So this is the new year...

Well, not yet.
In seven minutes it will be. Am I a big loser for sitting on my basement floor, alone in my house on New Year's Eve writing this? Probably. But I don't care.
I did celebrate. With my friends in our own way. And it was great, we had an excellent time. Excellent.
And now I'm thinking about all of the different ways people celebrate the New Year, and why.
Most people celebrate of course by getting drunk. Their first thoughts of the New Year are fuzzy around the edges, radiating with alcohol induced warmth. The degree of fuzziness and warmth may vary of course, but they're there.
There's very often friends and family involved, I guess it's best to bring in the New Year with those you're closest to.
I know a few people who are just in it for that elusive New Year's kiss.
At work I marked the New Year by writing down all of the times in 2008 when things will expire. It's a super tedious job, but it gave me a lot of time to think about everything that's happened this year.
A year is 365 days, 52 weeks, 12 months and four seasons. On paper it doesn't seem like a long time. And while you're living it, it takes forever. But in retrospect, it flies by, and while it does, everything happens. This last year I graduated high school, moved away from my home, my friends and my family. I started school, broke off the longest relationship I've ever had, and got to know some of the most amazing people I will ever meet. Exactly one year ago today my life was completely different, and I think I'm okay with that now.
As for why people celebrate, well, that was easy. With the exception of having an excuse to party, I think the reason (at least, it seems to me) is pretty clear. We all want new beginnings. We want a chance to start over - to right all of the past year's wrongs and try our best to keep from screwing up this time. No one actually says this out loud, but they don't have to. It's all in the New Year's resolution. What better time is there to start doing something than the start of a brand new year.
Every year, I say I won't make resolutions, but I do. I'm terrible at keeping them - most people are - but I do it anyways. I always make about a billion of them, and they're usually pretty silly. Like this years.
This year, I resolve to:
Watch the sunrise more often
Talk less, listen more
Spend less time waiting for the future, and more time living in the moment
Not worry so much. (That'll happen.)
Work on the sarcasm (See above)
Find more enchanted places
Cultivate my imagination.
Write more, write lots, write everywhere.
Love people for who they really are.
And that's just the tip of the iceberg. This all took up about 6 or 7 pages of journal. I've got a whole bunch of them, and I'll try my hardest to keep every one, but I know somewhere along the line some of them will be forgotten.
In the time it's taken me to write this, the year has changed. And my first actions of 2008? Crying for no reason. I hope that's not indicative of how my year will go. It just felt like the thing to do.

On Words

Oh my goodness.
So, it's that weird post Christmas pre New Years time of the year, where the only things that seem like reasonable ways to spend your time involve eating, reading, and talking to people over MSN, as though that is an acceptable substitute for real conversation and human interaction.
On the bright side, I'm working my way through some brilliant books.
I've spent a lot of time just thinking the past few days. Just about everything. The less sensical bits have gone into the book, and the more sensical ones (is sensical a word?) go here.
Lately, I find myself in situations where words simply fail. Where I am unable, for whatever reason, to come up with words adequately communicate.
Sometimes, it's because I'm so angry, that it's simply impossible to string words together. I seem to be a very angry person here; often beyond the point of words, into the realm of tears. I don't particularly enjoy feeling angry, nor do I consider myself to be angry by nature. But I simply cannot help but be angry here, about very nearly everything. (I swear, if my parents make one more fat comment, I will lose it.) Granted, there are those people, places and events here that I can appreciate and enjoy, but for the most part, things here just upset me like nothing else can.
Other times, I can't use my words because I can't find them. I get so tongue tied, so flabbergasted if you will, that it's like my brain throws it's hands up (I realise that brains do not have hands. But if it did, this is the point at which mine would throw them up) and says "I quit. You figure this out". This leaves me looking a bit like a startled goldfish, all wide eyed, with my mouth open, ready to say something, anything. And usually in these situations, when I do say something, it's completely ridiculous and out of context. (What is up with those squirrels)
The third situation in which words often fail me (more often lately than I would like to admit) is when I simply cannot think of the right words. Because in these instances, no matter which words I choose, some one will be upset. Where no matter who is on the recieving end, no matter how embellished, polished, carefully chosen or rehearsed my words are, the meaning they carry is still the same. And that meaning has all the potential in the world to make someone's day miserable.
On the other hand, I suppose that words can also make someone's day equally enjoyable. I guess the point of all this nonsense is that words have power (Thank you Mrs. Rarick, my 2nd grade teacher) and that mine have temporarily left the building.
If you see them, tell them I miss them.

Merry Christmas

So this is Christmas
And what have you done
Another year over
And a new one just begun
Ans so this is Christmas
I hope you have fun
The near and the dear one
The old and the young

A very merry Christmas
And a happy New Year
Let's hope it's a good one
Without any fear

And so this is Christmas
For weak and for strong
For rich and the poor ones
The world is so wrong

And so happy Christmas
For black and for white
For yellow and red ones
Let's stop all the fight

A very merry Christmas
And a happy New Year
Let's hope it's a good one
Without any fear

And so this is Christmas
And what have we done
Another year over
And a new one just begun

And so this is Christmas
I hope you have fun
The near and the dear one
The old and the young

A very merry Christmas
And a happy New Year
Let's hope it's a good one
Without any fear

War is over over
If you want it
War is over
Now...
And just like that, it's over for another year.

Name one good thing a minute's ever done. They shorten fun and measure misery.

That's definitely true. And yet, my strange obsession with time carries on. I'm always thinking about how many minutes, hours, days whatever. How many hours of sleep I can get, how many minutes I've spent staring mindlessly into space, how many days until the next exciting event happens. Which all comes back to my previous post about waiting. But I've certainly spent enough time waiting, thinking about waiting, and writing about waiting. I don't need to do any more of that here. Not now at least.
Instead, I will, in typical journal format, recount the happenings of my day.
I spent the better part of it with Rachel and Wanda, shopping in Okotoks. They both got groceries and Christmas gifts, neither of which I have any need for. (That's right folks, I'm DONE my Christmas shopping/crafting. Kind of)
What did I get? A pair of cheap overalls. Apparently I am the only person left on the planet who thinks that overalls are still cool, but whatever. They're comfy, and I think they're plenty cute.
Post shopping, we drove back to the Diamond, picked up Wanda's family, and headed to the valley for dinner. Come home, read a bit (am I a bad person for reading the book I bought my sister for Christmas? I hope not...), play some music, and talk on the internets. And now, I'm here.
Where is here exactly? The seat of my creative genius of course. Also known as our basement floor. And though I've had a good day, I can't help but feel mildly annoyed about certain things. Things which I know are trivial and meaningless, things which shouldn't bother me so much, and in the grand scheme of things will not make one iota of difference. But things that are still annoying me in ways I cannot begin to describe.
Thing the first. WebAdvisor. WebAdvisor is the University of Guelph's method of communicating to students the amount of money they owe, the classes they are registered in, and the grades they have recieved. It is also a colossal piece of crap. My grades were supposed to come out the 21st, and still, I haven't seen them. I cannot even log in to WebAdvisor. And the thing about this that really angers me is that the university keeps sending me emails reminding me how much money I owe them for next semester. But they cannot be bothered to send me one regarding my grades. I'm paying thousands of dollars out the nose (or some other body part - be creative), and I can't even see my grades.
Oh, wait. Upon writing this, I thought I'd check one more time. I can get in now, but apparently I'm under academic restriction for not paying my phone bill. That's funny. I have a RECIEPT from paying said phone bill. Do I pay them another sixty three dollars and argue later? Or wait, and hope my payment goes through.
I give up.
Thing the second: My mother. Are you surprised that this one is here? No, I didn't think so. Admittedly, posting about family issues on a public forum may not seem like a good idea. However, as a disclaimer, I would like to inform you (who exactly?) that these opinions are in fact very public, and well known by all involved parties.
About a month ago, my mother bought a truck. A brand new truck. She traded in the car that my dad had saved earnestly for, the car that HE chose and HE liked, and got what is the biggest, most environmentally unfriendly, ugliest piece of shit excuse for a vehicle that I have ever seen.
I kid you not. Typically, I'm not an angry person (although I find that being here makes me feel angry, and a little more than a touch hostile. A feeling which I hate experiencing, and can't wait to leave behind), but everytime I see this thing, I have the strange desire to key it, to destroy it in any way that I can. I don't think that it's the truck itself that I hate. Rather, it's everything that it represents. My father's willingness to do whatever my mother wants, and the fact that my mother takes advantage of this every chance that she gets. The fact that she is so completely wrapped up in "being country" (do not even ask what that means, I haven't the slightest. As far as I can tell, it means decorating our house with tacky signs, and acting like an uneducated hick) that she has no problem running my family into debt to do so. And the fact that all of this: her fakeness, her idea that she deserves to be completely spoiled, and her total ignorance to all that is happening around her is simply tolerated. I'm told not to say anything about it, to cut her some slack. But I'm at the point where there is nothing left to cut from, where it becomes exhausting to act as fake as her and say it doesn't bother me. I've got nothing but the absolute raw truth left, and no matter who's on the recieving end of that one, it's going to hurt.

Good morning telephone. I dare you to ring again.

Is it terrible that I am counting the days until I can go back to Artz Haus?
I hope not. Because I am.
So. About all of that interesting stuff I said I'd post about, but didn't. Here we go.
Tuesday I went to OHS with Emma and JR. I enjoyed seeing all of my old teachers again, but it was, at the same time, very strange. Again, that feeling of being somewhere that you know is so familiar, but seems so alien, if only because you've been away from it for so long. The same way my room still feels.
While we were at the school, I got an impromptu award, as I won't be able to make it to Black and Gold in February. So, I was presented with the Governor General's award, right there in front of Mrs. Cossette's desk. Holycrap. That's huge. I think my dad was quite proud, it's always very difficult to tell with him, but there was something there. I got this medal, and a certificate. Definitely: Holycrap.
Post award, we went down to the FasGas to get slurpees and junk food, just like back in the day. Along with that came the same strange feeling of foreign familiarity, a little less though. It was then decided that we would drive all the way to High River to see Mrs. Leask, which was certainly worth it. It seems that her life is changing just as fast as ours are, but I won't say anymore on that.
Wednesday was my blood test, and I got the angry nurse. First time, she blew right through the vein, which I HATE. In one side, out the other, whoops you're bleeding, try it again. I'm left with the most wonderful bruise on my arm now, all splotchy and purple.
I ventured to the bar for a second time with my mom (because I am impossibly cool like that), and wound up meeting up with a bunch of people from high school.
Once more, that strange feeling.
Long story short, we hung out until three in the morning. I'm not sure I like any of them any more than I did when we were in high school, a period which was not necessarily the greatest of my life. But I can certainly appreciate (almost) all of them as people, and it's interesting to see how they too have changed. Even if it isn't for the better.
Yesterday started abruptly with the loud ring of the telephone. What a horrible way to wake up. Dad and I took a quick jaunt to the city for some Christmasy shopping, which helped to fuel my growing disgust with the holiday season in general. So many people spending so much money and being so rude. Yuck.
Quick haircut by one of Mom's friends, and then back to the house where I watched a movie avec mom.
This morning, I watched the sun rise. It's winter solstice, the first day of winter, and the longest day of the year.
Although, one could say it's also the first day of summer, as from here on, the days will only become longer in anticipation of a time where the weather is warmer and the air is sweeter.
Even though I am not what I would call a morning person, there's something undescribably incredible about watching the sun rise. Few things can make me feel quite as small and humble. There's nothing else to do but sit back and marvel.
All poetic musings aside, I spent the rest of the day (again) at OHS, talking to whoever would listen it seems. Went to Okotoks with mom for a bit (some issues of contention crop up here, but I can hardly list those just after describing the beauty of sunrises, can I? Maybe later...), watched the Virgin Suicides for the hundreth time, and got a little artsy.
Now this ends the same as it began, with me missing Artz Haus intensely, and counting down the days until I can go back.

Because now, I'm marking the passage of time with the deaths of my friends.

I guess you know you're growing up when your years are marked with just as many happy anniversaries as sad ones.
It's been a whole year, and it still doesn't make sense.
Why?
Miss you forever.

In which Vik goes on a rant regarding shoes.

There's a bunch of other junk from the past few days which I fully intend to write about at some point. But right now, I'm all about the shoes. Winter shoes in particular. And how it could not possibly be any harder to find a decent pair. Let's back up, shall we?
I've been wearing the same pair of "Look at me, I'm a badass teenager aren't I cool" army boots for years now. To the point where I seem to have quite literally walked right out of them, as the boot bit is separating from the sole bit. At first, I tried to remedy this with electrical tape, which I do NOT recommend. It kind of worked for the first, oh say, ten minutes. Then it just flapped uselessly off the back of my boot as I walked. Not being one to give up easily, I tried many different methods of wrapping my shoe with various tapes to keep the cold out and my foot in, all to no avail. Thus I have admitted defeat, and begun what is certain to be a lengthy search for a new pair of boots.
Call me picky, but I have yet to find something that does not completely suck. Why does a boot need vast quantities of fur spilling forth from the top of it? Or ridiculous laces going every which way, which as far as I can tell have no purpose other than aesthetic? Why (and this is my personal favourite) does a winter boot need a three to five inch heel?! It is ICY! Heels are not conducive to ice!
Am I crazy for wanting a winter boot that is not furry, lacey, or heel-y? Apparently so, for I have yet to find it. Let me know if you do.
I'll write about everything else later tonight. Really, it's quite exciting.

There are places I'll remember all my life, though some have changed...

Full day the third of being back in good old Blacky D.
And I'm starting to notice just how different Guelph truly is.
I know that Black Diamond was my home for years, for the better part of my life. But there are just certain things that I'm noticing about the town, the people who live in the town, and the opinions these people hold that I didn't notice before. And these are really starting to bother me.
Maybe it's because I'd gotten used to doing whatever I wanted, with the knowledge that no one would judge me so harshly for doing so. Maybe these are things that I couldn't notice from such a close distance. Or maybe, I these are things that I had always secretly known or suspected, but couldn't admit to. Because that would mean admitting that I was different, that I didn't value what they valued, that I didn't care about what they cared about. And as we all learned from a young and impressionable age, different is bad. Repeat after me boys and girls: different is bad.
At any rate, I find myself a different person coming back here than I was when I left. I find it difficult now to see past how gossip and alcoholism are the cornerstones of my town. Everyone seems so closed minded, and unwilling to accept anything new or different. (What did we learn boys and girls?)
Case in point: I went to the bar for the first time tonight. With my mom, and friends of our family. We were discussing what types of food I eat when I'm not at home, and when I started to talk about things such as chickpeas, portabella and feta sandwiches, or couscous, I was instantly written off. Cries of "That's not real food!" or "What do you MEAN you still don't eat red meat?" assailed my ears. And try as I might to defend my position, that this was in fact REAL food, and it was in fact delicious, I was outnumbered from the beginning.
It's not just conversations that are inducing these sudden revelations. It's the town itself - it feels to me like it's dying. By looking at it, one might think that the exact opposite is happening: new buildings are being built, new stores moving in, things are progressing. But I can't find the admirable qualities I once could, and that scares me.
Despite these jaded ramblings, I did in fact have a very good day. Which I will write about tomorrow, as I've run out of words.

And it's strange, how clouds that look like mountains in the sky are next to mountains anyways...

Being home is still uber weird, but I'm getting used to it.
I think to be honest, the weirdest thing is not studying. After two weeks of intense (well, not quite intense, but hard) studying, it's strange to not have to do anything. Well, sort of.
Today was decently busy. Doctor's appointment at ten. My height is good, my weight is up, and I've got to get a full blood workup done tomorrow. How exciting! Then it was lunch at the bakery with Wanda. I'd forgotten the joy that is an egg salad sandwich from the Black Diamond bakery. They're still very good.
And there was a multitude of other stuff, which I don't think is really worth writing any more than a sentence or two on.
Except for the yarn. I've been playing with yarn, but what else is new.
I came up with these little ornaments. The patterns are my own, but the reindeer is based off of a pattern floating about the internet. I'm not sure who these are for; I would give them to my mother, but she's not particularly receptive to handmade things. We'll see though.
So, this is them. A snowman, a reindeer and a snowflake. I quite like the little snowman, he's very cute and pudgy.


And that's about it. I'll probably go to bed in a bit, even if it is only quarter to nine. I've got that blood test tomorrow, and we're (read: JR, Emma and I) going to the school tomorrow to see all of our teachers. I'm excited to go back, but at the same time, it'll be very strange. After that, we'll probably celebrate JR's birthday, maybe we'll even go to the bar.
And with that, I'm away laughing on a fast camel.
ETA: It really annoys the hell out of me when blogger mucks around with my photos. I promise - they weren't meant to be helter skelter like that. I'll fix it later.

Maybe you should just drink a lot less coffee, and never ever watch the ten'o clock news....

And so just when you thought I had completely forgotten about this, I come back in typical rambling fashion to prove you wrong.
Who "you" are exactly, I'm still unsure.
But I am, in fact, going to make another half assed attempt at reviving this thing. In order to motivate myself to do so, I've changed the template up, but that's still a work in progress. The code isn't doing exactly what I want it to...
It's not as though I still haven't been writing. I have. Just, not here. I've nearly filled another notebook since I last posted here. That is just how much has been going on.
I'm not going to recap everything, that will take far too long. We'll list the main points:
1) I started university. It rocks, I enjoy it thoroughly, and would highly recommend it, despite the amount of swearing it seems to induce.
2) The boy and I broke up. I won't get into the details, but it ended because it had to, and that is that.
3) I'm now back at home for winter break.
Yes, back at home. Getting here was an adventure and a half, involving one bus to Toronto, a great trek across Toronto, and the world's longest wait in an airport. Yesterday truly was a day of waiting. While waiting, I wondered about waiting. About whether we as humans, or maybe just me in particular, spend so much time waiting for what could possibly happen, that we sometimes neglect to fully experience that which is currently happening. When you think about it, we are always waiting for something, whether it is simply a bag of microwave popcorn, or what could be the greatest moment of our lives. And I wondered if maybe, some eighty years from now on my deathbed, I will look back on my life, and regret the vast amount of time I spent waiting for something which I was certain I would be part of to happen instead of partaking in that which I was already part of. This was a good way to pass the time while waiting at the airport. Then, I got to wait on the plane, while it was de-iced, and while what seemed like an infinite number of other planes took off. After a solid hour (which felt like a solid eternity), we finally took off.
And, just like every time I fly, there was a moment where the plane wobbled, and I was suddenly and painfully aware of the sound of the engines, of just how fast the ground outside of my window was zooming by, and I couldn't help but think who thought that this was a good idea. But then, just like every time I fly, the ground fell away, my ears popped, and everything seemed fine.
It is intensely weird, being home after being away for four months. Everything seems so different, but still very much the same. Like my room. The bed seems shorter, the walls more yellow, and I must have grown, for everytime I walk through the door, I am smacked square in the face by one of the paper cranes I hung from the ceiling years ago. The air is different too. It is somehow thinner, drier, and smokier. The smokier is especially hard - I had asked my mom about not smoking around me, but that seems to have gone by the wayside. Which, to be honest, I fully knew would happen. Smoking, apparently, is a right, one which is not to be taken away under any circumstance. But that is another conversation altogether.
And so yet again, I find myself waiting, for any number of things. I'm waiting for Emma to call back, for my mom to light another cigarette, as if she truly has forgotten, for my laundry to finish. I'm waiting for Christmas to come and go as it always does, leaving in it's wake a trail of giftwrap, alcohol, and debt just like every year previous. Most of all, I think I'm waiting for January 5th, when I can return to my residence room and feel less like a visitor and more at ease. Although, who knows what will happen in these next three weeks. I suppose I will have to wait and see.