I imagine that there will come a point in my life, probably by the time I am, say, thirty-five - forty-ish, at which I will have done most of my evolving and I will be my essential self for the remainder of my life. I will probably look back at these times of ever-changing selves and think, "My God, am I ever glad that I am done that!"

However, my current self disagrees with future David. I am having such a good time becoming a new person every few months. It's so stimulating, challenging to want to be and do a million things all at once and to know that in your own eyes, you are better, more than you were a season ago. I think what this boils down to is that I just got over not being 18 anymore. Quite literally in the last 7 seconds, and let me tell you, kids: it's absolutely brilliant. There were a couple of years there (up until 7...no wait - eight seconds ago) where I secretly bemoaned the loss of my jail-bait status, but now I feel like the fucking warden.

In a related yet separate vein, it occurs to me that I live in such a way that my goals occasionally opposed themselves and because I want to experience so much, these experiences have the potential to prevent other ones. I feel that up until this point I have been very successful in balancing my goals with my love of newness and I feel that I will be able to continue to have mind-shattering experiences while still acheiving my goals. So before I get to my point, let it be known that David is very stable and committed to his long-term goals. Still, I know that it is all too human to falter and I recognize that there is potential, no matter how small, for a person to lose focus of what they want in the long term due to their short-term fancies. If I were to ever veer close to that precipice, I hope that the people near and dear to me would enlighten me to the potential dangers of gravity. This is not a cry for help, just a suggestion that if anyone has any concerns at any point in the future, that we talk and assess if their fears are warranted. I like to think that if the need arose, my dear ones would allow me to do the same for them.

My Gertrude Stein-loving U of W amigo has started his own blog (http://www.gender-neutral-space.blogspot.com/) where you can read about his current adventures in going through a second hormonal puberty. It's really rather fascinating, to the point that I may be even subconsciously empathizing with it. Granted, I'm not going through any physiological changes or gender questioning myself, but I feel 17 again. Perhaps it's this raw-food-vegan cleanse thing that I'm doing for a month, but I feel like my energies' tectonic plates have completely shifted leading to a million little earthquakes every day. I'm thinking about sex totally differently. Hell, I'm looking at people totally differently. I always deemed myself far too "mature" for those hormonal horn-dog impulses experienced in young adulthood, but perhaps it was that I was ironically immature, and now... Well now it seems like I could have a good time with that potted fern over there. Hey, how you doin'?

My work is a bitch

This was actually composed nearly a month ago, a mere day after my Katima-revelation. However, it was composed at work and because my work is such a heinous snatch-box. I was not able to find a way to get it to myself as the server has gotten far too intelligent and will no longer send to my hotmail account. Damn the man:

Ok, so I looked into the Katimavik thing and I'm too old anyway, so moot point. However, that's alright. Realistically, I couldn't have gone next year anywa; school could have waited but stuff like Chai...well they'd be pissed. And I'd be pissed, cause I am looking forward to it next year. So I won't be doing that. Still, my little reverie yesterday has made me realise that I need to get the fuck outta Dodge, but quick. Ok, so in a year and a half. Not so quick. I'm taking a very "Heinz Ketchup will only come out when it's ready" approach to quick. But I digress...

I just want to take off and lead another life for a few months. Maybe Charlize Theron's. She seems like she's having a good ride. I just think it's important to get a little crazy before truly settling down into adult life. I think that's what the raving and writing has been (I've been writing again, kids, and composing a bit too. First time in over a year. It's been good): outlets for non-adult creativity. It's unrealistic to commit to one thing for your entire life at the age of 18 upon entering University. I shared this with my parents yesterday and they were suprisingly supportive. Not that I thought they wouldn't be at all, but they were like, "Fuck yeah! Get your ass abroad, bitch!" Ok, that was just my dad; my mother was too busy shooting up to comment.

On another note, I went to see Guys & Dolls on Monday. Holy hell, is that a jazz hand-y show. I always thought it was about cowboys. But it's not. So I was happy about that. One of the four leads looked like Uncle Joey from Full House (You know, that show I wasn't allowed to watch as a child cause my dad thought it had adult situations. How far we've come). Too bad he sucked many, many elephant bums. It was actually painful. A

nd lastly, for those who wish that I was wittier, happier and better looking, check out http://www.vividblurry.com/. It's brilliant.

I've had so much that I've wanted to type about but I haven't and here's why: I often write blogs at work because there's next to no supervision and it's a good chunk of time when my mind doesn't need to be focused on something. I wrote one two weeks ago as a follow up to my whole I-wanna-do-Katimavik thing but the damn e-mail service won't let me send it. Extremely frustrating. Whatever, I'll get it sooner or later.

Big news: my Israel girlfriend who lives in Calgary announced that she will be visiting/staying with me over the 17-20th of February, after which far too many bodily fluids were ejaculated due to my shocked delight. To properly justify our relationship, let me say this: we're the same person, 'cept she's all hotter and can pull off yellow. To illustrate this point, let me tell you a tale of our trip to Israel. First some back story: we actually only started talking on about the third day of the ten we were there and it was a very different bond as generally when I find a girl to befriend intimately we usually spend every waking minute together before she heads back to Vancouver, Montreal, etc. (Wow, I'm like the straightest 'mo ever...k, maybe not after that statement.) However with her and I, I always felt there was this very delicate balance. Like, you know how when you're on a first date and the conversation is going so amazingly that you kinda just want to go home so you can say that it was amazing before you run out of conversation? It was kinda like that. We gave each other tons of space but it was known that we were a couple, platonic as it was.

Now on to the "we're the same" point: I think it was day 8 that we were on the bus and having a very intense conversation about her older, wealthy Armenian boyfriend. She said something funny like, "At least he'd good in the sack, " and I replied, "Hey, well at least you got something out of it," and then without even looking at each other or acknowledging that we were done and without noticing the other was doing the exact same thing, rolled over and went to sleep. half an hour later we both woke up, looked at each other and peed ourselves laughing. I'm not sure if that really makes sense now, but it was très amusant at the time.

The Ubiquitous U and I stayed up to 1 am last Sunday looking at old yearbooks and photos from high school, which normally would be kinda sad and indicative of the dated nature of the relationship were this not the first time we had done this since high school. So it was fun. It conjures up so many memories and emotions it's indescribable and it's unreal how many people we have been since those days. I can honestly say, I don't think I've ever been more at peace than I am right now. A DOM (Dirty OldMan) was hitting on me the other day on msn and when I shockingly informed him that I had no desire to see his 'pad' as I was perfectly fine by myself, he made some comment about how sad it was that I had the winter blues and that I should cheer up and come over. Granted, he was trying to get in my pants but it still shows that people have this notion that if you are by yourself, you're lonely and that really isn't the case. Learning how to be happy on your own is one of the best things you can do for yourself. But back to high school...

I fell in love at age 15, and not stupid teen love, but like I Would Give My Life For Yours infatuation. It was so sick, made more so by the fact that he never knew. Well, perhaps that's not true. He might have known, but I never told him and it as never discussed. We had this kinda messed up relationship where we would never talk and then once every year or so we would have a huge heart to heart on a school trip or something. Lasted until I was 18, even though I practically hated him at the end for having made me go through three years of torment. I've seen him a couple times since high school with mutual friends and we barely acknowledge the others existence, which leads me to think he knew and that's just to tragic for words. Naturally he played a very prominent role in our trip down Memory Lane because of course, like any good stalker would, I tried to fit him into as many pictures as possible. I was taking out a flick from Movie Village when I glanced to my right and there he was, looking nothing like he did at 15 and yet sadly gorgeous in this faux-hippie-lost-little-boy kinda boy (no one did lost little boy like this kid). We said our "Hey"s and our empty "How's it going?"s and then before it got awkward I just looked away, signed my receipt and left.

It never really goes away, does it?

A few things to discuss but first, something so music school-centric I just threw up a bit in my mouth:

I was trying to find an Israeli song via the MP3/Audio search on altavista.com and for some reason it displayed Erik Satie's Gymnopédie (for non-music geeks, this was a funky early 20th c. piece we studied last term whose name is derived from words meaning young + boys + naked + feet). Then I clicked on the link and it took me to http://www.cherry-classics.com/weddings.html which is a site promoting popular wedding music. So apparently among the fans of Jesu Joy of Man's Desire and Ave Maria, some sick shmucks are waltzing down the aisle to a tinkley little piano piece about pedophiles with a fot fetish.

So my big hospital thing is all over and done with, but funny story - it doesn't seemed to have done a lick of good. We were out at the obviously-packed-beyond-capacity Shannon's Irish Pub last night and I could barely shuffle across the packed floor without feeling like I was gonna fall onto someone. Oh well. At least I got to watch What Not To Wear at the hospital. The fact that some boozed up Guiness-slut spilt one all over me didn't help either. There is something about the smell of malt liquor on wool pants that is very reminiscent of sushi, or more specifically the soy sauce mixed with a bit of wasabi that one ingests while eating sushi. I had always been beyond curious as how to manufacture that smell at home, so thank you beer-ho. Thank you.

(Before reading this concluding paragraph, let it me known to all that there exists a very famous opera named Lucia di Lammermoor, ayit?)

Lastly, before Shannon's, we went bowling and as I was not in fact taking part of the physical aspects of the game, I chose instead to be the social animal/guy that changes everyone's names on the screen. One of my friends was blessed with the middle name Lucia. So I changed her name to Lucia di Bowling. I thought it was freaking hilarious. Everyone else didn't, ergo everyone else can suck it.

As my friend Mikey J. so correctly pointed out in his comment, I've been rather vague in my bitching so this is what it is:

Chronic inflammatory demyelinating polyneuropathy (CIDP) is a neurological disorder characterized by progressive weakness and impaired sensory function in the legs and arms. The disorder, which is sometimes called chronic relapsing polyneuropathy, is caused by damage to the myelin sheath (the fatty covering that wraps around and protects nerve fibers) of the peripheral nerves. Although it can occur at any age and in both genders, CIDP is more common in young adults, and in men more so than women. It often presents with symptoms that include tingling or numbness (beginning in the toes and fingers), weakness of the arms and legs, loss of deep tendon reflexes (areflexia), fatigue, and abnormal sensations.

In my case, it gives me my memorable walking gait, essentially no muscles in my ankles or feet nor any stamina for high impact physical activity, and the balance of a 3 year old. Had it since I was 8. Had IV treatements at ages 9, 13, and now, but my main treatment as been prednisone, an oral steroid. They haven't stopped working nor is anything really wrong, per se, but I'm realizing more and more than performing is hard enough without worrying that you're gonna suddenly lose your balance in the middle of an aria. So we're trying this again.

Any further questions can be adressed one-on-one and c'est tout.

God, I feel like shit.

Started the IV treatments today. Five fun-filled hours sitting in a plastic-covered recliner and now I feel utterly trashed. Kind of like hung-over minus the headache more with the dull pain of the impossibly thin plastic tube currently stuck in my wrist. It's makes my whole fore arm feel like there's tiny ice crystals inbedded there within. But not in a cool, refreshing way. It's an IV, not a Listerine Pocket Pack. The nurse said I could take it out if it was bothering me, but there is no way I could pull it out. There is not enough ecstacy in the world to make me optimistc enough to do that. I feel like an Elliott Smith song: a somewhat lovely little wit of a thing that is secretly just sick, sick, sick.

So I just feel like crap and this damn election is just compounding it. We're so fucking dumb. All these morons are talking about punishing the Liberals. First of all, it's a political party, not a shitzu. And really, what are you punishing them for? Eliminating the debt? Keep the country in an economic boom? No, we hate them because they gave one drop of water to from the bucket to their friends. That's like me giving a buck to my friend instead of giving it to the United Way. Was it right? No. Is it something over which it's worth electing facists? Um, yeah, probably not. And yet...

I kinda want to die a little. Like, say until Thursday.

I just looked at Laura's photo album. She's been on Katimavik since September so it's the first I've really seen her. Although we do talk on msn on occasion, it's a hard medium through which to convey reality, so the photos really help bring home what the experience is for her.

Fuck man, it looks like such a good time.

And yet I know, it's just not for me and this kind of saddens me.

+++++++

Ok, I just spent about a minute straight staring at the screen thinking, "Actually, wait...why couldn't I do it?" I had reasons two minutes ago and now they seem kinda erroneous. I know I'm in school and everything, but I haven't really been all that happy with it this year. Shit. This is kinda freaking me out. I'm gonna go and think about this for a while.

Now I am probably about the 90 bajillionith person to write an entry about Brokeback frikkin' Mountain, but screw that. I just saw it, and Papa's got things to say.

That is if he can put it into words.

I'm finding it very hard to actually verbalize how I felt about the movie, not bcause I loved it or hated it so much that I can't get it out. I just feel so many different things about that particular cinematic experience. So just to ease me into this, let's start with the superficial:

Cowboy wrestling = f-ing hot, ayit? I cannot even express how much fan fiction/erotica I predict will be written about this film. And really, they had it coming. Gyllenhall's character is named Jack Twist. That is so queer. I can imagine a bidding war between the major gay porn studios fighting for the rights to 'Bareback Mountain'.

As for the actual movie, I found the cowboy thing pretty incidental. Yes, it added a certain flavour/fetish to the film, but really, it was the early 60's - they really didn't need cowboys to demonstrate how unacceptable it was for Joe and Jim Average to live happily ever after. Still, given the genre that was chosen, it worked incredibly well. Their was a gruff resentment that usually doesn't appear in any love story, regardless of the sexes. A self-loathing, especially on the part of Heath Ledgers character.

As with any demographically-intrinsic movie, that particular demo is going to see the movie very differently than the rest of the audience. There's always the fear that they're going to make us look bad, which thankfully didn't happen here. There's also an pathos that only that demo can relate to, cause unless you're gay (and I mean really gay; not 'truth or dare' gay), you really can't understand the nature of the relationship. Differently-sexed couples (self-kudos for that term), no matter how forward thinking about equality of the sexes as they may be, will never have potential for an equal balance. It's just not possible. With two people of the same sex, you do have the potential for a Gemini Effect (sounds a lot better than the Olson Effect), because there are certain biological inevitabilities that just naturally fall into place. Perhaps that's why so many gay people have trouble finding a partner. With straight couples, you're dealing with Yin and Yang; you complete each other. You can embrace each others biological strengths and support the weaknesses. It's completely different with gay couples. We can't realistically hope to find a matching piece that fits us. I suppose there are gay couples with very polarized gender roles and I suppose this theory really wouldn't apply to them, but as someone who is neither hyper-masculine or -feminine, I feel it does apply to me and my ideal.

Yet while I was able to relate to it in my own little pink triangle way, I found it very hard to believe in. I'm used to seeing love stories both schlocky and genuine, but they're almost always straight couples so I'm always kinda removed from it. The result is almost like watching a fairy tale. Gives me an Awww moment, but little else, and so I just accept the suspended disbelief. However, watching to guys, it almost feels like an insult. Like, "How dare you feed me this sentimental drivel when it can't possibly exist." This all relates back to my previous entry, which spent far too much time analyzing my feelings on the subject and therefore needs no repeating.

Holy crap. That was ranty.

So, to review: good movie, breeders don't get it*, and Davey's messed.

*Generalized 'it', not Brokback Mountain 'it'. I thought it would flow better if I added that after the fact rather than in the middle of the sentence, don't you think so?

I was lying in bed last night when I realized that I have spent a good portion of the past few months analyzing how I should act rather than actually looking at the realities around me. In other words, I've been giving myself far to much credit for my life/fate/quoi-ever when really I have no control whatsoever.

In the last while, I've spent many hours debating how I should act as far as romantic/intimate/quoi-ever issues go, debating everything between celibacy, abstinence (they are different things), long-term relationships, friends with benefits, and just plain fooling around. And I've pretty much sought out all these things as well, which, if you're keeping track, is a hell of a lot of ventures in a mere, say, three months.

So I've decided to stop dealing with shoulds. They serve me no purpose. Now, this all came about because last night, whilst in bed, I suddenly thought, "I am not going to be someone that knows what it's like to be young and in love...at least in the requited, long-term sense." Needless to say, this was somewhat unsettling, but I decided to really examine this hypothesis and to my amazement, I think it's accurate, as far as I can foresee. I can picture myself a diehard romantic and all that jazz, but when it comes to actually visualizing myself with another person where we are both on the same wavelength, I just don't see it. The idea of that balance,/requitedness/quoi-ever just doesn't seem inevitable at this point in life, for me at least. I see so many guys that date for anywhere between a week and 3 months, and I guess they're happy during that time, but is 3 months really the best we can do? Actually, in my case, that would be the best I can do, as I've never been involved for more than 2 months. Numbers are irrelevant though. It's that sense of fluidity that can't be acheived in 3 months. Not dependance exactly, but habit perhaps. I observe how natural this appears to be for certain couples that I know, and I have no empathy for it whatsoever. I just don't see myself in something like that, for now at least. That should be depressing as all hell and yet it seems perfectly obvious now that I've thought of it.

K, not sure how to end this one, but I've got to go and figure out how not to look like a fool for Opera Workshop. See y'all at the after party...

of life...

wtf?

Finally...

I have come to the somewhat troublesome realization that while I enjoy my life very organized I lack any desire to act in a manner that would make it so. So while I love a tidy and aesthetically pleasant bedroom, my consistant laziness and procrastination does not allow such luxurious. I feel this is a tangible metaphor for my life. Take my blog for example: I started now fewer than three entries at work and e-mailed them to myself for completion. However, once I'm out of that 'zone' I loose all interest. I am left with feelings of guilt, loss, and general ickiness.
Here are some highlights from The Lost Blog Entries:

"I think I am losing all sympathy for person kind. Granted I was never entrusted with a great affinity for them in the first place, but what little pathos they could conjure is exponentially disappearing with every tabloid magazine cover that I see. I've been thinking a great deal about the notion of celebrity lately and how absolutely inane it is that we spend so much of what little mental output we have on these figures that we have never met. In fact, other than the 'art' that they produce, we have no real proof of their existence (see Recycling conspiracy from the September Archives)."

"I hate when people refer to me by my first name. It's one thing as a salutation or a farewell or even to get my attention. However, I hate - HATE - when it's used in any sort of "Well, David..." or "Bliddy-bliddy blah blah bloo, David" instance. It's so fucking condesending"

Ok, so they're not all winners.

So the whole winter break was a fair amount of good with quite a lot of crap. I'd say a 40-60 ratio. Enough to put be squarely back into my 7/10 place.

The Good:

-Amy's in town from Vancouver.
-Gabi's Christmas party at which I was more inebriated than I had been since high school.
-Spending three days at Amy's for Christmas.
-Changing the way I eat and the consequent positive results I've seen. I don't think I've been this size since high school.
-Making lots of money at the government.
-Starting my responsabilities as ass. vocal director for Chai and the lovely sense of inclusion and importance that accompanied it.
-The first half of the New Years Eve rave.


The Bad:

-My final opera workshop rehearsal before break at which I was dubbed the weakest link. Ouch.
-My mother's increasingly harpie-like nature.
-Finding out that I have some 'incidental' inflammation in my brain around my inner ear which my or may not be contributing to my increasingly wonky lack of balance.
-My neurologists suggestion that I try a round of IV treatments at the end of the month. Details will follow.
-My brother's NYE party at which some thugs went into my room and stole my jewellery as well as an undeposited pay check which needed to be immediately stopped and reissued.
-The second half of the NYE rave and the theft of my bag and personal effects, including my mother's car keys and clicker that I now have to pay $200 to have fixed as well as my consequent realization that I'm done raving until the spring due to my utter loathing of indoor venues.

So that's it pour maintenant. I will get back to my normal routine and perhaps even tidy my room, literally and otherwise.