28 December, 2005 Well, Christmas went pretty well. With the one glaring exception, which was the necessity of putting down one of our rabbits, Basil, right on Christmas Eve. He'd developed a tumour on the crown of his head a few months ago, which we'd had removed by the vet. After the biopsy, we learned it was a malignant tumour, and would probably reappear somewhere else. And reappear it did, with a vengeance. So, the morning of Christmas Eve, with the tumour having taken over most of the side of his face and creeping up over his head, he breathed his last. I've never watched an animal be euthanized before. As odd as it sounds, there's something peaceful about it. Perhaps especially when you know the animal's life has reached the point of misery. And yes, to those of you who are wondering: I did cry. Read Comments (2) | Add Comment

14 December 2005 Still in the fight. Not down yet. But damn, it sure feels like I'm taking a beating. And certain of those around me are getting hit even harder. The knowledge of that, and the knowledge of my own limitations, account for many of the blows landing on my skull. I've often poked fun at inspirational cliches. Oddly, I've no inclination to do so now. Something about the darkest hour. And dawn. This night can't last forever. But I've got no way of knowing just how far into it I am. Pressing on. Toward something. I think. Read Comments (0) | Add Comment

30 November 2005 At the Battle of Trafalgar in 1805, Admiral Nelson devised what some may have seen as an exceedingly foolish plan: send the ships straight at the enemy fleet, and engage in a completely disorganized "pell-mell" battle without rhyme or reason. But it worked; the French and Spanish under Admiral Villeneuve suffered what would become one of the most crushing defeats in the history of naval warfare. Nelson's plan hung on one fact: the crews on his ships could out-gun the combined fleet, bar none. The advantage of brute force favours disorder. But the challenges I face now I cannot out-gun. I do not have that force of arms, that sheer firepower. They are more than a match for my unreliable cannons and unpredictable ammunition. Crushing defeats abound in my own history. And so, something other than brute force is called for. This battle must be fought with discipline and finesse, and an adherence to protocols, no matter how arbitrary. And so, as other admirals at other engagements knew well: Take the weather gauge in your favour, then hold a single unbroken line of battle, come what may. Read Comments (2) | Add Comment

21 November 2005 Can't sleep tonight. Or rather, this morning, since it's actually 5am the next day now. These past weeks have been confusing, in a way. Going to the night shift was a big change in lifestyle. Rearranging the living room makes the whole house feel different. Old interests have been renewed. The changes are welcome, in some ways. Night shift is hardly ideal, but the break in routine might be a bit of shaking up that needs to be done. Because there are some other things that need to change along with the mundane. Changes I have tried to effect so many times, and failed over and over again. I did not realize one could become so set in his ways at so early an age. The same things that are killing you are killing me. That sudden realization might prove to be the penny that tips the scale. It remains to be seen. But this upheaval might present a chance to break the line, to fight through the breech. This is no time for pondering. Read Comments (0) | Add Comment

12 November 2005 I have this box of old photographs that are not indexed in any way at all. I don't know what compelled me just tonight to look through them, but what an experience that can be. Some of these photos date back as early as 1993. Some were taken in high school, and many around '97, back during the glory days of the Sugarbowl on 124th, while it was still one of the coolest cafes in town. In going through this box I have learned certain things about myself. Things I had forgotten. I'm not sure what they are. But one thing I did learn, that I can most certainly put my finger on: Nostalgia can be painful. Read Comments (0) | Add Comment

17 October 2005 The perspective of a very old friend is a priceless thing. Nothing sheds more light on those things you didn't realize you already knew, those things that need to be spoken. Just like old times, it was. But the right ones. I'm grateful we chose to simply skip the revisitation of the bad trip that was 124th street and go directly for the warm and the yellow of our old haunt on the south side, little-changed after all these years. And talk. Like we both needed to. One final barrage of tangible honesty before you moved out East. I wonder if there ever was a time when we pulled punches with each other. I don't remember one. Raises glass: To those who never bailed. Read Comments (2) | Add Comment

5 October 2005 To the dude in my class with whom I argued today: You've made it pretty clear that you don't like me and that you consider me as anything but a "real man". The truth is, I'm very comfortable with that. Reassured, even. Because meeting with your approval would be a severe blow to my ego. Thank you for your encouraging words. Read Comments (1) | Add Comment

3 October 2005 I guess it's kind of like painting a freshly primed wall or filling in a hole with dirt. This pristine surface that you get to just fill with matter, or colour, or whatever stuff the space demands. Those first strokes and shovelfuls are almost exciting, gratifying in a strange way, so tightly woven into the representation of the great undertaking. And then the hole gets half full or the wall half coloured. And the enthusiasm is waning. The adventure has become a chore. You are sorely aware of the little imperfections, irreversible now, in the work you have done so far. And it's so easy to become content with mediocrity. You just want to finish, and the aspirations to near-perfection you had when you first began are nowhere to be seen. Ugh. The home stretch is no problem. It's that last stretch before the home stretch that always takes the breath out of me. Read Comments (0) | Add Comment

2 October 2005 And so October arrives, quietly and with a straight face, as though its coming were routine and of no significance. It would be infuriating were it not so foreseeable, were it to come unexpectedly. But it is not infuriating. I have been waiting for it, ready to greet it with a solemn handshake and a humourless grin. October comes bearing the same message every year. There is work to be done, and it will not be easy. Exactly how or why it tells me this, I can't say. It is not bad news. Exactly what the work is, it does not reveal. It is never a prompt to action; rather, it is a call for thought. Quiet, above all, is a necessity. Not a lack of noise, but quiet. Behind the chaos of the calendar's events there is a stillness I both intimately know and at the same time cannot put my finger on. This is the time of year when everything starts to die. And when I get reacquainted with myself. Read Comments (1) | Add Comment

29 September 2005 The gaps between the dates in this space clue me in to the fact that school has consumed me. This ego shift, this altered identity, is evident in many details when taken collectively. The change is accidental, inadvertent, feeling more like something that happens to you than something that you do, but in reality it is what we do. The sum of choices we make half-asleep and unawares. In the space of a few weeks' time I have become something different than what I was. Or I have been something different. Or I have been being. I'm not sure just which of those tenses would be correct, but I am convinced that they are not equally applicable. There is a right answer there, to the exclusion of the others. I don't think I like the implications. I am sure I don't like them. It is symptomatic of a certain carelessness, this haphazard and accidental living that allows one to careen wildly into identities not of one's own choosing. And we talk about how we ended up, how we turned out, what events have done to us like we were patients in some OR subject to the agenda of a sociopathic surgeon with a magic eight-ball and a tray full of instruments. This is not to say that there are no external forces, or to argue that they have no effect. They do. But I think the effects of wind and gravity are grossly overestimated. We've all got our foot on the gas. Not all of us have our hands on the wheel. Read Comments (2) | Add Comment

6 September 2005 Sorry for all of the rather mundane posts, but really, you don't see this everyday. Seriously, thrown from the oche. Read Comments (1) | Add Comment

1 September 2005 Welcome to yuppyville. I swear, it was pure coincidence that both my wife and I liked the same model and colour. Read Comments (3) | Add Comment

30 August 2005 It's odd how quickly I have got used to being back in school again. Yesterday I began my first-year schooling at NAIT in the machinist apprenticeship program. It's been a long time coming. But it's funny, the things that strike you as warmly familiar. Waiting at the bus stop. The feeling of a pack of books slung over one shoulder and the faint smell of nicotine on my fingers in autumn. The sudden influx of new people into my sphere of existence, and having long conversations with people whose names you never did get, and who probably never got yours. Sitting in a classroom with a travel mug and a notebook. It's only for eight weeks, and I'm told I'll be sick of it by the time it's over. But I'll take it while it's here. Read Comments (0) | Add Comment

24 August 2005 The weekend I just spent in Chicago was a blast. Long in planning, it was incredible to see all of these old friends. Some had changed a great deal, and some hadn't changed a bit in eleven years. I think it would have been a disappointment in some ways if everyone had been the same people they were before; I was looking forward to the surprises. But after it was done, after we'd had our fun and it was time to once again go our separate ways, my happiness at being there suddenly shifted to a completely different sense. A panicked kind of desperation, almost. Everything in me became focused on one thought: Get me the hell out of this country. I couldn't wait to get back to Canada. It's a different world down there altogether. A distinct mode of thinking, a particular approach. It's not the same at all; it caught me by surprise, and I'm not sure I could ever get used to it. I wish I could have had more time with everyone, because it really was great to see them all. But next time, could we do this in Toronto? Read Comments (2) | Add Comment

2 August 2005 There are few things so heartwarmingly affectionate as a cat who missed you while you were away. Read Comments (1) | Add Comment