Category Archives: Intuitive Rambling

Writing, journal entries, random thoughts and a lot of my fabulous wit.

Temporary is a state of being

via Daily Prompt: Temporary

Temporary is a great thing because it means this too shall pass. Temporary can be unsettling because it may not last. Temporary is fluid and constantly in a state of flux. Temporary is a good description of your situation as you move from here to there but aren’t quite where you want to be yet.

Right now I am temporarily in limbo and trying to move through it as gracefully as possible – which, unfortunately, because it is a state of the heart will take some time. I’m okay with that.

I’m not okay with the state of my body and hoping that is definitely going to be a temporary thing. I have told people, I have written it down and now I’m putting it in print – I am joining the YMCA today. Hopefully that will light a fire under my ever widening behind. I miss the gym, I miss the rush, I miss that fix that is like nothing else.

It’s so silly too because I know doing that will make me feel better and get me out of this temporary state of depression that much faster, but I get home at the end of the day and I’m all “ughhh life is so hard, poor me, I’ll take care of the dogs and eat chocolate and other crappy food that’s not good for me, watch t.v., crackbook and sulk”, so you can see how easily I got here.

I have been a gym rat several times in my life and I’ve always enjoyed it. But I’ve always had a hard time getting myself to start again, every time it seems to get harder. What is it about humans that prevents us from doing exactly what we need, what is the best thing for us and what we know will make us feel better? Why are we so self-defeating and destructive?

Every day I see things about the human condition that make me sad and bring tears to my eyes. I worry for the state of this world and the utter chaos we seem to be living in with so many different cultures and beliefs encroaching on each other. I do not think any good can come from this. I think our current blissful state is very much temporary at this point and it’s all going to come crashing down at an alarming rate in the not too distant future. I don’t think we’ll have the luxury of WordPress, I think we’ll be running for our lives.

Luckily my stay here is only temporary.

Yes of course I love you, what was your name again?


My life is like a slightly more memory conscious version of 50 First Dates. I don’t need to break out the USB every morning to remember by family but close enough. I have recollections of some things but in no particular order and in no time context whatsoever. We could have been friends for 25 years of three weeks, it would feel the same to me. By the same token, I have forgotten people’s names after knowing them for years, forgotten really important life events and dates and much to the chagrin of most of my boyfriends, forgotten nearly all of those pinnacle points in my relationships.  It’s like this hazy, pot smoked, alcohol filled memory that sort of looms up from time to time (except there was no pot or booze at the time but that’s just how it seems in my head) and it doesn’t seem to pick any particular set time to do it or not either. I will have stark moments of clarity and recollection with people where I will remember the happenstance clear as day. The only thing I seem to be fairly good at with any amount of consistency seems to do with music and, I suspect, that has something to do with how I feel about music in general – you know, it drives me, I couldn’t live without it. Honestly, I wouldn’t want to be in a world without music, can you imagine?!

When I Hear Music

Also, the Alzheimer’s Society must agree because they have a program in coordination with 91.1 Jazz FM wherein through donor contributions (I believe) they provide iPods for old folks loaded up with all their fav tunes and they’ve found this has had amazing results. Not surprising really, music soothes the savage beast and all that.

Let the Music Play

(Also those two tracks ought to tell you a teensy-weensy little bit about me, although my music repertoire is vast lemme tell ya.) K, so this is my Soundhound list for recent stuff: Holding On – Gregory Porter, Heaven – Majical Cloudz, Ho Hey – Lumineers, Leben – I Feel You – Schiller, The Passion of Lovers – The Shroud, Dream of You – Shiller, This Corrosion – The Sisters of Mercy, You Got No Right – Velvet Revolver – most of those were awesome tracks I caught bits of on t.v. shows and wanted to hear the whole thing. Some are old standards and that’s seriously just a fleck of dust in the hour glass that is my love of music. Maybe that’s what I should do – just write a book filled with all the songs, entire albums and their songs, and random one hit wonders that have shaped my life.

I’d blather on about all the kinds of music and genres I like but it’d probably be easier to narrow it down to what I don’t like – ga head ax me if you like, otherwise I’ll just leave it at that. One of the things that’s kind of cool about my altered chaotic head is about 50% of the time or more I have a soundtrack playing in the background and it’s amazing how many different songs will flit through my head at any given time and thanks to YouTube and the like, I’ve pretty much got it all at my fingertips. Here’s one that will make your hair stand on end, it’s sooooooo magnificent!

Black Diamond – Yoshiki & The American Symphony Orchestra

So basically, I’m in a perpetual Alzheimer-esk state with bouts of lucidity and a slightly better temperament because I’ve been dealing with it so long. Also, I have some mad skills that just sort of come automatically, but by the same token you can see my several kinds of special say in my journals where sometimes a word will be crossed out three and four times. Okay, yes, sometimes it will be because I misspelled it but most of the time it’ll be because I just couldn’t seem to get my hand to incorporate that missing letter, or I just spazed out and it looks suddenly so bad, it’s illegible. Good times. Still, I really like writing long-hand and it’s a place where I can write sheer drivel and not worry about offending anyone (well, myself later on, s’why I don’t read them over anymore as I’ve said before).

So, if I forget your name, forget who you are, forget our anniversary, forget I took your virginity or any number of poignant life-altering events – just forget it, ‘cause I already have (not on purpose of course). Just remember, being with Danielle involves a lot of forgiving and forgetting, but it’s a lot easier if you do it in reverse like I do.

Hello Everybody!

First of all, my humblest apologies for being so lame. Now I understand how people find it hard to write and give up. Seems that’s exactly what I did. The funniest thing happened though to start me on the “road to recovery” – a friend wrote to me from jail. Well, is he a friend? That’s kind of up for debate. I’ll get to that in a moment. So of course, I wrote him back and it reminded me how long it’s been since I’d written. Typing his letter was great and writing here is great too but I mean, written.

For most of my life, I have diligently kept a journal, granted the majority of it is lame, boring and self-absorbed and no one in their right mind would want to read it I suspect but it’s a great way to vent and actually handwriting things is oh so cathartic. It’s so much more intense than typing and I’m sad to see it going by the wayside which brings me back to my mantra of I’m glad I won’t be alive in 50 years. (I used to say 100 but let’s face it, I’m not getting any younger here folks.)

Long hand writing is truly a labour of love. I’ve always had this fantasy that someone would find all my journals posthumously and I’d become famous after the fact. I actually started to type them out at one point, you know thinking I could put them together in some form of autobiographical-esk collaboration that would blow me up into superstardom and I wouldn’t have to have a shitty McJob anymore … but when I started typing it out, it was either: a) I was boring myself to death; or b) it was highly embarrassing and, for the most part, a little bit of both. What it did not make for was riveting writing. Oh sure, I could wade through the oceans of writing to find a few droplets or poignant truths here and there but blech! No thanks. Now you know several of the millions of reasons why no one knows any of my plethora of works – because there isn’t any.

But anyway, back to the matter at hand. Yeah, so I started writing to him again, we’ll call him Rug for the sake of fiction … because I will take the time to tell you all about my long-standing relationship with Rug and how, I almost went to jail for the rest of my life (good thing almost doesn’t count), but that’s a whole other story in itself, and might even take me several entries to finish (but probably not). You think your story is sooooooo intense and deep and extensive and then you start writing it down and it’s all, “so I dated this asshole, some shit happened, I’m scarred for life but it made me a better person, and here we are” type deal.

But one thing interesting that came out of knowing Rug was my fascination with the whole incarceration system. I started watching programs on jails and convicts and so on and during one of these programs they advertised this program where you could find a pen pal in jail, there’s a bunch of them now, but at the time there was only one that I was aware of and I can’t for the life of me remember the name, which kind of sucks at this juncture of the story because it was part of what compelled me to want to write to someone.

Anyway, it was pretty cool. I poured through pictures and profiles and stuff and I picked out this guy Corey because he had really cool tats and he looked like a nice person. Turned out that he was a really cool person and fairly smart too. He came from a good family, had everything in place for when he got out of jail. He’s now been out for several years and has a wife and kid and seems pretty happy. I’m still friends with him on Facebook but we don’t really keep in touch very much now, which I kind of understand because, well essentially I’m part of his old life. We wrote to each other for eight years. It’s one of my best friendships even though we’ve never met in real life. I still hope that one day we will. That was a really cool happenstance to because he was creative, he was a good writer, he even sent me drawings and they were wicked good.

Rug was (and is obviously) in and out of jail while I was seeing him and I guess one of the main reasons that I started writing to someone in jail was to try and have a better understanding of the situation. It didn’t really help me understand anything any better but I think it helped to resolve some conflicting emotions. As for Rug himself, honestly I like it so much better when he’s in jail, it’s way harder for him to get junk and he stays clean (junk, crystal, crack … whatever I’m sure he’d do whatever was handed to him at this point.) I don’t worry about him as much. To be honest, I thought he would have keeled over long before now. He’s in his 40s and been doing junk since he was 15, been shot, stabbed, bashed in the head with a baseball bat (dude, he literally has a dent in his head from this) and flat-lined on several occasions and yet, he’s still here. It’s a frickin’ miracle really.

The weird thing about the whole Rug situation for me was I’d avoided creeps my whole life but this guy, I practically ran into his arms and, the funny thing was, it wasn’t just me, the girls before, the girls after – most pretty, smart, capable – same thing. The one after me had a kid with him FFS and now, he’s not even allowed to see his son. When he wrote to me, he asked about seeing if he could get in touch with her and his son while in jail – I skipped right over that conversation. The last thing she will do is try and encourage that relationship. And p.s. do you know just how righteously fucked up you have to be to be living minutes away from your child and lose all custody in Canada? That’s severely messed up people.

Okay and that’s my ramble for today – toodles!

I have a dream … but that seems to be all it is

Another one that fell by the wayside … have a few moments, am going through what used to be my blog and it’s making me feel sadder than I already did. Gawd I hate this time of year. Anway … I’m a post this junk … still thinking about a book. I had a fabulous idea this morning and forgot to write it down, that is hella lame if you ask me.

So I’m at work today (yes, I finally got a fucking job after a year and half, it’s actually an awesome job too – however, not a lot of down time … so getting back to writing has been an uphill struggle to say the least) and we’re talking about dreams and how they keep you alive and after the usual litany of money, mansion, yacht etc. I come back to … writing a book and hey, writing and hey, when in the fuck is the last time I even blogged? (*good thing you can’t see flushing face of embarrassment right now …) will this cute bunny do instead?


Ignoring your Passion is Slow Suicide

Today I fell in love with WordPress all over again and realized how much I’ve missed blogging and having this place for myself. They’ve now introduced a help chat box that pops up when you log in – oh happy days! The problem with mapping my domain name properly fixed in one minute and five dollars with the help of the lovely Rachel. N00bs everywhere take note you don’t have to search around aimlessly to use WordPress properly anymore! For someone like me that just wants to write this is like Nirvana. Now I can write what I want when I want and hopefully make my blog better and more fun to read in the process. The whole looking at my blog again thing started via a Facebook GIF (okay I had to look that up to make sure I was using the terminology correctly, seems I am.)


And I looked at that and thought my passion has always been writing and yet in the last year, one of my most horrendous I have written nary a word, no wonder I feel like I’m dying inside.

A lot of people have asked me why I don’t try to write for a living, I always thought it would be impossible but now I’m starting to realize that the only thing that’s been hindering me is my lack of conviction. I see so many people writing and calling themselves writers and I think, I could do better than that. So what the hell is stopping me? My best guess would be fear. So I’m going to make this one short and sweet so that I can get on with the task at hand and start writing some stuff with some meat in it and hopefully along the way find my true voice and fall in love all over again with that which defines me.