Sunday, September 04, 2005
Tales from the Island of Nome
John Donne, that clever lad, rather famously wrote:
No man is an island, entire of itself
I agree with John, but I may have to let the tide come in for a while. I am not an island, but perhaps a little sandbar that exists only in the mornings when the tide is out to sea.
every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main
if a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were,
as well as if a manor of thy friends or of thine own were
any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind
and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls
it tolls for thee.
I have been frustrated by a lot of people lately, though usually not while they're present. I am frustrated mainly by the people who see fit to fade in and out of my life like a pleasant, passing dream. I was pretty frustrated by Kylie for a while, but oddly enough our latest meeting made me less frustrated and more perplexed, and then even something approaching indifferent.
I took the bus out to The Suburban Hellhole to see her. I got up at the crack of dawn on my day off and spent an hour on an overly air-conditioned 40-foot-limo with a surly driver in a blue uniform to see her. She was a half-hour late and I waited for her at the bus stop in the blazing sun playing idiotic games on my cell phone because I had forgotten to bring my book. That sucked. The S.H. was a conservative place, full of a strange combination of old people, tourists, white trash, tough-looking punk kids, and overweight, middle-aged, thrift-store-clad women. It felt odd. We went to a cafe called Just Friends. How appropriate. There was a rainbow sign on the door, so I felt slightly better, but we were too late for breakfast and Kylie didn't eat very much, as she always does. I find that a bit unsettling. That girl has too many food hang-ups.
She is still beautiful and funny, but now she is just so very, very far away.
Then we just wandered around aimlessly for a while. It wasn't too much different from wandering around my neighbourhood the day I met her, except that I felt less comfortable and she seemed in a hurry to leave. She unceremoniously informed me that I was getting on the bus to go home at 3:15, but then around 3:10 she had a change of heart, bought me some chocolate, and walked with me in the mall for a while. We needed a plan. The aimless wandering was simply not working, and for the first time ever there were awkward silences between us. I get the impression that she wants to make me one of her visits-once-a-month friends. That is bullshit, but whatever. I want to be special, but I guess I'm not. I definitely have better things to do with my time than to continue moping about her stupid antics. That's the frustration talking again. She is a perfect nightmare, damaged goods, a daisy in the cement, a sunny day with a thunderstorm on the horizon, and she'd break my heart in a million pieces if it weren't for the fact that we both see it coming a mile away.
Onward.
Jordan emailed me from back east in Buck 65 Land, where he's hanging out for a month visiting his family. I was surprised and impressed to hear from him, because I wasn't sure if he was still interested. Apparently he is, and he just bought a house and wants me to come visit when he's back in town. Count me in.
I am still pretty much in a dark mood most of the time. I've stopped smiling at customers unless they make a pretty good joke or we have an engaging conversation about something that inspires me, which is increasingly rare. I'm not surly, but I am shutting off. I've become increasingly numb, because after a while if you don't shut down, you cease being able to function. I need to function, so I deal. But the shit just gets pushed under the proverbial rug.
I took Emma's advice and went to the Rainbow Magic Fairy Center (henceforth known as the RMFC, obviously not its real name!) on Wednesday. It was not what I expected, but then I'm not sure quite what I expected. It was a dirty, dingy place across from a liquor store in the West End. There was a needle deposit box in the bathroom, and pamphlets about anal sex all over the place. Their little library was not exactly large or well-selected, and the books were the most tattered I've seen in ages -- and I spent four years at university and many more in high school.
I was a trooper though. I took out a book, signed up for some free counselling next week, and even went back for their youth drop-in on Friday night. That was also not what I expected. I was hoping for some discussion, but there was really just a bunch of high school kids (the low end of the under-25 range, I guess) who wanted to eat chips and play board games. Some of their volunteers were nice. One youngish girl who seemed approachable and was quite striking with bright blue eyes and black hair turned out to be into goth music, body modification, branding, piercing, and suspending her body using hooks in her skin. I'm an open-minded kind of girl, but I also take three Advils at the first sign of a headache. I wasn't sure how well we were going to get along. The only thing resembling discussion was this one guy's rant about how the Gay Pride Parade made us all look like freaks and how we should really all go wearing suits and ties next year. I didn't have the heart or the full calendar to argue with a person I'd just met, so I stayed quiet on the whole 'individual choice' front.
The only other person who was new to the party besides me was a tallish, largish fellow with braces who was visiting from Slovakia in an attempt to learn English. He was nice, but his communication skills were minimal and he has to return to his Eastern European post-communist paradise before next week's drop-in.
I told Emma about my Rainbow Fairy adventures and she was apologetic and sympathetic, which oddly enough made me feel better. People say that sympathy isn't worth much, but coming from someone who you know cares about you and will fight for you, it's enough to bring tears to my eyes. And I must say it's been a long time since I felt that way.
Zulieka got my parcel in the mail and was pleased. I sent her a list of books for the little one and one of my favourite baby books called Sheep in a Jeep. I hope she's happy...it sounds like it.
Dag got my parcel and was also pleased. I got her a blue shirt that I had custom-made. It has two inside jokes on it, one is the Trix logo that says "Silly Rabbit, Trix are for kids!" a slogan which we used to repeat endlessly and probably obnoxiously in Switzerland, and the other is the words "Dag Rocks," because she does rock, literally, when she laughs, and because she rocks figuratively all the time. You're welcome, Dag! I wish you all the best on your travels.
My family is back in town (my mom had been on the island for nearly two months), and it is nice, if temporary, to have us all together again. I am housesitting again on the 8th. More on that later.
That's the closest to an update I can deliver, having not much heart for writing, nor much skill for storytelling these days.
I wish you all the best, and I'm sending most of the happiness in my little heart your way.
The rest I shall save for another rainy afternoon.
-N
