I think you should know that I believe in coincidences. I'm actually not sure if coincidences are something you believe in, or something you use as an excuse for not believing in something else, something stupider and less plausible, like fate or god. I guess for me it's fitting that I believe in an excuse.
So what I was getting at is that I believe in coincidences. Mostly they manifest themselves as particularly meaningful successions of songs on my iPod shuffle. I have the world's oldest iPod shuffle. It holds half a GB and is the size of a first generation Sony Walkman. That half a GB is all meaningful successions these days, no word of a lie. I read into things a little too much.
Tonight I was walking home, and it was freezing. Tonight I was walking past the canal, and it was frozen. Tonight I schlepped up First Avenue wearing giant headphones stolen from the supply closet at work but which were clearly stolen from a Sheraton Hotel prior to that. I was feeling pretty sorry for myself and my sad state of affairs. I was listening to New Year's by the John Henrys and thinking of one very long, very hung over, very particular drive, fueled mostly by Red Bull and nicotine and nerves, ending up by a lake where I actually felt kind of happy. And then I am trying to break your heart by Wilco came on, and I went from one memory to too many, to a million points of light. These include but are not limited to cracked leather couches in Vancouver, drunk futons in Almonte, and all crash pads in between. Those two points were actually good ones, but most of the other ones involved me being trampled or put upon. And then I realized that even though that afternoon drive last summer with the John Henrys was actually a pretty awesome day, I couldn't help but trample myself on that one too. The heart wants what it wants, and mine wants to rewrite history to lower my self-concept a whole hell of a lot.
I guess what I'm trying to say is the sudden trip backwards into my mostly stupid past kind of took me by surprise. I'm introspective at the best of times, to a fault usually. I realized as I've realized about a million times over that I tend to look back on my life as a minor tragedy. I feel pretty sorry for myself most of the time, but not King Lear sorry, more like Winter's Tale sorry. I'm a semi-irrelevant tragicomedy and I want to change that, I think. Someone asked me at work today if I was okay, and that it seemed like I was on the edge of some big step. I said, "You're pretty astute for someone who's on her first coffee," and then I screamed and ducked behind her, hiding from an ex-boyfriend on the other side of the street. It was too early to exercise my ninja skills.
It was a bit of a long day.
So in conclusion, I'm going to start writing again. I'm not really sure where this is going, but it has to go somewhere.
You should all watch this. Hey Freya, remember how you nearly fought that chick and I didn't jump to your defense?