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Subject:h-u-z-z-a-h
Time:02:18 pm
Current Mood:excitedexcited
So, apparently it IS possible to get paying jobs in theatre tech. After some back-and-forth with a bureaucrat and the lovely staff at the college, I've secured the Theatre Facility Operations Assistant at the Canadian College of Performing Arts. Nobigdeal. It's not a permanent position, but going from that on to working Fringe Festival at the end of August, I'll be a pretty happy fellow. Paid theatre. Who knew?

So, tonight: drinks and celebratory dinner with Heather. The back to our happy little home (as it's come to be known) for either Mr. Bean, Fawlty Towers, or Frozen Planet.

Life is pretty grand.
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Time:01:00 pm
all shall be well
and all shall be well
and manner of thing shall be well
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Subject:home stretch
Time:03:13 am
Or so it feels, anyway.

Just over halfway to getting back to Canada... not that I'm counting the days (32 to home, 35 to what is feeling increasingly like a combination of opening night, a terrifying audition and a long overdue date). It might be foolish of me to feel hopeful about this, well, it probably is, but something tells me that something's different. That might just be some irrational part of me talking, but I don't know how else to articulate it. Since partway through the summer, I think, I've felt more at peace with myself, my life, the world and everything than I have in years. It might be silly, but I attribute some of this to her. When my dad went through the whole hospital ordeal, she stepped up above and beyond the call of duty, and with the possible exception of a couple of very old friends, seemed to care and genuinely want to listen and be supportive more than anybody I know. That meant a hell of a lot, and I should probably let her know at some point. Future thoughts.

I'm, of course, worried that I completely and entirely won't be able to keep up with her. I appear to be much more of a homebody and don't have the up all night reading/working stamina that she seems to (present insomnia notwithstanding). These things are differences, and maybe they're challenges. I don't feel myself getting younger, which means I'm getting less able to kick it oldskool (kids say that, right?) with the theatre crowd. But that's not the worst thing in the world. Hm. Not sure what I'm attempting to articulate there.

My textbook is nearly done. This has been the most ridiculous albatross around my neck but the end is within sight. I've got to make final revisions to the content of two chapters (the author gave me his master copies and said "You do it, I trust your judgement" - I was more than a little terrified) vocabulary entries for the reader. Final revision to the answer key. Then one final formatting trawl over the body of the entire textbook. Then: poof! Done. And somewhere in either the publication data or the introduction, there will be my name. This is easily the best textbook I've seen for teaching Old Norse language (at least for getting people to be able to read normalized classical Old Norse) and it's immensely exciting to think that I'm a part of it. Then comes the part of working on 10 years of field reports to make them publishable. Apparently we're doing them in four volumes. I'm either looking at umpteenth writer or editor credit on those. And that seems pretty cool to me. There might be some translation projects down the line as well. Did I just start a career? Messed up.
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Subject:memorial hall (september, 2011)
Time:06:18 pm
a wall
take a name
transfer the sound and person
to a scratching on paper
and fold it into your pocket

one, two, three steps up
that column, no. just to the right
four or fourscore down
near the bottom, between some longer lists
and it's there
in the safety of distance
far from the unknown others.
take it.

unfold that penstain
into a space
that's a first thought
give that name a life:
birth to a mother and presumably a father
some formative years
probably motivation
choose from:
duty, love, fear
or all of the above.
give that name a life:
fill up those hours
with the hum of a happening.
give that haunting a ghost

the wish of a whisper
hides under the calling of a name
that has forgotten who its person is
while it scratches at the proper nouns
and claws its way out of the substantives

take a name
and unfold it into a person
make the ghost
into a series of memories
and press that paper down
down to your blood and bone
down to your nerves and neurons
down to your syntax and soul

maybe you're the same, after all
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Time:11:09 am
never try to match wits with a Dane

except by wits, I mean pint-for-pint beers... and by a Dane I mean a Dane that's half again my body mass and 4 inches taller

Iceland is a place of questionable choices
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Subject:something
Time:02:43 am
Sometimes I feel like I'm falling in love, but I'm terrified to say that I might be, I know she's going to leave. This is too much. It's too silly. It's too much Mr. Right-but-not-right-now. I love getting nervous around her, and I love the feeling of trepidation that I get with every sentence. She said yes, and that's happened fewer times than I think it could have.

Last year I dated a girl who asked me if I would go all in on whatever was happening. I said, and I paraphrase 'OMFG No way. You've gone crazygonuts' and I backed out and told myself that I wouldn't get into anything. Months later somebody else hurt me quite a bit. I felt vulnerable in all this. And that's where she entered the picture.

I mean, sure, she was there already, I knew her and she knew me. We swapped war stories over beers at Chirstmas, either before or after I sang "Come Fly With Me" with the aid of a few brews. Months later, when I was home again... maybe it was feeling strange from reverse culture shock. Maybe it was vulnerability when dad was in the hospital, but I knew that she, from an insane too-busy-to-see-best-friends schedule, made time to get a coffee and sit by the waterfront with me. I might have started to cave then.

"We both know that it's foolish"

In the sense that everybody in the theatre community loves the people that they work with, I'm already there. She's pretty great. Charming. Easy to work with. Doesn't step on the toes outside of her particular domain. Works small (and large) miracles. No biggie. Typical stuff.

I'm afraid to play a hand beyond that, though. Maybe it's me, but I don't think that she'd return whatever it is that I'm giving. Maybe I'm used to that, or I pretend to think I'm used to that. Maybe I'm just waiting to be waited for. It's weird. There aren't too many thing really to talk about

But

I remember one night. I'd not so much as ever suggested kissing her, and we were falling asleep. A loveseat. (Terrible nomenclature to the terrified I-know-nothing-about-women type.) She asked me to tell her a story. I didn't remember all the details, but I started recounting Thor and Utgartha-Loki (a good tale if you're a Nordicist) and she fell asleep. Now, apart from the fact that she held my hand, she fell asleep. Different from any other time she's dozed, or drifted off, she slept. Free of moments, feelings, thoughts, and any and all of that, she was there, sleeping, next to somebody that she hasn't had the time to know too well, when she wouldn't even sleep next to her best friends. Comfortable. Relaxed.

It was beautiful.

She apologized, but I was still happy just to hold her hand.

I've seen the opposite, when even if I'm there I've felt her relive things that people shouldn't. PTS is terrible, and I'm glad to not have to deal with it in my own life. I'm happy to be there, though. When she asks me to just be there. If she asks me to say something nice. Anything. It's better than "feeling so alone ... so erroneously unknown." Sometimes it feels difficult, because, in the manner of Saul Tigh, "I feel it less with words." I want to prove it to her or to myself that the big word isn't so necessary to hang around. I want it taken slowly. I don't want any words for it.

I want to use my lack of words to show her that it shouldn't be scary, it shouldn't be overwhelming, it shouldn't be too much or too soon or too anything that one human being cares deeply about her well-being and that he's not afraid to let her know that one small simple fact. And love is a very small word.

I think I do. And that's what love is, thoughts. Feelings.

I went to speak, but she interrupted by kissing me. It was perhaps the happiest I've been in years. She said "I'm sorry, you were saying..." and I think I said something about how whatever it was it didn't matter anymore. I tried to smile together some lines about silkskinned rosewoven arms. I wrote a poem about an instant of sitting next to her in a crush of seconds before I had to leave, and she destroyed it all, any chance I had of making some tabernacle of syntax and morphology out of it. She de-worded me with her lips.

She abolished my language, and I couldn't be happier.

Maybe that's all there is to say about love.
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Subject:Emperor Penguin
Time:01:34 am
I may be half an ocean away. But it's just a physical impossibility.
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Subject:Adverbially Noun
Time:05:36 pm
Current Mood:sicksick
Three things: One good. One delayed and good. One Bad.

Bad thing: My room is flooded. I've got no carpet anymore, lots of shit was soaked and is now garbage.

Good thing: SHELLZ0R! I found the original source for the video thingamy I made for you. We should arrange a meeting time so that I can give you a CD with it etc...

Delayed and good thing: Turns out I fucked up my taxes last year. Bigtime. The government has owed me about $1100 for the past year. They've paid up... with interest. That seals the deal. Depending on platforms, candidates, records and all other things, I might actually vote Conservative in the next election. Fucked up!
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Subject:and by the way...
Time:11:25 pm
Vampires are stupid. They're not cool. Pretending to be one of them is dumb. If you do that, I can personally garauntee that you are lame.
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Subject:Big American Party! Great fun for all!
Time:09:28 pm
Current Mood:crappycrappy
Except no fun for Chad

Well, my birthday was rad. Lots of good times. Awesome books. Battlestar and Pingu. Vikings and Manliness. The Trailer Park Boys movie was awesome and radical.

Then there was the season premier of Battlestar Galactica. Wicked.

Then there was today. Today blew.

Apart from dealing with irate hobos, I got to deal with some jackass cocksucker asshole bitchface fuckhead stealing my Goddamn wallet. What an assclown. I walked home from downtown (although I saw a friend and she offered me a twonie for busfare but I needed to walk my rage off) as it got cold and report all my shit stolen to Visa and the police and stuff. Frak.

You know, I'm just too drained to write more. What a pissoff.
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