Tired. Throat hurts. Need a better design for this journal. The MT stylesheets basically bore me.

So I spent the weekend in Toronto, got a ride down with Gen, which sure kicks the greyhound’s ass. The weekend itself was fabulous, generally, especially if we overlook the bitch at the bar that took one look at my limp and assumed I was wasted. God I love it when that happens. It’s strange, because it seems that these last two visits to the girlfriend’s have been the best in all the 3 years she’s been there. Maybe it’s just that it’s been so long since I visited; maybe it’s that these last two visits were jam packed with things to do and people to see (just the way I like it). Regardless, it was a really good time.

The next few weeks will be busy, but in two weeks the time suck that is French class will officially be over, and I have no plans to head back until September (if then). It’ll be nice to have my Mondays and Wednesdays back. I plan on joining a gym, or buying some apartment-sized, easily movable, fitness equipment so that I can finally get my ass in hear and stop having the body of a person significantly older than 25. I may also take a few one off courses over the summer – those lame but fun hobby classes like photography, etc. Maybe I’ll meet new people that way. Maybe I’ll just be filling my time. Either or, it’s all good. Of course, maybe I won’t take any classes, maybe I’ll just read and write more [hahahahahahahaha!]

I was lamenting the fact that I’ve hit this weird stage where I feel like I no longer have anything to say (not that you can tell from this entry). Writing used to really be my passion, the thing I could do whenever I wanted. I think a large part of what I had to say was the same thing every other angsty youth has to say, but I really would like to think that my writing, my words, are something more, something just slightly beyond they typical thing. I don’t want my passion for writing to be on par with the fact that every 11 year old girl on earth likes horses. I’m not expecting to be a professional writer by any stretch of the imagination. I just want to know that writing is something that I can do. Sadly it seems like I can’t even take that for granted.

I’m 25 years old and I have nothing left to say. Maybe after that next 25 years I’ll get my groove back.

It’s strange when you realize you’ve grown apart from someone who once really understood you. When you don’t share anything important any more, because the minute you tell someone something you know they will only disapoint you with their response. Maybe that’s not enough credit for them, for anyone, but I have become more careful with my own heart and soul, hording them, protecting them.

I used to be such an open book, throwing my emotions out there in front of me for the world to see. There was a time when I could turn to any number of friends and say, I’m bothered, X is upseting me. Now I just don’t. I say nothing to anyone. I’m not sure why – I think I just got tired of hearing my own voice, complaining about things that never change.

Sometimes my apathy about the relationships in my life overwhelms me. There are people who may one day no longer be a part of my life and on my most emotionally numb days I cannot bring myself to get upset about it. I’m almost resigned to it. When did I convince myself that “everyone leaves”? And why am I still trapped in this self-absorbed, adolesent pattern of thinking that in reality should have ended years ago? Of course people leave! Life is like that, it moves on, people change and grow, and yes, leave. I leave too, in many different ways over time. I need to stop silently putting so much pressure on people in my life, to stop trying to fit them into the pre-determined molds I designed for relationships.

How do you resolve yourself to the idea that while there are things you need in life to truly be happy, but these things may be unrealistic. Do you lower your expectations of the world? Maybe that’s the key – lower your expectations of the world – but that sounds awfully sad to me, actually.

Sometimes I feel like the epitome of the “man against himself” conflict.

Today is International Women’s Day.

I wonder about the point of that, sometimes. While yes, it’s all fine and good to have a special day to celebrate women and champion the causes that we still have to work on, the women who most need the attention, the equality, the changes, likely have no idea that there even is an International Women’s Day. Does a mother in Haiti really care about a stupid holiday right now? How about a woman in Afghanistan?

Not surprisingly, the UN, which created Internal Women’s Day, has very little to say on the subject, and makes it difficult to find any information. You’d think they’d have a link on their index page today or something. Regardless, it appears that the theme for today internationally is “Women and HIV/AIDS “. (On a side note, Canada’s theme is “She’s on a role” recognition for women who help a lot and go unrecognized or some such thing. Why do we need a separate theme? Are there no women with HIV/AIDS in Canada?) As such, it appears the UN is dedicating a whole 2 hours to a “panel discussion” of the theme. Wow. That’s…underwhelming. Ok, I know the UN has a lot going on, but seriously? Why even bother? Will decisions and actions take place as a result of this panel discussion?

I realize that unless I’m out there trying to do something for women’s rights directly I should probably shut up and stop being such a hypocrite. However, I’m not the one who declared a day in honour of women’s rights, I never purported to be trying to do great things. Maybe I will. Maybe I need to look at things on a more local scale.

I hate winter. I cannot wait until it’s over. This low-lying, but very persistent under-the-weather feeling I’ve had off and on since November is starting to get annoying. Yesterday was a cross between the following: eye sockets that felt like they had cotton balls in them, a scratchy throat, and lungs full of mucus (I know you all really wanted to know that). So I skipped my French class. I wasn’t going to learn anything in that condition, even if I had gone. I doubt I would even be on my feel today if I hadn’t taken the time to rest yesterday.

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Since the big “December 12th announcement” things at work here have been very interesting. The one thing I’m dying to find out – and I’m not really sure where my curiosity is coming from – is where we’ll be moving. A move is inevitable, as they want to get all the employees under one roof. I want to know what building it is. Moving is fun sometimes, a good change of scenery. As long as I still get a window! (Prime public service real estate my friends).

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I’m wearing a skirt today. I look hot (or, at least my legs do).

And sometimes a piece of you just dies and falls away, like the leaves falling off trees in autumn.

Sometimes no matter how much you want something to be, to exist again, it won’t.

Sometimes you have to learn that growing older is inevitable, but not necessarily a horror.

Sometimes you have to accept that people don’t want to be found. And that they aren’t out there looking for you.

Sometimes life is just boring.

Sometimes work-home-bed will be a never ending cycle in your life, and potentially, for a short time, the only reliable thing.

Sometimes you’ll want to go back in time and change things.

Sometimes you’ll want to go back in time and do the same thing, only with more confidence and attitude.

Sometimes it will just be you. And that’s all.