Sunday, December 10, 2017

Mac n' Cheese Pizza

I have a tendency to only really use this space here for when I'm feeling conflicted and worn down by something. It's a cathartic laxative for my emotional constipation, if you will. I guess that explains why my writing is shit.

My point is this: I just had a lovely weekend.

On Friday, I ate some bachelor chow and wrapped a few presents for my girlfriend. Then I met up online with my uncle, and for an hour we puttered around a bleak Soviet landscape, towing eachother through the mud and hauling logs back and forth. We've been playing SpinTires Mudrunner, which is wonderfully relaxed and challenging, and completely devoid of pressure. It's just fun to drive a bunch of trucks through the dirt and bog.

We played for an hour, then I cranked the tunes in my new (erm, used) BMW, and hauled all the gifts to my girlfriend's place. She loves getting presents and not knowing what's in them. It makes me happy to see how thrilled she gets. She won't even touch them in order to maintain maximum suspense.

The next morning we got up and made waffles. She convinced me to use a recipe that called for a half cup (!!) of cooking oil. Seemed to be a bit excessive to me, but low and behold... I finally produced some waffles that were fully circular, rather than looking like a half-assed piece of architecture with exposed rebar around the edges. And not only were these pancakes fully formed, but the texture was pah-erfect. Crunchy on the outside, soft on the inside. Apply maple syrup and whipped cream liberally.

Then we went a picked up two free deep-dish apple crumble pies from the hoighty-toity market next door. I got two coupons in the mail for them for some reason, and when I checked out and asked the cashier, I found out they had given away 500 of the damn things the day prior. Five hundred. Kinda made me wonder about the economics behind it all - what was the average cost of each pie? If some schmuck bought a $4.35 tub of ginger whipped cream to go with his free pie (...like I did), would they break even on the cost? For the record, that whipped cream was not worth the price of admission. And while the pie was good, it was not $17 worth of good.

Alas, the day continued. We took advantage of the gorgeous weather (seriously, I had to take off my coat and open my sweater) and walked to the movie theater and chatted along the way. Then we watched Coco. Fantastic movie. I mean, it was a tad predictable (it's basically Moana), but the art was fabulous and the core message was good. And it got me all inspired to play some more music, which no doubt will fizzle out in short order.

After the movie we went to the grocery store, where we bought a pizza pan, some chicken, and pizza sauce. Then we walked home and made mac n' cheese. You see, before we went to the movie, my lady had tried her hand at making pizza dough. So we loaded up the dough with the sauce, mac n' cheese, some chicken, red peppers, and mozza. Yes, based on a single off-hand comment in an episode of Parks and Recreation, we set out to create a Mac n' Cheese Pizza without doing a lick of research. And you know what? It turned out friggin' awesome. Like, no joke, I think it was the best pizza I've had in the last couple of years. We nailed it. The crust was perfect, the toppings were perfect. And we ate it all by candlelight. So romantic.

Then we watched some TV and played some cribbage. She beat me pretty well, but I'm still winning the series 16-12. But that gap is closing fast.

On Sunday I slept in a bit while she taught. I got up, cleaned the kitchen, and managed to time the scrambled eggs and hashbrowns to be hot out of the pan by the time she came through the door. And dare I say it, then hashbrowns turned out perfectly. You see, you have to pre-heat the pan before frying the potatoes. It makes a world of difference. And getting them out of the pot a bit sooner than later helps too.

After lunch we went for a short walk and got her a coffee. Then we settled in and watched the last two episodes of Handmaid's Tale. And, holy crap, is that show dark as hell. Left me thinking, "Everyone ever is terrible and I wish a nuclear holocaust would happen to just wipe us all out because everyone is total scum to each other." I have to admit that that show gets to me more than most others.

Then I head home, where my uncle dropped by to help me get the carburetor's off of the bike. Now I'm left with the intimidating task of refurbishing them. To my untrained and easily intimidated eyes, it's like looking at a rat's nest of screws and plates and gaskets. Here's hoping that once I order and receive the rebuilt kit, I can get the sucker put back together again.

I saw a lot of motorcyclists around this weekend while the weather was nice. Makes me wish I would've left my bike in running order, but... The weather will change shortly anyways. I'm really excited for the spring to arrive, though.

After I drove my uncle home, I finished watching Craig Ferguson's Netflix special and ate some dinner. My uncle did another hour's worth of mud flinging in the cold brown depths of Siberia's wasteland, I did some tidying up, and now... here I am. I think I'm going to post this, tidy up a bit, and crawl into bed. I might even start reading book #3 in the Dark Tower series.

This next week and a half is going to be busy. Need to get ready to go home for Christmas, need to book the car for some maintenance (hooray antifreeze leaks), need to work on a fistful of freelance projects. No joke, I have five branding identities on the go right now. Good grief.

But it was at some point last night where I found myself thinking, "Wow, this has been a really great weekend so far." And it's just kinda kept on going. Feels nice. And I'm glad that I can recognize something like that while it's happening. When was the last time you had a good weekend?

Sometimes I worry that in five or ten or twenty years, myself or someone else entirely will look through this blog and say to themselves, "Wow, what a miserable guy." I don't intuitively feel like that's who I am, but I'm also self aware enough to know that I can easily skew towards the pessimistic and that a person becomes the kind of person they express them self to be.

So when I realized I was having a good weekend, I felt like I'd be remiss not to give it the same care and attention that I do when I'm saddled with a heavy heart or bleak conundrum. The hour grows late and the work week is striding up the path to my door. But that's alright, because you know what? It feels good to... feel good.
-Cril

Sunday, December 03, 2017

One More, of Contrasts

Whatta year.

I think part of the reason so many people dislike getting older is the feeling in the back of your head that you need to account for your travels. We take all that sweet, and deceptively alluring potential we have, and ever slowly trade it in for experiences and belongings. But those conversions only seem to go one way, don't they?  Trade in your car and sell your home, but you'll never be able to get back that wide-eyed wonder and limitless potential that you had as a kid.

So yeah, we get old. Another year slips by us. We wonder how we got here, and we get scared that we can't retrace our steps and try to do it all again differently. I once had a girlfriend that would avoid telling me her age or birth year, as if she was ashamed of it. I don't think I'd ever known anyone to be that uptight about it.

2017 is drawing to a close, and being a sentimental fool of sorts, I make a conscious decision to stop and look back at the path I've tread through the year. How'd I do? Alright, I hope.

I sold my Porsche, which was bittersweet. I miss it dearly, and I absolutely don't. I essentially traded it for a motorcycle and accompanying license. Being a cautious critter of habit, it was nice to try something that scared me. And feeling like I've somewhat stagnated through my career, it was also refreshing to learn something new. I need more of that in my life.

And for the record, riding a motorcycle is a wonderful sensation and I already miss it. It was a good swap, and I think my Porsche would approve. Besides, I think I handed her off to a capable set of hands.

Then this last month I bought a BMW, because of course I did. At the beginning of the year, I looked at the Porsche and Honda and thought, "It's completely ridiculous that I  own eight wheels per person." Until I manage to sell the Honda, I'm currently up to ten. It's silly. But at least the new car is far under 15 years old, and has a USB port. I've made it into the future!

I gave up on my mandolin lessons this year. I'm not progressing in skill very much at all as a result... But I'm playing more often and getting more enjoyment out of it. Maybe I'll never be a skilled musician of any sort, but if I like playing poorly for myself... that's okay.

There was some self-directed adventure this year, too. I went back to my old stomping grounds as a kid. It was a surreal experience, to say the least. And utterly satisfying, too. It was desolate and lush and remote and all too familiar. I'd been thinking about making that trip for, oh, ten years or so. It felt good to finally go and do it.

Brujah

My big defining character arch of the year, though, has got to be my existence as a single and non-single entity. You know, relationship stuff.

I started the year off in a pretty low place. Feeling devastatingly alone and unsure that I could ever be anything else. My previous relationship taught me that I was a terrible person to be with. I felt low and miserable, like I was garbage. Then we broke up and I felt even lower on my own. My experiences in online dating taught me that I wasn't worth even talking to. Dark, dark days of regret and emptiness.

I tried to fill those days with weights and video games and music. All helped, none filled the void. It's funny, when I'm in a tormented mindset, my first inclination is still to go and work out. Funny, that.

My fortunes, though, seemed to reverse in a pretty violent matter. I found a girl and all that trash kinda got swept away overnight. I discovered that, hey, I'm actually kind of a decent guy in a relationship. That being with someone doesn't need to mean tense silences and carefully chosen words. Instead it can be, dare I say it... Easy. Like, really easy. No drama at all, just two people that know the other is a good person that means well.

I was surprised. I planned activities and got gifts and cooked meals from recipes I've never made, all in order to impress someone I liked. Even crazier, she liked everything I was doing. She thought I was a catch. What a total reversal from the dynamic with my previous girlfriend.

Most telling of all, I find myself going out of my way for her by doing little things to make her life easier. Because I want to. And she appreciates all of it.

My goal here isn't to say "HEY GUYS LOOK AT HOW GREAT MY RELATIONSHIP IS, I'M AWESOME, SHE'S AWESOME, WE'RE ALL JUST TOTALLY AWESOME." To me, I can't believe how hard of a contrast is drawn between my current and previous relationship. I went from feeling so... Defeated, useless, uninteresting and unworthy, to being all the opposites.

And goddamn does that feel good. It's like discovering there was a whole new person inside of you to come out. It's so validating to realize that you have something worth sharing and that you can enrich another's life.

Reading all that makes me realize just how bad things were.

Of course, it's not like finding a new girlfriend flipped a switch and all my baggage of regrets was transferred to a plane bound for Boise, Idaho, never to be heard from again. No, I carry a lot of that around with me still. But I open up those bags every once and a while, take out and carefully examine something in my hands... and I realize I don't need to bring it with me everywhere, so I throw it away. One item at a time.

Looking back, I'm horrified at the person I was to that girl. I'm horrified about how she treated me, and how I accepted it for so long, and how it (de)formed my sense of self. I still think about her, but each day less and less. Less and less. It sucks that we destroyed our friendship over it all. Well, not destroyed so much as... just erased. It has ceased to be, and ceased to have ever been. That's so much worse, in a way, and really sad.

This year has been an exercise in two dizzying contrasts. I've gone from feeling so very low, to so very high. I think I'm grateful for where I've ended up, and I think I'm grateful for where I've been, too. It helps me to appreciate how far I've come and what I've discovered in myself.

Part of me wishes I could cash in all my chips and try things over again with my newfound knowledge and confidence. But it don't work that way. And I never, ever want to be so self conscious about my age that I'm afraid to share it with people close to me. This is my path, this is where I've been, and this is where I've ended up. So far, at least. I've done some stupid things, and some awesome things, and I am the sum of those parts and experiences.

I don't imagine each year will contain such a drastic jump in a positive direction. But progress is progress, even if you find it in the opposite direction. I don't know, I'm rambling. Here's what I'm trying to say: A tough year has turned into a good year, and I hope there'll be more like it. I think I did alright.
-Cril

If I ventured in the slipstream
Between the viaducts of your dream
Where immobile steel rims crack
And the ditch in the back roads stop
Could you find me?
Would you kiss my eyes?
To lay me down
In silence easy
To be born again
To be born again

From the far side of the ocean
If I put the wheels in motion
And I stand with my arms behind me
And I'm pushin' on the door
Could you find me?
Would you kiss-a my eyes?
To lay me down
In silence easy
To be born again
To be born again

Van Morrison - Astral Weeks

Tuesday, November 07, 2017

Hide and Go Seek, and Ye Shall Find

It happened. It finally happened. I finally found out that, yes, my ex has moved on and is seeing someone else. Has been for a while. Someone who is, from what I gather, more attractive, intelligent, young, wealthy and educated. Now I know how our phones feel; it's a weird thing to discover that you've been traded in for a better model.

What I want to feel: Good for her! I'm glad she's moved on and has found someone that makes her happy.

What I feel: I need to run far away and hide in a hole and punch something.

It's strange, because I've been bracing for this particular point of impact for a long time. Simultaneously trying to tell myself it was coming  and trying to trick myself into thinking it had already happened. And despite all that preparation, this new slice of knowledge still plowed right through me and breathed life into the embers of frustration and hurt that I thought had long smoldered away. I want to be better than my broken-hearted lizard-brain instincts, I really do. But that's one tough bugger to kill, apparently.

The funny thing is that I want to air all the dirty laundry and ask all sorts of loaded questions of her, but I know for sure there isn't a single answer that wouldn't hurt. I guess if you spend five years getting close to someone, it takes a while to get over them. Apparently one year isn't enough to cure the hurt and banish all those regrets loitering around the dusty halls of your brain.

I don't want to go back to the way things were. It was such a toxic place to be, and I know I'm happier now and am infinitely more comfortable in my current relationship and am looking forward to what lies ahead and don't want to retread old mistakes and why can't I just stop thinking about it?

My ex is in a new relationship.

What do I do with this fact? Apparently, I get home after holding it together for the whole day... And break down a bit. Cry, even. That's something I've done less than four or five times in the last fifteen years. After we broke up last year, I've been carrying that tumour everywhere I go. I knew it had in me from the moment we last saw eachother, and it just wouldn't come out. And now it has.

I mourned what we had, and what we just couldn't seem to be. I mourned for the whole world that a naive, first-time lover had hoped to share with the girl he had fallen so hard for. I wanted everything, and got... Definitely not that. Naivety; it sucks to know you have it. It sucks worse to know that it's gone and is never coming back.

Damn. What a relief to finally get all that out. What a relief to know the door is finally closed, and I don't need to worry the draft tickling the soles of my feet.

During the first year or two of us dating I wrote a letter to myself and hid it away. On the sealed envelope I wrote, "And in the end..."

It was written to be a kick in the pants for my future brokenhearted self, planning for the inevitable fallout when this wonderful woman would break up with me. It talked about how incredible she was and not to be bitter towards her. It talked about how being in love and having someone special in your life is such an incredible experience. It pleaded with me to pick myself up and try again.

Maybe this all sounds a bit drastic and melodramatic, but it was the best I could do to convince a mid-20's dork of unfathomable fear and low of self esteem not to fall into a deep pit of despair and spend the rest of his life alone. It would be so easy, too. I just wanted my future self to know that even after having my heart crushed, maybe it was worth trying to heal and use it again.

It never even occurred to me that I might be the one to break up with her. Talk about unfathomable.

And now here I am, sitting with this letter in my lap. Still sealed. I remember the gist of it, but obviously I don't remember the exact words inside. And maybe that's okay. Maybe it's time to give this letter over to the hands of decay, and take another stride, face-forward, through the continuous doorway of my life.

I can't keep dwelling on my past mistakes. Dear God, please don't let me spend my life obsessing over what once was and what wasn't.
-Cril

Tell your white dog, to get off my high trail
Tell your white dog, he can go to hell
Tell your white dog, to leave me alone
Why did you leave me here, to fend for my own

Go back, go back, to Virginia
Tennessee is gone
And roll into the sea
All your fields are burning
The old school's on fire
The darkened sky is waiting
The new star to rise

There's a black snake in the cypress trees
There's a black snake and it's come for me
Go back inside the house and get your grey shotgun
And send that black snake back to where he came from

The Maldives - Go Back to Virginia

Wednesday, October 11, 2017

Childhood for Sale

A couple of my siblings and their families are going through a rough patch, so they're moving back into my childhood home with my folks. Ten or so people under that roof will be... Pretty packed. So needless to say, they've all been on a tear to clean out every nook and cranny in order to squeeze out every square foot of usable space that the two floors can muster. So I told my folks, hey, I haven't lived there in ten or so years - it's about time that I deal with everything I had in storage there. So they came by and dropped off many musty, dusty cardboard boxes.

I easily doubled the amount of possessions in my... possession. Boxes of books, and old clothes, and video games that were designed with Windows XP in mind. And thus the purge of nostalgia and dust-induced sneezing begins.

Despite the dorky (and quite frankly unwieldy) title, I recently read The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up: The Japanese Art of Decluttering and Organizing. I found some of the philosophies to be a tad excessive, but buried in there were some good nuggets. Particularly those about letting go and disposing of belongings were helpful. The general gist that stuck with me was how cherished items may have already fulfilled their purpose, and it's okay to let them go if they no longer bring you happiness.

I have been keeping every birthday and Christmas card since about, oh, 2002. I do not need to keep all of those. Same with old physics exams that I aced. A flight simulator game that I logged many, many hours into and know that I'll never boot it up again. A favourite set of childhood sheets, a faded Star Wars shirt my aunt brought me from Disneyland, a burgundy and grey bomber jacket that wrapped me up and held me together through some tough years in high school. They're all things I loved and appreciated and used to the fullest... That I know I'll probably never use again. I'll be donating absolutely whatever I can to a nearby non-profit that gives used goods to homeless people. I like the thought that someone, somewhere, might be able to take the things I loved and give them a second life.

A lot of those decisions were easy. "Oh yeah, I totally remember this thing, it was awesome! But I don't need to hang onto it any more." And into the corresponding clothes/toys/books/miscellaneous donation box it goes. Everything else I can't immediately bring myself to part with goes onto the conspicuous mountain of stuff, that has eclipsed the coffee table once served as its foundation.

So far about half of what my parents dropped off is being donated, and the other half I have in my 'keep' pile.  I think I need to take a second pass (and maybe a third) through this second collection and make some very hard decisions.

Here's a sample of "things I feel like I should keep, even though I shouldn't":
  • Cringy notes between a crush and I at highschool. You know the ones - Blue lined Hilroy paper, covered in a girl's bubbly hand script, and then folded up into obligatorily tight squares. Ugh, I even knew what they were without having to actually unfurl them. So embarrassing. They went straight in the trash.
  • A yearbook, portfolio, and diploma from my final year of highschool. I didn't even have my photo taken that year, so there wasn't even a case to be made for the "to remember what you were like back then!" argument. The portfolio was full of turrible art and poetry and lame kinematic tests. I saved the letters of recommendations from a few of my favourite teachers, and trashed the rest. And finally, my highschool diploma. I've done six years of post secondary and have my Bachelor's degree, so... I don't think I need to keep my highschool credentials.
  • Soccer referee gear. Flags, a shirt, a whistle, and virgin red/yellow cards. I was a terrible ref that couldn't quite stand up for himself, even though I hustled my ass off every game and reviewed my manual before every match. One of those unfortunate cases of "Your best isn't good enough." I had one game where all the parents and coaches on one team were really laying into me the whole time, and I didn't have the guts to throw them off the field. Once the final whistle blew I broke down into tears. Ah, yes, what a wonderful experience for a sixteen year old to capture for a lifetime of regret.
  • A kickass nerf gun, where the barrel and stock would collapse/expand as you needed it to. It was like a blaster/sniper rifle hybrid that looked hella cool. I think I spent all my birthday money to buy it one year.
  • Scripture/bible study guides. I did four years of cold, early morning study. Filled out work books and marked up my own set of scriptures. And I don't think I'll be returning to them any time soon.
  • WW2 books. Lots of them. Some in wonderful condition that have detailed, gorgeous illustrations of old warbirds and bombers. Alas... I think that format of information has been replaced by the internet.
  • Hotwheels! For a couple summers, my brother, uncle, and I would purchase $20 worth of cars and race them in round-robin tournaments in the park across the street. I'm keeping a few of the cars that performed the best. You know, just in case. 
  • A little plushy frog and skunk with magnets in their hands that accompanied me everywhere. And a black gorilla holding a heart, which a girl gave to me. On Valentines Day. It'd take me another 2-3 years before I realized that *gasp* she was into me, long after the opportunity had disappeared. Bravo.
  • A small Playmobil set with a few seals, that my sister had given me for Christmas after we had visited the seals at the wharf in San Fransisco together. 
  • A khaki boy scouts uniform, complete with a sash featuring some very poorly sewn-on badges. Being neither a fan of camping, doing camping-related activities outdoors, or the other kids in my group, I never really enjoyed myself there. Much to the chagrin of my father, who was the leader for many years.
  • Karate gear. A gi with another poorly sewn patch on the chest (younger me was a terrible sewist), and a multicolored collection of belts tied in neat knots. Admittedly, I kinda enjoyed my time practicing Isshn Ryu, fighting more with my hilariously poor motor skills and physical memory than my sparring companions. I got up to a blue belt. Or a green belt with blue stripes. Whichever one is more impressive. From time to time I toy with the idea of trying martial arts again. 
  • Car and truck sheets, from my bed as a kid. Worn very thin and faded for bed size that I don't even own. I kinda liked those sheets... But what the hell am I going to do with them now?
  • A Half-Life 2 Collector's Edition box, postcard, soundtrack, and posters. I was really excited for that game - I remember asking for my teachers for homework assignments in advance so I would have the evening to play. It was November 16th. The things you remember...
  • A Calgary Flames puck that my mom got me after a trip to said city. The Flames were my favourite team, but because Cal-gar-y Flame-s was such a hard name for my poor little tongue to articulate, I affectionately referred to them as the 'C Burners' for many years.
And then there's my work from art school. Lots of large, meticulously crafted pencil drawings. Some pretty awful metal projects that look like they were made in a 101 jewelry course (because they were). I'm probably going to keep a few of the drawings I really like, but what do I do with all the rest? Even if you know you don't really want it any more, how do you dispose of something that you've sunk hours and sweat into? It doesn't quite feel right to unceremoniously dump it into the recycling/garbage... But there isn't really another option.

It's all a big, scary, strange process. It's like admitting, yeah, I'm no longer a kid. And even beyond that, now you've gotta face the fact that you no longer have "your bedroom" waiting for you in your childhood home, where all your stuff is waiting for you. It's time to move on with life, I guess. Seek out new adventures that come with their own little trinkets. And in another 10-20 years, I'll go through those and make the painful realization that I'm no longer a young(er) man any more. 

Time churns on. It can be a bit of a bastard that way.
-Cril

Thursday, September 14, 2017

Hide and Go

Every once in a while, even though I know I really shouldn't, I poke through some of our chats and emails and an old video card box stuffed away in the back of my closet with her name written on it and her memories inside. I even stumbled on her Instagram account once. It was like looking into the sun during an eclipse: "This'll be worth it and maybe it won't hurt!". You know it won't be worth it. You know it'll hurt. And you do it anyways. You can't not.

It's a weird thing to know that the other person has continued to exist and live their life. Every tidbit of news about them stings, somehow. They got a dog? Started a new hobby? Found a new partner? Each one haunts you for days.

A broken heart is a damn petty one. It's quick to judge and get offended. "How dare she do X or Y without me there! She should be doing absolutely nothing but sitting around and pining for me and feeling bad that things ended!" A breakup makes the head and heart really dumb over the dumbest things. I guess it goes to show just how attached you had become in the first place, and how deep those roots squirm through your soul even if you hoped you were over it.

A buddy once gave me some precious advice: Once a relationship has reached its end, you gotta cut yourself off from the girl.

Completely. 100%. Block her contact, don't reply to texts, definitely don't call. And don't just drop by to see her every once in a while. You remove her presence as completely as possible, so there's not even a drop of her can fall on your consciousness. No temptation, just room for you to fix you and move on.

That was probably the first major piece of relationship advice I'd ever been given, and at the time it was before I had even been in a relationship at all. But it kinda set the tone: in the wastelands of a broken love, you may wander anywhere except for back to ground zero. You stand tall and cold like a stone in the rainy wind, and never, ever turn back towards her.

I should mention that my friend has broken up with his girlfriend 5-6 times now, and always seems to saunter back. It's finally over now, for good, he says. I'll believe it when I see it. But I hope he's right.

It's been about three hundred and sixty-five individual days since it was this time last year. That's when my first, longest, and most significant relationship drew to a close. We had broken up a couple times before, too. Though this last one seems to have stuck.

There's been a good reason why I haven't talked about it much to anyone or explicitly mentioned it here. It's that piece of advice: cut her off. And that doesn't just apply to external contact, but I've somehow taken it to mean that I should cut her off internally as well. Gotta stop thinking about it. If I can make myself stop thinking about it, then it ceases to exist and so does the pain.

But it hasn't quite turned out that way.

You see, we had told each other, "Let's stay friends. If we just stop talking to each other, we'll become bitter." And that was all fine and good until a few days later when we stopped talking to each other. And I became bitter. Maybe she did too.

Just to compound matters, we work in the same building. Without any words between us, we've become silent ghosts drifting through the periphery of each other's lives. It's strange, and completely unsurprising.

You find yourself stuck in a bizarre mindset, where you feel like you're still in a relationship, but there's a void where the other person is supposed to be. It takes a long time to disconnect from that.
Perhaps one of the tallest hurdles was to stop incessantly checking my phone for her messages. Not even turning it on; but just always looking for that stupid, soothing pulse of the notification light.

That void is eerily quiet, though, and it leaves you with the unfortunate opportunity to compulsively think about what transpired. I've carried this weight with me everywhere, along with a bloody club in one hand and a pair of defibrillators in my backpack. After I thought and obsessed and analyzed and beat it to death, I'd inevitably find a way to bring it back to life so I could flog it again. Some days I feel like a monster, bloodied and kneeling in front of an even bloodier corpse.

Each time, I think, I hope, that it comes back to life for shorter and shorter periods. Until one day I'll be able to let it lay motionless and fade away.

A year is a long time to think about things, and I've bisected it from every conceivable angle. I could tell you why it was all my fault. I could tell you why it was all her's. And I could tell you why it was both of ours, equally. I have no idea how to consolidate these different worlds.

I can tell you, though, that I have found so many revelations that explain how and why things are the way they are. I've found precious little closure, though. For a while I was writing all these things down, they seemed like divine revelation from the gods. Reading back through these little epiphanies, it's amazing how the tone ranges from hurt to bitter and angry, remorseful, and apathetic. The stages of grief, and all that crap.

Eventually I stopped writing that stuff down, in an effort to become less obsessed with the matter and move on. I'm slowly thinking about it less and less, but I still come across an illuminescent realization from time to time. But I don't record it anywhere, so it slowly gets buried in the sands of my memory. I don't know what purpose it'd serve to keep recording these kinda things, as important as they feel and how my initial reaction is to clutch to them like papers in the gale.

Being cold and cutting off a person is what you have to be and do to move on. I suppose that if I was the embodiment of that philosophy, I wouldn't be writing all this. Even then, getting to the notion that maybe it's okay to feel and express the pain of a failed relationship... I still feel like writing this is all taboo somehow.

For the record, I was the one that initiated the final break up.

I heard somewhere that it's easy as a guy to break up. All you have to do is proclaim, "She was crazy" and you move on.

But she wasn't. She was a good person and things just didn't quite work out. Maybe I could be colder and pretend it was all no big deal, but that'd be disservice to myself. It's kind of a bitter reminder that, despite all the right or wrong reasons, sometimes you hurt people. And regardless of what they may or may not have done... they hurt. Yeah, do what you gotta do, but this is a simple reminder to be gentle with the hearts of others.

I miss my friend. There are things I stumble across that I instinctively want to share with her or ask her about. I miss her insight and talent and humour, and deep discussions. I really miss talking to her about artistic shenanigans.

But I think that she's cut me out of her life, much the same as what my buddy had counselled me to do. I can respect that. Though some days it hurts to think that a 5-6 year friendship was just cut loose from the pier to roam, get tossed, and be lost to the great Pacific. It sucks to think that the last time we talked will be the last time we talk.

I know to keep my course steady as she goes. No contact. Maybe a little bit of sober introspection and reflection on what once was. I don't know if that's the right or wrong thing to do, but that's what I have to work with right now. Do I want that to change? I just don't know. My perspective seems to be different every day.

So here's to you, Я. Hope you've found your way.
-Cril

Where are we?
What the hell is going on?
The dust has only just begun to form
Crop circles in the carpet
Sinking, feeling
Spin me around again
And rub my eyes
This can't be happening
When busy streets
A mess with people
Would stop to hold their heads heavy

Hide and seek
Trains and sewing machines
All those years
They were here first
Oily marks appear on walls
Where pleasure moments hung before
The takeover
The sweeping insensitivity of this
Still life
Hide and seek
Trains and sewing machines

Blood and tears
They were here first
Mm, what'd you say?
Mm, that you only meant well
Well of course you did
Mm, what'd you say?
Mm, that it's all for the best
Of course it is
Mm, what'd you say?
Mm, that it's just what we need
You decided this
Mm, what'd you say?
Mm, what did she say?

Ransom notes keep falling out your mouth
Mid-sweet talk, newspaper word cutouts
Speak no feeling, no, I don't believe you
You don't care a bit, you don't care a bit
Ransom notes keep falling out your mouth
Mid-sweet talk, newspaper word cutouts
Speak no feeling, no, I don't believe you
You don't care a bit, you don't care a bit

Oh, no, you don't care a bit
Oh, no, you don't care a bit
Uh-uh, you don't care a bit
You don't care a bit
You don't care a bit

Imogen Heap - Hide and Seek

Tuesday, August 15, 2017

A Little More Conversation, Please

Neo-Nazis and racism freak me out a bit. Mob mentality downright scares me even more. Seems like it can turn rational/well-meaning individuals into rabid idiots. After watching the recent footage of Charlotteville, it worries me that things can even get to that point.

I've been seeing more and more social media posts recently where people proclaim, "If you support x, I don't want to talk to you!", "Anyone that doesn't agree with y is too stupid to be reasoned with!", "If you voted for z, remove yourself from my friends list!"

And I get the energy and frustration behind those things. We live in... passionate times, it seems. But is the best way to deal with adversity by blocking it out? A yelling match doesn't solve anything. Think about it; you don't change minds by insulting someone for their view or intelligence. That just makes them dig their heels in and close up to any rational argument or empathy.

Why can't we just, I dunno... Talk to each other a bit? Maybe say, "I want x, you want y, they want z, so let's try this 'democracy' thing out, go with what's in the best interest for the majority, and still treat the minority with a bit of decency?"

Perhaps that's a bit naive.

I lean left, and the majority of those in my social circle do as well (people who went to art school are progressive? Shocking.). But for as adamant as they/we are about not wanting to build a certain wall on their country's border, they don't worry too much about building walls within their borders. Walls that separate themselves from their fellow countrymen.

All I'm saying is that shouting or shutting down the opposition might not be the best way to accomplish things. We should treat our opponents with the same compassion and understanding that we'd like them to offer us.

Again, that's probably naive. But it's gotta be better than what we have goin' on right now.
-Cril

Monday, August 07, 2017

Living is hard

Gotta do good at your job. Stay close with family. Make time for friends. Cherish your parents? Don't forget to call home regularly.

Gotta save for retirement, and invest, and make some cash on the side. Gotta find some other little gigs to stay busy and get even more of that extra cash. It's the only way to stay on top of things.

Need to learn. Learn to be good at a hobby, or learn some skills that'll be actually helpful. Don't forget to practice those crappy skills you have right now. I'm looking at you, musical instruments.

Need to be a loving and better partner to that certain someone. Gotta plan their birthdays, and figure out good gifts so that they feel appreciated. Need to eat better, or at least just eat less. Physical activity? Physical activity.

Gotta take care of what you got. Do that oil change, mop the floors, tighten the screws on that handle, keep the car washed. Fix that dumb fender. And then what... Keep the car or sell the car? Neither seem particularly appealing.

And how about those special life experiences? Take the road trip, book the vacation, see that concert. Don't forget to take some pictures along the way, lest these things blow away like that stack of papers you forgot on the roof of the car.

Keep your mind sharp, somehow. Some days it feels like I'm leaving more and more on top of the car.

What am I doing? How do I get ahead? Do I even have to get ahead? How do you define a 'full life', and what happens if you don't have one?

I'm at a family reunion right now. There are people from all across the spectrum, at different points in their lives. It's kind of overwhelming to see just how much there is to do, and how much of it I'm not on top of.

I saw a blog post from a guy that I knew in school; he's been working on his photography. He's been studying how to light objects and aiming to shoot every day. It's good to see him actively learning and pushing himself ahead.

And what am I doing? Not enough. Never enough.
-Cril

Friday, July 28, 2017

Two More Wheels

About fourteen years ago I did something that I'd forever hold close to my chest out of sheer embarrassment. I took the knowledge test to get my learner's drivers license. Yup, that collection of 30 basic, common sense questions that everyone knows the answers to, even if they've never been that interested driving in the first place. The test that my older brother and sister (and all their friends) had successfully completed to little fanfare. The test that I took and absolutely bombed.

Which, even though no one criticized me about, is quite inwardly humiliating when you secretly consider yourself as one of the "smart kids". I passed it on the second try a couple weeks later, paying for it myself because my parents' offer to pay for tests only extended to the first attempt.

Looking back, I'm not 100% sure why I failed. It might've been because I rushed through it, or because I didn't study hard enough. Either way, overconfidence of some sort.

After passing and receiving my learner's permit, I decided I was going to take a drivers course. This'd shave a solid 6 months off of the time I'd have to wait before I could take my road test and be licensed to drive on my own. I was so into this idea that I used all my birthday and Christmas money to pay for most the course, while my parents picked up the remaining balance.

To this day, I'm still not quite sure why I was so hot on the idea to get my license - my interest in cars/driving wouldn't actually start to develop for another four or five years. But I was determined, so I took the course, and practiced, and took the road test, and failed.

That was in part to two things. First was some vague instructions from my examiner which led to a close shave pulling out of the parking lot, was an automatic failure. Second was the fact that I was nervous as hell. I can still remember how absolutely how dry my mouth was, and how shaky I felt afterwards. It's pretty unnerving having a grumpy old guy sit next to you, silently taking notes on everything you are (or aren't) doing. Pure, unadulterated, government-mandated judgement of the highest degree.

For the record, the even that caused the automatic fail wasn't really a close call. It wasn't one of those "Holy crap, what was I thinking, that was almost an accident" moments, so much as a "Whoops, I was a bit of a dufus there" moment you have from time to time. Or maybe you don't, and that highlights my problem.

Anyways, more self-shaming and practice ensued, as well as forking over more of my precious (and dwindling) savings for a second road test fee. I don't remember much of that attempt except I was still unbearably nervous, my examiner was a relaxed middle-aged woman, and (most importantly) I passed. It was a pretty big relief.

A few years later, after learning to drive a standard transmission in the dark in the rain, owning two different cars, and hauling myself (and all my belongings) over the Rockies in a tiny Civic, it came time to get rid of my New Driver designation. To do that I had to take another road test.

I brought a water bottle this time, which didn't help douse my nerves at all. So I failed. For doing 30kmh in a school zone during school hours. Turns out the sign didn't post the 30kmh designation, so I only needed to slow down if there are actually schoolkids in the area. I didn't know this was even a thing.

I'd like to think I failed for being too careful, but I guess you could say I failed for not knowing the rules of the road and potentially being a hazard to other traffic.

I eventually said "screw it" and moved to a different province where my beginner's license was automatically upgraded to a full one without the need for an examination. But the damage was pretty much done, as it appeared I had established a bit of a theme when it came to me and road tests. It's a pretty swift kick to the confidence to fail so routinely at something you think you enjoy and think you're good at.

I've had one parking fine. Aside from that, I don't have even one point on my license - not so much as a speed camera ticket. But I have been in one accident. I wasn't ruled to be at fault, but the damage was done regardless (physically to my car and emotionally to me). Though the footage clearly showed that the other guy was trying to run the orange light, it didn't stop me from beating myself up about it. I went without a car for a couple years, not just because I was living on a student budget, but out of a form of twisted self punishment. It was a bit scary getting behind the wheel again.

A safe driver? Yeah, I'd like to think that's me. I still have the odd "that was a dufus thing to do" moment, but for the most part I try to be smart/responsible, and I think I do okay. But somehow all my tests and failures have soaked in like a stain on whatever 'car guy' status I'd like to think I have. Aside from whatever automotive trivia I try to cover up that ghastly splotch with, maybe I am, afterall, just another shitty driver out on the road that doesn't deserve their license.

Thoughts like that kinda eat away at a guy.

The other weekend I took a motorcycle course. I had been idly considering it for the past couple years, and thought it'd be a solid way to recognize a birthday/milestone that I hadn't really celebrated for myself. I hadn't even so much as sat on a bike in my life when I registered for the course.

I took the in-class session, and was the only person there furiously taking notes. I did the weekend course out on a parking lot, on a lil' Yamaha Virago 250. It was hard to grasping onto the idea of a linear 1-N-2-3-4-5 transmission, let alone having the mechanical wherewithal to make my hands and feet operate fairly opposite to what I'm used to in a car. My balance isn't so hot, either. I dropped my bike once, doing a slow speed maneuver. I got caught between a twitchy throttle/transmission, questionable balance, and not looking at the horizon.

But such accidents are what these driving school loaners are made for.

At the end of the course, we immediately had the road test. I was supposed to go second, but due to a paperwork snafu, I got bumped up. Filled out the paper work. Strapped on an ear piece, and put on my gear. Told nerves, "screw it" and hit the road. Shoulder checked and mirror checked. Signalled, watched my speed. Somewhere in there I also forgot my signal and shoulder checks. But I plowed through.

At the end... I passed. The only thing the examiner marked me on was one spot where my balance wasn't too great. Either I did a slightly better job than I thought, or this clipboard-wielding, old Asian dude was really relaxed and forgiving.

Either way, I felt like I had finally shed some of this negative vehicular licensing karma that had hung around my shoulders for so many years. I finally passed something on my first try, as if I was a capable motorist that knew what they were doing.

Here's the thing - riding a bike still scares the crap out of me. I need to be looking straight ahead if I need to come a stop, which makes me fairly timid when approaching various merges. My balance still isn't the best; I'm a bit jerky when pulling up to a stop, and executing tight corners still freaks me out deep down. But when you get to lean into an apex and power your way out just right... It's definitely a good feeling.

Seems like everyone I talk to about my newfangled motorcycle license tells me about a motorcycle-related horror story they or someone close has experienced. Riding still scares me, one part because of my vulnerability to other drivers, one part my own inexperience. I'm hoping I can slowly grow out of the latter, and maybe keep a bit of the former.

Yes, passing my test has been a nice little confidence boost of sorts. But that isn't a guarantee for anything, and in a weird way, it's nice to be doing something that scares me.
-Cril

It's not a big motorcycle
Just a groovy little motorbike
It's more fun that a barrel of monkeys
That two wheel bike
We'll ride on out of the town
To any place I know you like

First gear (Honda Honda) it's alright (go faster faster)
Second gear (little Honda Honda) I lean right (go faster faster)
Third gear (Honda Honda) hang on tight (go faster faster)
Faster, it's alright

Beach Boys - Little Honda '64

Thursday, July 20, 2017

In The End

I have a small iPod. 16GB, I think, which means it's actually about 12GB once all the wonders of technology have taken their toll. I totally don't have room to fit my entire music library, so I tend to keep a core selection of the good stuff on hand, and use the remaining 2-3GB to rotate through other material.

I have three playlists in iTunes that I regularly use to keep the music a-flowin'. The first is called "Ugly Children", which sorts all the tracks on my iPod by how many times they've been skipped. The next, "New", is for all of the... New music I listen to. Usually it's two albums and some other scraps that I listen to for a couple weeks while I decide if they deserve to be kept or not. My final playlist, lovingly named "Temp", is where I cycle through the neglected tracks in my whole library that I haven't heard in the longest amount of time. It lets me dig up good hits I might've passed over, and delete others that don't quite do it for me any more.

So using this concoction of logic and whimsy, I try to keep things rotating through my earbuds. As I 'fall out of love' with an artist or genre, it gets filtered out via Ugly Children, and makes a reappearance in Temp a year or two later, where I decide if I want to put the music back into my active collection, totally delete it from my library, or just send it back into the void to be revisited in a few more years. That last one is pretty much the equivalent of a "meh".

Lately Temp has been bringing me the the very first tracks that started my library, after I got a 4GB iPod Mini by working for my uncle's business over spring break while in highschool. Tracks that had an obscene amount of plays, but none of them recently as I had long since fallen out of love with them. Some Beatles and miscellaneous classic rock that I inherited from my parents, some swing/jazz from my saxophone playin' days, a dump of Ray Charles that my uncle gave me, and... Some terrible, cringe-worthy emo stuff. You know, some Evanescence and Linkin Park.

Like all troubled and emotional young men in highschool, I was 'troubled' and 'emotional' in highschool. I had my ass kicked all over town by a nasty depression which amplified the standard-issue teenage angst. I forget how I got into it... Maybe listening to the radio in the family Caravan while driving myself to doctor's appointments, or in the computer lab while hustling up my best game of lunchtime StarCraft.

Regardless, I think that Meteora by Linkin Park may have been my first album purchase, like, ever. I bought it, ripped it, and listened to it again and again and again. Then I bought Hybrid Theory, and did the same. And then because I was so desperate for more and they hadn't released any other original material, I bought Reanimation, their album of remixes. I was just so angsty and life was so tragic and Linkin Park was the only people in the world ever that could possibly articulate how I was feeling. I even bought a shirt.

Looking back, it's all so predictable and borderline embarrassing. The music itself hasn't aged well stylistically, the rapping is kinda weak, and the lyrics are so, so heavy-handed. But here's the thing; It was the very definition of cathartic. For that kid, in that situation with all the isolation and fear and frustration, it was exactly what he needed to cope with the weight of living.

Today Chester Bennington, the lead singer of Linkin Park, hung himself.

Say what you want about the rest of their early music, but that dude had some proper pipes. And you could tell he'd really given 'er on those recordings.

But even moreso, I feel kinda cheated. These dudes were the guides through my troubled years, and I figured that if anyone had figured out how to cope with some kinda darkness, it was them. Maybe this is just one more case of gazing long into an abyss and having it gaze back into you. Or maybe this is just another case of not having a clue about anything, and life being more complicated than it appears.

What am I supposed to say here? I guess... Thank you. For your art.

I haven't listened to Linkin Park for a long time, and I suspect that won't change any time soon. I'll see it in another couple years, when it makes another appearance in Temp, and be reminded of those dark days and dark feelings. And be reminded of how, for a time, this was exactly what I needed. And now maybe I'll also appreciate that everyone isn't so lucky.
-Cril

It's easier to run
Replacing this pain with something numb
It's so much easier to go
Than face all this pain here all alone

Link Park - Easier to Run

Thursday, July 06, 2017

Boulevard Utensils

What if?

That's possibly one of the most dangerous questions to ask, because you know there aren't any satisfactory answers. No matter which direction you try to peel back the lid, you'll still end up with some of that crappy wax paper seal that was designed to come off easily yet never does. Those little flakes just fall off into the food the more you try to clean up the mistake. Gah.

"Women want a guy that's interesting. Lots of guys can be nice, and that's just the bare minimum for a social interaction." Well damn. Makes sense, right? I stumbled upon this the other day and I found myself wondering, "Am I interesting?"

I think so. Just a little bit. Went to art school. Went to art school in New York. Bought a Porsche. Dated a unique girl or two. Do some freelance, build some computer, play some instrument.

I mean, I sure haven't backpacked the Appalachian Trail, worked in a Vietnamese cafe, or ridden a train across Ukraine. I play it safe, and often times plain. There's a lot that I haven't done, perhaps moreso than I have. But I have a couple things in my corner.

And that spawned the What If of New York. Which direction would my life have veered had I not gone? Most likely, there wouldn't have been a veer of any sort; rather just a steady resolve to maintain the mundane.

So what if I hadn't have gone to New York?

I'd still be working the same job I'd had since highschool. Not a bad job, per se, but limited room for income and growth. I wouldn't have worked at an agency. I wouldn't be working as some sort of hoity-toity international consultant, with the occasional trip outside of my country.

I wouldn't have bought the Porsche. I think that extra year of school, with the combination of financial strain, total exhaustion, and loneliness, gifted me the hard-won perspective on what mattered. That maybe, just maybe, if I can survive on my own in this world-class city on my own dime, I can survive having my own adventures. Maybe it's okay to cross that sportscar-shaped item off my bucket list.

I actually sold that car recently. I had my enjoyment, and it was a great learning experience of both a mechanical and personal variety. But it was time to move on to other adventures, and as much as I had loved that car, it was a bit irresponsible to take on such a responsibility without the proper facilities to care for it. Truth be told, the squeaks and bumps and repairs had started be a drain on me. I can forsee myself returning to the House that Porsche Built, but not at this moment.

Anyways, New York. Or not.

I think without my time there, I wouldn't have gotten the time I needed away from an unhealthy relationship to grow a backbone. To have the ability to say to myself, "Hey, this isn't okay and I deserve to have an opinion on the matter." If I never went to New York, either I'd still be bleakly attached to that person, or we would have utterly imploded in a much more painful manner than we actually ended up doing.

I'd probably be making a lot less money, too. I doubt I would've bought a mandolin and taken lessons to go along with it. Instead, I probably would've doubled-down on gaming. Which isn't necessarily a bad thing in and of itself, but there's something to be said for variety.

And I think if I had never gone to New York, I'd be a totally different person. It was such a kick in the pants of my low confidence to know that I can arrive at a place where I didn't know a soul and within a day hustle myself up an apartment to live in. And then find a place to live until I could take possession. And then find somewhere else to live when there was a one month delay. And then, in the midst of finals and interviews and portfolio shows, have my landlords decide not to renew my lease. Pack up, clean, find a place, move out. I was so, so exhausted. But I made it.

And you know what? New York helped me to appreciate some of the beauty in the world. It taught me to sing and dance to my music when I go grocery shopping. How to love all the green space. And to just recognize that there are marvelous things outside of my own little sphere of existence.

Ripples, man. If I hadn't gone away for that year, there is so much more than just my education or travelling experience that wouldn't have turned out the way it did. I'm glad things have gone the way they have.

I'm still not the most interesting person out there. But it's nice to know that I have a little something in my corner.
-Cril

We know, we know, we belong to ya
We know you built your life around us
And would we change, we had to change some

We know, we know, we belong to ya
We know you threw your arms around us
In the hopes we wouldn't change
But we had to change some
You know, to belong to you

The Decemberists - The Singer Addresses His Audience

Saturday, May 06, 2017

Some Rather Melancholy Morsels

The beginning of the year has been pretty tough. I had written a few bits and pieces, and they're all a little... bleak. Here they are in no particular order...

---

After my last post, I did wandered back into some of the darker corners of my library of highschool memories. One of the titles I came across and plucked off the shelf was "Times I Was a Total Jerk".

The first couple years of highschool were spent in the shadow of a popular kid I desperately wanted to be friends with, and thus adopted some pretty dumb habits in an effort to imitate that intangible, effervescent status of 'cool'. My main transgression was thinking that making fun of those even less popular than myself (if such a thing was possible) would make me fit in. And on some subconscious level, pointing out others' weaknesses helped to patch over my own plethora of shortcomings. Patches that, looking back, weren't worth having.

I used to make fun of a kid named Colin. What did he do to deserve it? I don't even know. Maybe he was a bit awkward and dopey, but what highschool kid isn't? I think his biggest transgression was simply being new to the town, which made him an easy target. We called him "Melvin" for some reason, and were pretty relentless in making fun of him.

It sucks because to someone like that, never mind having friends, just being left alone and invisible is all you're after. I should know. I do know. I hate myself for the things I said to him. It wasn't ever worth the sliver of social acceptance or toxic morale boost it might've given me at the time.

Short story shorter, I recently found him on Facebook. Dropped one of those, "You probably don't remember me, I was a dick to you, and I'm really sorry" messages. He wrote back saying that he was teased at every school he went to, and maybe he deserved it. He said that since then life hasn't gotten much better, as he fighting (and losing) an ongoing battle with cancer.

He didn't really invite me to, but I never replied. What is there to say? "I'm sorry that your life is might be unfairly cut short, and that I helped make it more miserable." It sucks that he got teased everywhere he went. No one deserves that, no matter how awkward they might've been. Everyone deserves to be left the hell alone.

I'm sorry dude, you deserved much better than the likes of me. There isn't a single sentiment I could express that wouldn't be hallow in comparison to what you're going through. Life sucks. I know it does, I've been on the receiving end. And now I've been on the giving end, too. Feels terrible. And his struggles make mine look like chump change.

Turning the lens around to look at yourself can really help you uncover some ugly truths. If I had a couple of redos in life... You'd definitely deserve one of them, Colin.

---

My word, online dating is soul sucking. I've read all the advice columns; "Be funny!", "Be original!", "Personalize each message!", "Put effort into everything you send!"

So you take all this guidance and put it to work, delicately crafting every little witticism or compliment you send, writing and re-writing and antagonizing over every word. Only, of course, to never hear a thing back. No matter what you put into it, it won't be enough. I'll take ~15 of those precious messages to get one response, only for the girl to disappear after the first two replies.

Makes me feel totally and utterly disposable. You know that any girl's inbox is full of such messages, and they can pick and choose at their desire. No matter how much I put myself into these interactions, there's nothing I can do to guarantee a success.

The only thing left to do is play the (rather disheartening) odds or just call it quits. It gets to a point where it's less depressing to admit defeat than it is to keep on braving the waters of online courtship.

You're lonely and miserable and think that you've hit the bottom, so you figure it's time to look for someone's hand to hold. Then you only have the rug pulled out beneath your wobbly legs when you discover that you're not interesting enough and there aren't any girls that think you're worth talking to.

---

One of my dear/close friends is a nurse in a delivery unit. We were talking about some of the challenges she faces in that kind of job; abortions, long hours, miscarriages, and irresponsible patients. Some days she wishes she had gone into another line of work.

She told me one recent story of a very premature birth, where the child was obviously going to face significant complications for its whole life. The parents, however, decided to issue a non-resuscitate order (or some equivalent), effectively leaving the kid to die. A tough call, for sure, but one that I can understand and appreciate. I'm sure from the parents' point of view, it was an incredibly heart-wrenching choice to make, but ultimately one that was made with the best intentions.

Things got a bit worse, though, when she told me about how the parents didn't want to see or hold their child. So this little soul's experience with the world was about to be very short, and very lonely.

Instead, though, the nurses moved heaven and earth to make sure that this child was always in someone's arms for the duration of it's life. The nurses rotated through holding this tiny kid, too small to cry, in a dark room with a rocking chair and blanket. Before my friends shift was up, the baby had moved on to its next adventure.

Life sure sucks sometimes. But it made me kinda glad that there are some good souls out there who will make their already exhausting shift even more chaotic, just to keep a tiny little life, sick and abandoned, company while it moves on to the next adventure.

---

Here's hoping the summer will be a bit brighter, yes? That warm breeze sure is alluring...
-Cril

Thursday, March 02, 2017

A Request

Hey dude, can I talk to you for a second? You probably don't recognize me, but I do.

I can see you got your grubs, and that means it's a couple minutes before the bell rings and you need to hustle off to gym class. I know you hate it - you spend all your time trying to be inconspicuous, and this just seems to magnify you and everything you're no good at. You're doing a dance module right now, which makes it all extra worse and awkward. But you're in Grade 11, so this is the last year you have to put up with it. You'll pull through.

First you gotta get through today. I know you'll go and get changed and have a coed class where you'll do a line dance to make you feel dorky, and then you'll do a polka to make you feel like a dufus. It's just one of those things they like to say you need to 'get ready for the real world'. Whatever that's supposed to mean. Let's just say don't worry about retaining anything - I promise you'll never use these skills ever again.

After those useless dances and a few more, you'll get to the waltz. I know man. This is super awkward - you know you aren't exactly hot stuff and you're not used to being that close to girls. As luck will not have it, your last three dance partners will be some of the hot/fancy/elite chicks at the top of the social ladder. Heather, Sefrina, Whitney. They'll be perfectly polite during the dance, but once the music cuts off, they'll run off shrieking with disgust to wipe their hands on the nearest wall. We both know you won't have done anything wrong, so it'll take you a moment to realize why they just acted that way. Then I know you're going to look down at your shoes for a bit and smile that empty smile, because that's all you've got.

The rest of that school day will be a haze you drift through, before you start off on an unusually long walk home. At first it's so you can process things, but then you'll make it even longer because you can't quite stand the idea of being stationary and stuck beside yourself. You'll realize just how far down you are on that social ladder and how unappealing you are and will forever be. And that being nice or invisible will never be able to hide away how ugly you are.

No matter which way you cut it, today's gym class is going to suck, dude. I won't lie. It's gonna be awful, and you're gonna feel awful, and you're going to remember it for a long time.

But can I ask you for a favour? Can you try doing something a little bit differently for me?

When those stupid girls run shrieking to the wall to wipe their hands clean of having to be in contact with you, I want you to do something you'd never consider because you're such a good kid. You don't have to get mad or talk to those girls or anything.

I just want you to go to the locker room, get changed, and walk out the back door. You don't even have to tell the teachers or interact with anyone. Just get outta there, and go on your walk, and get some air. Putting up with this crap is definitely not worth the (not so) precious marks you'll lose or the trouble it'll get you in. But it'll feel so good to stick up for yourself in your own way, and your future self is going to thank you for it.

So do just this one thing for me, would you? You've got some better days ahead, I promise. Thanks, dude.
-Cril


Tuesday, February 14, 2017

That Day

It's That Day today. I came to write something about how I don't like it, how you shouldn't wait for one day to express your feelings, and how last year's That Day was even worse (despite my being un-single at the time). I even made a shitty sketch thing to go with it. But instead I've just seemed to have... lost all my steam. I have nothing to add to this mess. So instead of writing more, I'll just stop.

Yes, I know I used 'even' in two consecutive sentences there, but I just. Don't. Care.

Now I just have to find a way to waste away the rest of the evening until I get to sleep.
-Cril

Saturday, February 11, 2017

"I don't currently have a bad guy"

I don't think I've ever gone to see a movie on my own. Like eating at a restaurant, it's one of those activities that has implied social connotations. But it's even stranger for movies because, ultimately, you spend an hour or two watching a screen in silence. All the socializing is done to kill time while the previews prattle on, or as discussion after it's concluded. The standard family activity, or way to kill a couple hours with a friend. Add in dinner, and you have yourself the ideal/cliche date night.

I've never really had that feeling with concerts, for some reason. I guess it was because I knew if I waited to find someone to join me, I'd never get to go. I don't have to worry about finding enough seats together, or defend my taste in music. If there was a performance I want to see, I go see it. If I can get someone else in on the action, sure, but that isn't a prerequisite.

For the last half of my stay in New York I was lucky enough to have a girlfriend. We got along pretty well, were pretty open about our interests, and didn't really hesitate to get the other involved even if it wasn't their favourite thing in the world. We had a lot of good adventures, and I'm really glad we were together. It allowed me to see a lot more of the city, and in a totally different light than what I knew.

At one point along the way, we of course decided to go to a movie. I chose the Lego Move; I was feeling kind of homesick, and it was something I had promised my younger cousin we'd get to see together long before my living circumstances took me deep into left field. She wasn't particularly interested in the title, but because it was something I really wanted to do she agreed.

It was a really, really good memory. Just the two of us, having some simple fun. I was learning that you could have a relationship where the both of you could bring a positive attitude to something as simple as a dorky movie. It wasn't high art by any stretch of the imagination and it wasn't tied to her interests at all, but that didn't stop us from laughing at the jokes and holding hands and chatting as we left the theater.

When I heard that there was a Lego Batman movie in the works, I was a bit hesitant about the premise (can that interpretation of Batman be enjoyable for a whole film?). It automatically adopted the same feelings I got from seeing the previous Lego title, though, and I found myself thinking, "Man, I'd love to see that with someone!"

Once I returned to Calgary, the next relationship I had did not share that same open, positive dynamic as I had before.

It wasn't until that relationship came to a close that Lego Batman came back up on my radar. As the release date drew near, "I can't wait to find someone to see that with!" slowly changed into "I'm not going to find someone to see that with." So far my experiences with dating has been observing my failures mount while I nervously look around at conspicuously absent successes.

So the movie came out this week. The reviews were good. And my outlook was becoming, "I'm not going to get to see this, am I?"

But screw that.

I thought I was past the soul-crushing loneliness, but I'm not. It's been a really tough week. Fun fact, I realized that the six tiles in my 'favourite contacts' section on my phone consist of my mom and uncle (pinned as emergency numbers), the old Asian lady I give occasional tech support to, and three blank squares.

It's been hard to stay at home on the weekends, when I don't have enough work to distract myself. And yeah, I've only been at it for a month and a half, but dating has made me feel more isolated than ever. I remember a couple months ago, and I wasn't this lonely. Then I think back to my time in ACAD when I was really alone. I used to be good at this stuff. Maybe it's time for a return of form.

I think dating is tough because you have to essentially admit, "I want to be with somone", and from there it's a slippery slope into getting attached to the notion of, "I will find someone". And when that someone remains elusive... You simultaneously get to bask in the glory of failing to find them as well as your sustained and unavoidable isolation.

So I saw Lego Batman this afternoon, on my own. For the record, it was funny as hell. Sometimes I found Batman to be a bit grating, but the jokes were bang on and it was beautiful to watch. I enjoyed laughing like an idiot for a bit, crammed between two different families.

And I saw it alone, of course. There's only so much 'care' a person can allocate. I need to care less about this mysterious other person, and care more about living my life. I'm not guaranteed companionship, and I'm not owed any. It's my job to play the best damn single player campaign I can, and if I get a wingman along the way, that's awesome. But it's very, very premature and very, very stupid to plan life around the presence of a person that might not be out there.

That doesn't mean I won't keep an eye open for them. Just that I'll have to keep that eye open while I'm off doing my own thing.
-Cril

So come out of your cave walking on your hands
And see the world hanging upside down
You can understand dependence
When you know the maker's hand

So make your siren's call
And sing all you want
I will not hear what you have to say

'Cause I need freedom now
And I need to know how
To live my life as it's meant to be

Mumford and Sons  - The Cave

Thursday, February 09, 2017

Still Here

Yesterday was really hard. Today was too, but not as much. Tomorrow will be even less hard.

But here I am, I finally made it through the day. And I'll make it through tomorrow.
-Cril

Sunday, February 05, 2017

Month One: Dating Sucks

Fun fact: Girls are horrible at making conversation.

Yeah, I know this is a wild over-generalization based on a tiny sample size. I've just thrown in the towel on Bumble after trying it for a month. I had a lot of strained conversations where no matter what I asked or commented, all I got in return was short, one-sentence replies that utterly failed to maintain conversational momentum. Made me feel like a bit of an idiot until I realized that a discussion is a two way street. Sure, maybe I'm the antithesis of stimulating communication, but it doesn't seem like any notable effort was made by the other half of participants to... participate.

I'm slowly trying to untangle the mess that is online dating to find something that works for me. I kinda dove in with the understanding that girls get an unlimited amount of attention, and therefore any female's attention is a hot commodity. But at the end of the day, there are as many single dudes running around as single ladies. The dating construction creates a weird interpretation of supply and demand.

So after a month of trying, I managed to talk with two girls for a significant amount of time. Of those, I went on three dates with the a girl until... We fizzled out. Hot off the realization that all women aren't necessarily awesome and that I can be entitled to having an opinion in the matter, I sent my first ever rejection text. She said she felt the same way. Being the people-pleaser I am, I wanted to have a good stiff drink and then run a drill bit through my my skull.

I seem to flip flop between the notion of "I girl would be lucky to have me, and I can take my time living a kickass life on my own until the right lady comes along" versus "I am soul-crushingly lonely and will never find anyone". I think dating is like putting a person through a pressure cooker. Everything becomes more intense, until something somewhere gives. I'm trusting that as I keep going I'll get used to rejection and won't let my hopes carry me away too far. I'll approach this whole ordeal with a mild anthropological curiosity, seeing what works and what people are like.

For now, though, I just don't seem to have any momentum whatsoever. I've spent this weekend floating around my apartment like the torn remnants of a plastic bag in a light breeze.

I figure to keep things interesting, I'll try a different platform each month and only use it once every few days. I think I need new/better profile pics.

And that opens up the whole, huge can of worms that is dating advice. A lot of it is insightful, a lot of it is pure fluff, and some of it is... Sticky. One afternoon I fell down the rabbit hole of dating advice for guys, and came across some seminar series for guys. About how you need to be confident and cocky and funny and mysterious. I'm sure if you follow all that advice, it works. But the question it raises is... Do I want to be that kind of guy? The answer is always 'no'. I don't want to be a smooth stud. I just want to be me.

Now that's not to say I'm perfect the way I am, because I know I'm not. There's a lot of good advice out there I know I can and should apply to improve myself. Some of it, though, just seems to cross the line over into territory where I get the feeling it'd be less about being a better version of myself than being an imitation of someone else entirely. That just makes me feel kinda gross. I'd rather be me.

And if that isn't appealing to anyone, well... It'll be time to give up on finding someone and focus on playing the best Single Player Campaign I can.

When the new year rolled around, I decided I wanted to fail more often. That'd mean that I'm taking more chances and not playing it so safe. Maybe this whole dating thing will fill that quota up nicely. If it doesn't, that'd be great. And if it does... That's okay too.
-Cril

Sunday, January 01, 2017

Familiar tides are the strangest

Once upon a time, there was a boy and a girl in a small town highschool. She, tall and dark, was at the top of their grade and worked as a cashier at the local grocery store. He, blonde and quiet, was also near the top of their grade and worked a few odd jobs. Like many unfortunate tales, boy liked girl and girl liked boy. Boy, however, was oblivious and missed his chance. After they graduated, he tried to make up for his mistake. Alas, her heart already belonged to another. She knew the boy was interested but never said anything, instead electing to drop vague hints. Unfortunately, the boy was blind with the tragic sickness of teenage stupidity. After being confronted with a 'wtf?' by the boy, the truth became apparent. The boy moved away to another city in another province in order to outrun his crushed heart.

---

During the holidays, some families sing together, others watch the big game, and others might do anonymous good deeds. 'Tis the season, after all.

This Christmas, however, my family took up vomiting everywhere in unison. Someone somewhere had picked up a particularly nasty 24hr bug, in which your insides attempt to become outsides with such vigor that both ends of the digestive system get in on the action. Over the course of about 2 days after a big family Christmas dinner, we went from one sick individual to over 17 of us.

Was not fun. Would not recommend.

But all things considered, if you're going to be hilariously ill, why not do it with your family? When shared between all of us, the speed and destructive nature of this whole thing became more a point of amusement and bewilderment than anything else. It'll be a Christmas to remember, in a very bizarre way.

I fell ill the day prior to returning to my home, so I had to move my flight. My mom felt kind of bad that so much of my first vacation in a year and a half (and the first time returning home in almost double that amount of time) was spent in such an... unfortunate manner. So as we were slowly improving, I went to one of those family fun parks with my Dad. We played some pool, pinball, air hockey, and golf. We stuck out like a sore thumb, but had a fun time together while a constant tide of small kids seemed to ebb and flow around our shenanigans.

On the way out to the park, I asked my dad if he ever looked for familiar faces when he visited my grandmother in his hometown. He made a remark about how those familiar faces were from so long ago, and that the city had changed so much. He then turned the question back to me, and I made a remark about how I hadn't spoken with any of those familiar faces since I graduated and left town, and that I don't know if I'd even recognize anyone if I saw them.

He recounted that he still sees my highschool friend around town as he drops his kids off at school. He was now the co-manager of the outdoor supply store he worked at as a teenager. And a girl that I crush on in highschool was still working at the grocery store on the corner. In a bizarre cosmic response to our conversation, later that evening I saw a picture of the all-star athlete/ultimate cool kid of my grade on the cover of the local paper with his wife and new kid.

It all kinda just... stumped me. These three people had a ton of potential, and yet they stayed in our small town, married up, had kids, and continued to work the same jobs they had in school. All that potential and smarts and studying, just to stay put.

Now a statement like the above just reeks of an elitist, closed-minded definition of success. Who says you have to travel to another city and get a good job to be considered living a fulfilling life? There's no reason that a happy family can't be as large of an aspiration as a fancy degree. If someone lives and works in the same place they did as a teenager, but can comfortably provide for their spouse and children... What's wrong with that? If they're happy and passionate about the life they lead, what more does a person need?

And why the hell should they care how a stranger from Once Upon a Time judges their life?

It still kinda confuses me, though. I thought they all had built up enough momentum to escape the orbit of that small town, and find myself at a loss when I discovered they hadn't.

Mind you, for whatever education or employment or life experience I have that creates my frame of reference for success... A spouse, a home, a family are all things that are conspicuously absent from my life right now. I bet these people would be equally bewildered at my lack of 'success' as I am of theirs.

---

Back to our story. Girl kept working at the grocery store on the corner, found a new love, and continued her life in the small town. Boy worked in the other province/city, did some school there and abroad, and got a fancy job that paid him well. Boy and girl would never speak again, and now live their lives in total oblivion to eachother's existence. The end.

---

Sometimes it makes me wonder what would've happened if Boy and Girl hadn't had a falling out. If he wasn't driven by a hurting heart to move away... Would he have stayed in the small town, working one of those odd jobs he got after graduation (fun fact, that would've been telephone technical support)? Would he have gotten a better education and struck out on his own? Probably not. For as upset as he once was, Boy is pretty lucky that things went awry the way they did with Girl. He's found himself on an interesting path now and wouldn't change a thing.

So in this new year of 2017... May the winds of disappointment or hurt fill your sails and breathe you to much warmer shores. One failure or another, one success or another, you'll find yourself where you need to be. Things will work out alright.
-Cril