Happy Christmas.

You can't be sad on Christmas.

What to Wear?

I can't explain the feeling of narrow fingers fitting themselves around the soft tissue of the throat. Grasping, clutching, gripping too tight. The building insecurity that makes every feeling so fragile, I'm afraid that there was never really any sort of support in the first place. It's as if I've made this world in my head that has ranked me at the bottom and them at the top and how could you possibly expect me to compare in the privacy of four walls let alone in the public sphere? And I know how this story ends, every time I know how it ends. I didn't just build this world without any basis in truth, however exaggerated. Trust me, I'm all too familiar with the way it ends.

TMI Tuesdays?

I know this is lame, but I feel like sharing...

Here's my To-Read list, in no particular order! (Please don't judge me by what I have not read, ha ha)

• Looking for Alaska by John Green
• Stolen by Lucy Christopher
• A Stolen Life by Jaycee Dugard
• The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald
• American Gods by Neil Gaiman
• A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgees
• Smoke by Ellen Hopkins
• Tilt by Ellen Hopkins
• The Sisters Brothers by Patrick deWitt
• Red Rain by R. L. Stein
• The Hypnotist by Lars Keplar
• Slaughterhouse 5 by Kurt Vonnegut
• The Rosie Project by Graeme Simsion
• Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov 
• Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children by Ransom Riggs
• The Lies of Locke Lemora by Scott Lynch
• Blood Meridian by Cormac McCarthy 
• The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time by Mark Haddon
• Scar Tissue by Anthony Kiedis
• Fall on Your Knees by Ann-Marie MacDonald
• Lord of the Rings Trilogy by J. R. R. Tolkien 
• Stepford Wives by Ira Levin
• Do You Love Me? by Peter Carey

The list is ever growing! What about you? Anything on your Holiday Reading list?

Maybe you keep coming up because of nights like these. It's terrible, but I've started to believe it's true.

I wonder what you would do. Would I even have to ask?

Oh no you don't. You can't just show up as you please, literally whenever you want. I choked up instantly, swiping off tears. You made my nerves spike, joints stiffen all in one shot. And you invaded everything, every brain cell, reclaiming what you believe to be rightfully yours.

Stop it. Your time is long gone. Can't you just let me love in peace?

It's All in Your Head.

I haven't thought about it in a long time, but it alway seems so familiar when I do. Sometimes I wonder if I'm the only one or if maybe, just maybe, I'm there too. I try not to think about it too much because there have been numerous times when I've become consumed with the thought. I lose sight of reality and create this fictional world in my head where I live in conscious and unconsciously. But then I wake up and realize that living in the past, although safe and sound, is just a way to run away from the unknown, unstable future.  And that's good for no one.

Europe Seems So Long Ago.

It seems that the monotony of life is constantly getting me down and the only way to escape it is to check in my luggage and sit on a plane that will take me just about anywhere.

This Heart Belongs in a Different Chest.

If I could cough out my heart and lock it in a box, I would definitely do that right about now.

It's six-o-clock on a Wednesday evening and I'm drunk.

Yeah, that's love for you.

I seem to wear melancholy so well.

Oneword: Squint.

It was bitter cold out. The kind that eats at your fingers, chomps at your knuckles. The rain fell, mixed with snow, engulfing the city in slush. Without the sun it was hard to see what was coming in front of me. All I knew was that there were four more lights to go before I was to turn right. My knees were protesting every step of the way, but I was late. Very late.

He wanted me to stay longer. Tempted me with a quick homemade dinner. Grilled chicken on his city patio barbecue with a side of baked potatoes and corn on the cob. A bottle of red wine between the two of us in his cozy living room, his puppy by my side.

He wanted me to stay a little longer. Puppy on the floor, his body resting on top of mine. Hands up my untucked blouse. Lips enfolding mine. Legs around his waist and I stayed too long.

My cellphone rang and I had to go. I would call.

A car honked right before I crossed the street. I couldn't see a thing.

After the fourth light, I turned down my street, sloshing through the walkway to the house. I squinted against the drops that were sticking to my cheeks before gravity made them drip down. I could see you standing there. The door was half open, you were waiting since you called. Your jacket was already on and you met me halfway down the path. The pit of my stomach began violently turning.

Your eyes were wide, wild. You met me and slapped me hard across the face.

"You little bitch!" Flecks of spit hit my face. My cheek feels like raw flesh.

"You lying, little bitch!" You repeat and I'm stunned.

"You're fucking him! I knew you were fucking him!" You came at me again and slapped the same spot. I was sure I was bleeding.

You grabbed my face, inches away, and I flinched against your grip, "You're fucking done," you spit and push me backward. It hit the ground shaking and shocked and watched you walk down the street, disappearing between a billion drops of sleet.

The words were slow to come out. Molasses sticking to the roof of our mouths.

Baby?

Baby.

Your berry pink fingernails danced around my bellybutton, hand resting right below.

Family.

We were finally going to have one of our own.

Oneword: Whisper.

The darkness made her eyes sore, pressed against them, pushing them backward into her skull. Without sight, her other sense heightened. She could smell the dampness off the walls. It clung to her skin, draped her in the kind of wetness that penetrated to the bone. There was a hint of sewage and sweat tickling the back of her throat, toying with her stomach and gag reflexes.

She could hear every bug crawling around her, every leg movement and mating sound. Something dropped in the distance, clanking, metal. She called out but her voice was raw, her throat vibrating with low raspy words resembling her grandfathers.

At first she had no idea if she was dead. If she were in a dream. Why had it been so dark? She thrashed about on the concrete floor, screaming, swearing, realizing when she went to stand up that her right leg wouldn't move. A sharp pain shot through her lower body causing her to violently twitch in agony. What the fuck happened to her?

Her fingers groped around the floor. There had to be something she could use to stand up. A chair, possibly to use as a crutch to start walking toward the sound. There was nothing within arms reach. She ignored the lancing pain in her leg and planted her hand about three feet to the left of her. Holding her breath she dragged herself across the rough floor wheezing, crying out. She only had a bit of time before the pain in her leg would take over and make her blackout. She used her left leg to push off the floor but with nothing else to support her she fell ungraciously to the ground, knocking her head on something solid. The sound vibrated all around her and she took a moment to gain back her senses. It sounded like metal. Her fingers felt the air around them until they hit the cool metal she had fell against. A bar. Two bars. Bars lining the length of her arms. A cell. It was a cell, a cage. She had been locked up. Oh God.

"Some one help me, please!" She was frantic.

Hitting the bars with her hands, trying to make as much noise as possible, "Please! Someone! I'm down here!"

The sudden movements made her leg ache and she felt her energy being consumed by the injury. She rested her head against the cool bar, tears draining down her face.

"Someone. Save me," She whispered before her head bounced off the concrete floor.

Oneword: Backlit.

It was not what he expected. The crowds filtering through the narrow streets. The cigarette butts lining the creases of cobblestones. The lights shining off of the still water. In the night, the city took a different feel. A turn for the exotic, the taboo. But it was all so normal in the thick of things. Like if you just simply told people it was okay, then it would magically be.

He watched a small motorboat float on by. The passengers laughing and drinking as if they had no idea what was happening around them.  

He threw is filter into the glowing red water. 

The windows were filled from top to bottom. The first two rows had doors you could climb into if you wanted. He watched every silhouette as he walked by, backlit by hot red lights, tinting their complexions the colour of cinnamon hearts. The girls were sitting, dancing, knocking on the windows, coaxing him to come in.  Makeup, costumes, lingerie, some were already empty. 

He cleared his throat and stared straight ahead deciding to take a turn down the narrow street. It was claustrophobic with bodies and on each side windows lined the path. The girls were so close which was foreign to him. Back home there was an air of foreboding around these types of girls. Look but never touch. Here, though, it was welcomed, encouraged. They wanted your money.

"Hey love, why don't you come on in?" She had caught him staring. Maybe it was the small frame, or the intense eyes, or the black lace. She smiled seductively with her red lips, half outside of her room.

It seemed weird for her to step on the cobblestone. The windows created an alternate universe. Once she broke through the glass barrier she became exotic, fantastical.

She held her hand out, coaxing him to take it. He could just see her nipple through her lace bra.

"Let's go," she said one last time. He let her grab his wrist and pull him inside.

Oneword: Railway.

She threw her empty beer bottle to the gravel as she stood up. It sounded like ten thousand rain pellets hitting a windowpane. He watched her combat boots dig into the ground, her heels sinking most of the way in. She knelt down, connecting her ear to the rail and held her breath. She thought she could hear it coming if everything was quiet enough.

"How long?"

She looked east, down the rail. "Soon."

He didn't believe her. She was full of crack stories. Little wives tales that she lived by.

He took a swing of his Jack Daniels. He was getting antsy. They couldn't stay there forever. Someone would notice the two of them trespassing. See the footage of them scaling the 9 foot fence. Getting caught on the barbed wire. Him tearing up like a bitch.

"Gimme." She was right beside him. Bloody knuckles in his face. They needed to be drunk if they were going to do it right. He shoved the half empty bottle in her hand and pulled out his cigarettes.

"Last two left."

She stared at him for a moment while he searched for his matches. The right knee of his blue jeans caught on the barbed wire and ripped through the flesh. She watched him pour Jack Daniels on it, but it was still oozing blood down his leg. His jeans were ruined.

There was only one match.

He inhaled. Toxic smoke streamed out of his nose and he heard a noise. Her eyes were always better than his, so she spotted it first.

"We better go," she exhaled in clouds. She took a shot, put the bottle on the ground and grabbed his hand.

She was the first the lie down, face to the sky, cigarette in her mouth. He wanted to remember her just like that. Smudged makeup, blue eyes, black bruises, red lipstick, gold dress. He settled beside her, railway for a pillow.

"Ready?" She asked, staring at him.

He kissed her knuckles. "Ready."

Who are we?

We're scared.
We're unstable.
What are we both holding on to when we both seem so fragile?

Confidence.

It's hard to show the world what you're made of when you can't even lift your head to meet them.

Harsh.

Here begins the long-winded mission of starting the rest of my life. Resumes, applications, interviews, lots of rejection and probably ultimately settling for something that can at least pay the bank. Growing up is harder than they make it out to be. After 20 years of school, they throw you to the wolves with a $30 000 piece of paper and a shake of the hand.

What now?

You better find out soon.

After two weeks of traveling around Europe, I am home and it's time for me to grow up. I have no idea where to go and nothing much to get me by.

What am I supposed to do? What do I want to do?

Growing up sucks sometimes. It sucks a lot.

Why do it if this is how it always ends?

Who's to say that it can ever be real anyways?

Is this enough? 

Even from half way around the world, it feels like enough.

There is no crying in London.

Shitty Saturday.

Sometimes the only thing that stops you from crying is that you have mascara on.

Money Makes the World Go 'Round.

If only traveling wasn't so expensive. I would not have to worry at all.

Union Jack.

The countdown begins. Under two weeks and I'll be off.

Monsters.

For a second, in those pictures, I couldn't even recognize you. Maybe it was because you were somewhere different. Somewhere I have never seen before. The unfamiliar surroundings disconnected you from me. We were not seeing the same walls, houses and trees. We are acres apart.

And for that second, I hated everything. I hated the grass that was under your feet, the clouds that were still so bright you needed your sunglasses. I hated the person who took the pictures, even the strangers in the backgrounds who probably never even noticed you standing there.

That second lasted too long and I began to hate myself. It was a dirty feeling in my mind. It was a sad feeling when it should not have been.

It should not have been.

If my skin wasn't holding everything in its place, I would be everywhere at once.

London's Calling.

I need to be there. It's as if a separate gravitational field has caught me and is pulling me towards that spot. I can't explain how desperately I want to walk on those grounds, between cobble stone and lush green countrysides. My heart is telling me that the growth I am yearning for is there. It will be found in these two weeks away from big city lights and smog days.

Although Toronto is my home, London is calling because something is there.

This House is not a Home.

What do you do when the place you call home is not the place it used to be? Maybe just not the place you were lead to believe.

As you grow up, it's funny how many things parents hid from you. The inner workings of their relationship kept secret behind locked doors or after 9 pm when you were finally asleep. Now, all of the dirty secrets fall out one private talk at a time. And you're meant to be old enough to handle it, old enough for it not to affect you emotionally, psychologically, anymore. But, what if I'm not? Because, honestly, I don't think I am. I wouldn't mind some sheltering, some moments hidden, so I wouldn't have to openly ignore it all of the time.

There's still part of me that wants, desperately, to hold on to some good household memory. Would it be terrible for them to leave me with one? Staying won't let that happen. Staying here has slowly become a dwindling option. Because fighting every moment of the day, every half hour I'm home, is not home anymore. It's just an ongoing battle that I am coming to realize I don't have to suit up for if I really don't want to.

What Are You Worth?

It's the feeling of fingers wrapping around your throat when you force yourself to say goodbye even though you don't want to.

You have to. 

Because you deserve to have someone change for you as much as you change for them. You deserve to get the first phone call, not just the call-backs. Not just the answers but rather the questions. Yes, I would like to see you tonight. Yes, 8-o-clock is fine. 

But you do not deserve to be treated like less. You know how it ends, you know what you'll have to face. You know what it will do to your confidence, your fight. It will dismantle it, year after year. But what does he know? Parents who love, rarely fight? Parents who were so clearly meant for each other. He does not know how luck it is to have that in his life. He will never understand what it is like for the rest of us, sitting here, wondering what happened? What would have happened if she walked out after the window? After the coat rack? He will never have to worry about what will happen when he leaves. What will happened when she is alone to fight. 

I will not turn out like them. I will not put myself in a position where I will become her. Broken, beaten, doing it for the kids. I deserve more than that. I deserve someone who will treat me better than just a wife.

Even though coming home is always nice, especially when the warm weather follows you, I still wish I was in Jamaica on the shores of Runaway Bay.

Being Sick Sucks.

In about four days, the boyfriend and I will be making our way on an airplane to Jamaica for a week. It will be his first time to an all-inclusive resort. I'm so excited to spend seven days on a beach with him and a couple of friends. It's definitely a good way to end four years of university.

Before then, though, I do promise to get back on the writing track. I've been battling the flu for a few days and have decided to stay in bed for the majority of that time. Tomorrow, though, I will get out of the house and do some much needed vacation shopping.

I will also get some much needed creative entries in for sure before I depart. I will make it my goal because I feel as if I have become disconnected, for some time, from what has made me the happiest. Taking creative writing classes has made writing become a chore rather than something I depended on for sanity. I guess school makes that happen, especially when you are an English major. Reading, another favourite past-time quickly became one as well.

Just as a quick note/side questions: I work at a book store and I have noticed that a lot of people are coming in for a juicy beach read to take with them on vacation. Many of the women I have talked to have asked for recommendations of the smutty nature. You know, things to read after 50 Shades of Gray and whatnot. This made me think of what I would bring on my week long beach stay. I, the polar opposite of my customers, decided on Chuck Palahnick's Fight Club. Short, intense and yet a read that makes your seamlessly flow from the first to the last page. So, to my question, What is your idea of a perfect beach read, genre or book alike?

Let me know!

Oneword: Flour.

She was concentrating hard on the credit card. Smooth, blue and expired in three months. Did he ever really use it the normal way? Online vinyl purchases, resort trips, coffee when he realizes that he's left all his change in the car?

He takes the bag out of his breast pocket. She had never seen anyone use that before. Usually it was a place for pens, pennies, maybe a mint. She doubts he would ever use it to carry those anyways. He shakes it in front of her face, showing off.

The white floury substance spills out on the glass table like grated chalk particles. Smells like nothing, and would probably leave a dry, pasty taste on your tongue. The group comes alive as if the flour substance is the only lifeline of the night.

Visa takes care of the lines. Five in total, one for her.

"Go," is all he says, handing her a rolled dollar bill.

She bows her head. The table smells like a wet bar rag soaked in stale beer. Rejecting the urge to gag, she plugs her right nostril, sticks the bill up the left and inhales.

Palms clamy, heart breaking through her chest, intense exhilaration.

She looks at him, pleading, "More."

Goodbye York.

This is it. Don't be scared now.

Almost There.

There are only two more days left of school, which is why I am vigorously trying to tie up loose ends. This is of course the reason why I have not posted here in a long time. I am sorry for this, but everything will get better after Wednesday, I promise.

By the way, did you know that you have to apply to graduate? One more way my school likes to screw people over. Thank goodness my friend brought it up, or else I would have been waiting for notice of my convocation in June forever.

Countdown.

It's terribly difficult to write creatively when final papers are threatening to annihilate you. Hopefully my creative flow will be begin to come back once I get the chance to read for fun again.

There are approximately two more weeks of school to go and then I will have successfully completed my Bachelor of Arts degree. During this time I have about 5 different assignments to finish as well as an exam. Maybe when I'm done I'll be able to put out something I am proud of, and give you guys a taste of my writing...skill?

For now, though, I must get back to my papers.

Diamonds World Tour.

Although Riri did come out an hour late, she ended up tearing up the ACC two nights ago. She started with a few song off of her new album and then flowed into her dance hits, ending with her two most recent releases. I wasn't a huge fan of her costumes, but that didn't matter because she put on a great party anyways. I have read some mixed reviews about the show, some saying she lacked charisma, some saying she was a bit scattered, but in the end you did pay to see her and she showed up. All in all, I had an amazing time and don't understand how some girls managed to stay in their seats for most of the performance. If there is one thing that bothers me about concerts it has to be the people who are "too cool" to stand up and move. If that's what you wanted to do then you should just stay home and watch her videos on YouTube.

Fresh.

Well Hello!

I missed having a blog to share with the world! So, here is my attempt at a new blog. Hopefully I have a blog-worthy voice that keeps people interested. I'm not too sure what will end up on here, so I am not going to make any promises. Things may get personal, definitely creative, and sometimes a little boring. I'll try to post frequently, but I am currently finishing the last couple of weeks of my undergrad. It may get crazy.

But...to make this post a little more interesting, I'll share my plans for tonight...

A couple of friends and I will be going to the Air Canada Centre to see Rihanna! We paid quite a bit for tickets, so I'm praying that it'll be amazing. I've only recently started going to concerts and I don't understand what took me so long to get there. They are almost always worth the prices, and it's a great way to support your favourite artists. In about a month, my boyfriend and I will be seeing Muse at the ACC as well. I've heard great things about their live performances. My expectations are pretty high.

Has anyone ever seen them live before? Let me know!

P.s: I'll review Rihanna when I get back!