quinquennium.

IMG_7957it’s my blog’s fifth anniversary today! or not actually today, because when i looked it up my first post seems to have been written august 4th, 2009. but i got the notification today, which means today’s the day i’m celebrating.

when i started writing this blog it was a way to get myself writing again, because summers are lazy, or just because i’m lazy in general, or whatever. i started the blog one night after i came home from work (the same office i work in now – i’ve been there for five years too. come to think of it i’ve been on twitter for five years as well. i guess 2009 was a big year for me. it’s also the year i met my boyfriend, even though we didn’t start dating until 2012, but that’s not as important as twitter, this blog, or my job.), and i remember feeling so discouraged that school would be starting again soon and that i’d barely read anything all summer that was just for myself.

i’ve posted about a billion poems here, probably, but this blog has also seen me through my apartment fire, my old bronson life, my quarter-of-a-century-life crisis,  my isolationism, me trying to sort some shit out,  feeling alive in the cemetery, not getting out of bed all day, adjusting to other human beings,  saying goodbye to my solo apartment, saying goodbye to my childhood friend. and some other shit too, i’m sure. not to mention my 2011 memory scrapbook, which i still think of fondly & remember spending so many hours making. best way to spend new year’s day ever.

i guess in a way i’m sort of proud of myself for keeping it going this long. i didn’t really expect that when i started, but here i am. there have been months where i’ve gone without writing anything, but then i always do again. and i know it’s kind of dumb to have a writing blog where i never even post anything i’d publish, but it helps just having it here. and i’ve grown kind of attached to it. right now most of my poems are under wraps for another few months, but i’ve been writing and it’s been kind of comforting, or something.

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what i’m currently working on (super secret surprise poems)

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random words of wisdom i found while walking to work

stuff.!

it’s been a very long time since i’ve posted any writing on here, but i plan to do that again soon. i’ve been working on a chapbook to be coming out this fall so i haven’t really had a lot of time to write anything that isn’t going to be in the book.

but those poems are now written and i’m starting to edit, so i’ll have some stuff up on my site in a while. i never post any poems here that i actually intend on publishing or that i have a strong connection with. i haven’t been doing a lot of “aimless” writing these past few months. but obviously that won’t always be the case.

plus i never write a lot in the summer. plus i’ve been looking for a house to rent and that’s been taking all my free time. plus i’ve been drinking a lot, a lot, lovely wonderful summer beers. so that’s what’s happening with that.

water bottles.

somehow im going fucking camping next weekend.

i don’t have any money, as per usual. i can’t afford to buy a bottle of water to drink in the car a week from now. i keep justifying it by saying that i pay all my bills and i have my own apartment and i’m never truly starving, but then i buy another pack of cigarettes and all the justification turns into guilt. but on the other hand, i don’t need a bottle of water. i don’t need anything at all. so fucking whatever, right.

last summer was easy. i was even poorer than i am now, but it was still easy. i didn’t have to feel bad about not having food in my fridge. i didn’t bring my own food or camping supplies or tent when i went camping, i just brought myself and there was no pressure. there was no pressure the whole summer, really. there was just me and justin and leah’s back porch and ordering beer in the afternoon and playing board games in the living room and sleeping alone on the picnic table in my backyard under the stars. getting locked out of my apartment and having nowhere to go and not caring. getting trapped in storms and walking the canal alone for hours. i’d go to hamilton for the cheap lunches, cigarettes, beers, car rides, pizzas, late nights with my friends.

i don’t own anything.
this isn’t as easy, but it’s definitely better.

summer 2012.

my apartment is generally stifling and on the main floor of a house somewhere downtown. i think about how one day its walls will be a memory and how descriptions of them will speckle stories about strangers from my past, casual friends who evaporate into memories. i think about how comfortable it is, even in its heat, and how it is when i’m alone in it, and i fear not always living here. i think about how the fridge is home only to rotating brands of beer and empty pizza boxes, bottles of gin. about things i have not let go of and the things i never even brought. i think of the pain it would bring about, for everyone involved, to move the fish again.

there are very few bugs in this house but the sink doesn’t properly drain, there are pros and there are cons but if things truly bothered me i’m sure i would fix them. not just the drain. i’m handier than i let on. i am a lot of things i never let on.

we watch the daylight come and go and we meander from the workday morning to the sunday afternoon to the drunken midnight stumble somehow seamlessly. i smoke and do essentially nothing else, i cross off days on the calendar or study patterns on the ceiling but i am never bored. i write and hide the evidence, i apply for my passport, i read and toast bagels and eat them slowly with fresh fruit and wait for the coffee maker when i am alone.

it’s summer.
i never do anything productive when it’s summer and i don’t care to.

storming.

it’s storming out and he’s sick in my bed, sleeping, so close i could touch him. and i could, i might, i will when i’m done. every now & then lightning flashes and it fills my apartment. it doesn’t disturb us. i can write by the light of the aquarium.

all of a sudden sensitivity, to the sounds of some other body, alert to each subtle change between breaths, each lift of a chest. neighbours come home & concern me. i fear sound from their steps in the hall. if i had nothing to worry about it would keep me up all night. i drink coffee too late. i also take breaths.

actually, the room is dark and empty. just me and two goldfish. it isn’t storming or even raining. there is nothing close enough to touch, and i might be sleeping.

an afternoon with you
is a maniac with a hammer

i don’t understand television or
cooking macaroni
so we don’t
and you don’t believe

the better parts of my dead
skin land in your hands
because there is
no place else.

but every place that there is
we have been to,
tearing the celings with
fingers and nails, chipping
the bricks and forcing our arms
through the beams