe there are some shy kids waiting for me to come over to them, but I hate being the one to make the move. It's nervewracking and scary, and I think that I might weird them out. So I think it's better for me not to try, otherwise I will hurt myself.

    I hate being a teenager sometimes. You have to struggle to find who you are, and I think I have a clear idea of who I am, though I cannot describe myself in a mere number of words. I think that's why you know who you are ; when you jus can't define youself because there is so much more to you than smart or funny or beautiful. There are words that haven't been invented that you can use to define yourself, but there are feelings and senses because there are limits to words and numbers but there are not limits to emotions and thoughts.

    But my real problem is, is that everyone my age is trying to find themselves in this great big world while I already have (I think).

    At first, I used to ge frustrated at myself for changing whenever I hung out with other people. I think there are more sides to me than a six sided dice, and the most important thing is how you deal with that. How you deal with the fact that you are not a constant, but a variable.

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  • january 14.

    by Fallen Leaves on January 15, 2015

    I skipped my morning class today to sleep in. My body is aching for tender loving care, and I decided that cashing in on sleep was more important than watching my anthropology professor read his slideshow to us. En route to my 11:30 class (late as always) I crossed paths with Adam for the first time since before Christmas break. He didn’t see me notice him, so I looked away quickly and pretended he wasn’t there. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him stare at me intently and watch me walk away. My stomach sliced its way into nervous knots. All class I stared blankly ahead, itching to write down my feelings instead of the notes on the Reformation.

    Want to know the best part of all of this, though? My day was so damn good that I forgot about it as soon as I got out of class. I ran some errands and did some reading. I found out that a photo of me is being used on some new campus promotional material (I did a photo shoot in October for campus promotions). I met up with Chris so we could read for our respective classes alongside one another, but all that happened was us goofing off. I hit him in the face with a crumpled up piece of loose leaf, he defaced my notes by running a line of highlighter through my writing. I found out that an article of mine is getting printed in this week’s newspaper (not next week’s, like I thought). I interviewed a local band last week on a volunteer assignment for my university’s paper.

    To make things even better, I played two hours of volleyball tonight with a co-ed team that is looking for substitute players. The practice was to see if I was a ‘good fit’, and I must have played well enough, because I’m joining them on Sunday to play a league game.

    Maybe this is what my friends talk about when they say I should spend more time on ‘me’ and less time investing in romantic endeavours. I feel very, very excited to be alive today. And you know what? Tomorrow’s going to rock, too. I can get my hands on an official copy of the newspaper I’m in. I am having a friend date with one of my boys – we’re going skating on the river because the weather is finally warm enough to face the great outdoors. I get to sleep in. I have a volleyball game with my regular team.

    My legs are achy-tired in a good way. In the way that feels like sports and fitness and doing things I love.

    As always, I hope all is well with you.

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  • january 13.

    by Fallen Leaves on January 14, 2015

    I was cozied into bed last night in oversized pajamas when a friend texted me. "Can you come pick me up? I need a drink." He had gone to a funeral that day and needed someone. "Sure. I will be right there." I pulled on black skinny jeans and cinched a brown leather belt around them. Then a shirt, a wooly sweater, boots, a winter jacket, a scarf, ear muffs, leather gloves. By the time I finished scraping off the frost on my window I had lost feeling in my fingertips. Prairie winters. I stopped in the Tim Horton's drive-through to get my friend tea and a donut. Comfort food, right?

    I drove across the city to get him, and drove back to bring him to our favourite bar. We closed it down and then I drove us all over the city listening to a mix CD I love - the Head & the Heart, Arkells, the XX, Born Ruffians, Death Cab. "Do you want to talk about it, or do you want me to tell you stories?" "Stories." So I launched into tall tales about boys I used to date, or boys that tried to date me, or about crazy people back from my home province, or about weird things that have happened to me. We parked in front of his house and he started to cry, and I held his hand and ran my thumb smoothly on his thin skin. At 4am when I could no longer stifle my yawns, he gave me a big hug and kissed me on the forehead. "This meant the world to me. Thank you."

    On the drive home, I couldn't help but think how I would have loved to do that with my friend who committed suicide. How if he wanted to talk until 4am and just have me listen, I would have downed three mugs of coffee to stay awake. I started to feel my throat tightening and tears welling in my eyes, so I sang to the Head and the Heart instead: "I get lost in my mind, oh I get lost, I get lost."

     When I got home, I texted the friend that dealt with me after Austen's death and thanked him for his friendship. When Austen passed away, this friend and I went to the park in the middle of the night and sat on the swings, my feet making sand swirls as I drug them beneath me. My friend let me bury my face into his chest as I cried, cried, cried. 

    I was woken up this morning by a text message from my friend, Chris. "I've got some time to kill on campus. Coffee?" "Sure. Let me find some pants and, you know, the energy to get out of bed." We got drinks and sat on a bench for three hours, talking about our families and our romantic histories and what we want and what we don't want. Chris and I do this a lot. To be honest, I kind of have feelings for him, and I know he has feelings for me, but I don't know what to make of it. I met up with him and his friends on Friday briefly and when he guided me along a crowded space by gently laying his hand on my waist, my stomach knotted into bouts of nervousness.

    My feelings are tired today. Sometimes I want to lean into pretty boys like Chris, boys who wear nice scarves and write well and listen when you talk, but then I feel like it's too much of a risk. It's not even that it's a risk for me, but more that it's a risk for them. I'm excellent at detaching and living indifferently (despite what you might think when you call Lance and Adam to mind) and can do so seamlessly. To illustrate my point more concisely, I saw a man this summer who once mused, "It's appalling that you're the most affectionate person I've ever met yet you feel nothing." 

    Yet pretty boys like Chris, the type who wear nice scarves and write well and listen when you talk... well, I just worry that if I kiss them out of curiosity, I'll be messing with them somehow. And I can't bear the burden of hurting people when I'm at least 60% sure that they're not for me anyway.

    Maybe I'm taking my own life too seriously and I should 'loosen up' and worry less. It just seems unfair to meddle when I'm not entirely put together.

    This doesn't make sense.

    This whole piece of writing is a light, faded grey.

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  • More than - Part 5 of Chapter 1

    by Bellabel2603 on January 13, 2015

    Hi everyone! Sorry I didn't post any entry in awhile, but was truly busy with everything especially now its a new year, it busy busy busy. Now I give you------


    Part 5 of Chapter 1 - More than


    Doing laundry, the clock strike 11.45am as I hang the last shirt on the string. The weather is just perfect – sunny and bright, sky so blue. Wind blow my untidy hair and I breathe deep, so calm and makes me feel alive somehow. It’s been awhile since I went outside the house, especially my house. After Mile passed away, all I did was just lock myself from the world. The feeling that I have for Miles will never disappear so easily, he was the only person show and made me feel what love was all about. Only god knows, truly how my heart ache calling for Miles to come back.


    I went back inside the house and straight into my room carrying the empty laundry basket, looking at every room as I walk pass by and everything was already clean, arrange in order. Change into my dress – pink and short, wear my flat shoes – red with a tiny ribbon on the side, I pull my blouse out from the luggage, got my handbag and put the money along with the grocery list inside my bag.


    Approach the door, there was a tiny wooden table, a bowl full of keys and a note stick to one of it.


    Dear Jessie,


    This is my car key, if you go out please just use my car and attach to it is the house key. Take good care of my car, if there’s extra grocery money and enough time please send it to the car wash.




    I thought to myself of how can someone kind hearted as Mary would easily be cheated, worst that I’m the person who wreck her life. God, I’m a real fool. I wish I can just go to my parents and explain everything, but now not only I lost Miles but I also lost just about everyone in my life. I can’t even pick up a phone to say a simple ‘Hello’ to mother. Again before I open the door, I look at everything making sure nothing is wrong. Nod my head gladly, close the door and lock it.  Mary’s car was a yellow Volkswagen beetle, what made me happy is it’s one of the car where you can open the rooftop.


    It made me remember the time when Mile got a car for his birthday – a Black Mustang. The roof was seal not even a sun-roof and he knew how much I love an open roof, so he got it modified just so that I can be happy with my hair dance freely every time he would speed the car. The wonderful thing is that he would do just about anything to make me happy and truly, I miss the things that he do to make me smile and the things he would say to make it alright.


    Driving slowly, I look to my left and right. “Where am I exactly?” I ask myself – confuse. Just have to drive around until I find a store or anything really. A few minutes driving afterwards, I reach town – small, but loud, very loud that you can turn this town into a club. The sound of people honking their cars – not like there’s a traffic, but really just a sign of Hello. Went around and around, till I can find just a small grocery shop would do me go. I’m trying to avoid going to supermarkets at the moment, might end up bump into someone I know – might.


    Finally just the perfect small shop, I think I can get as much as I need to from this list. I can go straight home and take a few hour sleep before Mary and Tommy gets back, I’m sure they will ask me to do a lot of things, especially Tommy.

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  • Crystal Skies - Fall a thousand times.

    by Rackius Sweetbutt. on January 12, 2015 Fall a thousand times.

    Could you ever believe me if I said
    I would fall down a thousand times
    Oooh, I all for you
    Do you understand me
    When I said I'm sorry I made you feel that way
    Darling, if there's time to turn away 
    I could change your mind
    To assure you this is real!

    [Electronic vibes]

    I'd do anything for you!
    I'd do anything for you!
    I'd do anything for you!
    If there's a light in this soul
    See deep through my soul
    I know that you feel it too,
    You're thinking replace you
    I'm sorry I'm such a mess
    I promise I would stay,
    I know that you should be forgive me
    And I'm sorry!

    You could save the world
    You could save the world
    You could save the world
    I'd do anything for you!
    Anything for you!
    There is hope in us,
    I believe that we could,
    I still love you!

    I'm sorry
    If there is anything I can do for you?!
    To show you this is real!
    Anything for you!.

    by Crystal Skies feat. Ashley Apollodor.

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  • Two.

    by freckled on January 11, 2015

    I went grocery shopping today and bought rice and lipstick. I walked around with Mark's watch strapped to my wrist. The afternoon sun was hot and made the leather band stick to my skin. It took me forever to fix it, but now it's ticking properly again. Maybe I'll give it back to him as a peace offering.

    I learned something this weekend. There are two kinds of people in this world. Those who walk into a room and say ‘Here I am’ and those who walk into a room and say, ‘There you are.” I read that in a book, I think. But this weekend was the first time I believed it.

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  • art

    by aberforth on January 09, 2015

    For some reason, a lot of my journals do not post, and it used to anger me but now I don't really care.

    I"m trying to draw more, and I use this really thin pen so all my drawings look like chicken scratch but i like it. I'm not that great at writing or math, and art doesn't require either of those things so...

    School starts in a few days and I know the first week back will be sort of exciting but then after that, it just becomes a dull routine. it seems I cannot escape from this cycle.

    I've noticed that a lot of the journals here include some exicting stuff, and it makes me wonder why mine doesn't.

    Am I doing nothing with my life or is life doing nothing with me?

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  • I feel you in my heart, and I don't even know you.

    by Fallen Leaves on January 09, 2015

    Tegan and Sara, Nineteen. It's important.

    Are you listening yet? Good. It's the soundtrack to the montage of my last few days.

    Blank notebooks with light blue lines. Frayed laces on boots. Skin turned raw red by the cold and the snow and the wind. Being told about what plaigarism is and what happens when you do it. Sips of coffee from a ceramic travel mug. Increased heart rate at every tall, lanky brown-haired boy with glasses on campus. It's him, oh shit, it's-him-it's-him-it's-him. Tea at that place down the street. Wings at that bar a few blocks down. Bad karaoke and watered down local beer. Transluscent skin showing the veins under my eyes.

    Driving around the city until 3am with that cute boy with a nose hoop. His fingers flipping through my CD collection, and his voice when he finds one he likes ("What?! No. This was one of my favourite albums in high school!"). My smile when he picks some Death Cab for Cutie. The stillness in the air when I drop him off at his house, and he pauses to say goodnight. Hesitation. A closed car door. The colour of my cheeks, the shade of my nervousness. Curiosity.

    Macaroni and cheese, microwaved then eaten straight from the casserole dish. Pressing snooze on my alarm, again. Learning names, learning names, learning names.


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  • sea me

    by CleanLaundry on January 08, 2015

    I'm catching up with some of the journals here and I'm reading about a lot of sadness and feeling sort of weird and guilty for the unreasonable giddiness I've had as of late. I know. it's completely uncharacteristic of me.

    coming back to the ocean was like a mouthful of saltwater taffy. I think that love must be saltwater taffy. pretty much everybody has had some. somebody offers it on a day when you have nothing to do, and most likely you'll take it and put it in your mouth.

    I found my way back to my aparment for winter term pretty late, around 2am on a tuesday. my housemate was asleep on the couch by our makeshift christmas tree. her face was bisected by the green and red neon and I felt an enormous surge of affection for her. a housemate that likes to sleep near the christmas tree in the first breathes of january. I'm going to try to make her life as easy as possible this term. I know what seasonal depression feels like, and january has the fiercest of bites.

    lexie is in one of my classes. I think I saw her first, and I was floored, again, by how unphased she is, by everything and everyone. some would call it a mask, but I suspect she's just very unhurried. she greets everyone in peace. I wonder who else knows what happened to her a few years back. when I finally caught her eye, they were blue and clear and she smiled very very slowly. I swear she is the coolest person in the room. every room.

    I thought about the way she looks when she eats spaghetti. I thought of the way she looked when she slid off her pants and she was wearing batgirl undies.

    this afternoon, I took a shortcut through the woods and saw james and june sitting on the roof of the science & engineering building. I didn't actually see them, but heard their voices laughing, and their silhouettes gilded by the sunlight. I'm floored by how happy I am to see my friends again and how much I missed trees.

    I've been thinking a lot about that mary oliver quote: tell me what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?

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