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i want to know what it feels like to wake up next to you
day after day
come home to you at night day after day
open the door to your sweet smile, those eyes
that know me better than i know myself
i want to dance with you in the moonlight framed
in our bedroom window until it feels like my skin
is your skin, my heart is your heart, my thought is your thought
this is what i want to know, day after day
you tell me day after day that you couldn’t grow a better friend than me
and i just smile and quietly agree
i pretend it doesn’t hurt every time you walk away
to live a part of your life without me
i pretend that i don’t dream of you day after day

all my friends ask me what’s going on with us
and i lie to protect you – i say nothing
even though neither of us can quite let go
neither of us want our true feelings to show
or maybe that’s just wishful thinking on my part
the wishful thinking of a naive heart
i can’t tell you what i want to,
let me in
let me in
let me in
let me in to your life to live there with you,

day after day


i need to write tonight – for, or to, someone – even though my screen periodically goes black and then splits in three and there is constantly a warning message from internet explorer flashing in the centre.
it’s been hard to clean. i smile a little as i write that, and hope that i can explain it fully – one of the first things i did last week was to pull this gigantic plastic tupperware container out of my bedroom closet. this is where i keep a lot of my sister’s artwork, old birthday cards, school paintings – stuff that i think i might like to look at again one day. one of the first things i pulled out was the diary i mentioned.
this diary could have been called pandora’s box, for all i anticipated. i opened it at random and nearly dropped it, right away, reading the words i’d put down. this diary chronicles the four years surrounding my mother’s first two cancers. i was – 16? – when i started it and 19 when i finished.
the more i read of it the sadder i got.
i talked, then, of my eating disorders, of hating the way i looked, of wanting any boy to love me, of people only knowing sides of me but never the whole. i smoked cigarettes all the time and drank a lot and got depressed. i cut. i had my first nervous breakdown.
it seemed like i was reading the very beginning of the story that lead me here, and i wanted to go back through time, and hold the young girl who wondered, “what is happening to me?” when she felt the anxiety coming on, and tell her that she does walk through the fire. she gets through it. she survives.
there was one particular passage that rang a little gong in my head. that one said: “i want to be peaceful and calm inside, but yet chaos surrounds me. i hate it and yet i don’t change it.”

and i looked around my apartment and saw the chaos, felt how frustrated and exhausted i am by it, and for an instant, curled up in a defeated little ball.
on the back of this bag i have, there’s this saying, jumbled up amongst all the other sayings it has printed on it. and while i won’t quote it exactly, it basically says that the universe WANTS us to be mediocre, because by neither achieving great things or failing miserably, we enhance our chances at survival.

and i just looked at that, and the words reached their little fingers into my heart and said, “clean your fuckin apartment, bee.” and then they said, “you haven’t been cleaning your apartment because if you don’t, then you won’t do yoga in here and meditate. you won’t be able to write or have people over. you will stay closed up, in your safe little room, and you will survive, sure, but you won’t thrive. you won’t be living.”

i need to tell you about my dog, for a minute. in 3 months, daisy has gained 20 pounds, to her normal weight. i never walk her on leash, (which is a crapshoot, in montreal – there are hefty fines if you’re caught walking a dog “free”, and i live right down the street from a police station) because she knows the commands for “ask” (she’ll run up to say hi to just about everyone, but if someone looks nervous she slows down to make sure it’s okay), “gentle” (for kids or small dogs), “wait” (at the curb, before crossing), “slow”, and all of the ‘regular’ ones.
pretty much everyone who crosses her path tells me what a great dog she is, how happy she looks, how sweet and good. and she really is. she’s a freaking rascal, too – she’s chewed through 3 leads in a week, she loves eating garbage, she thinks she’s smarter than me, and i think she would marry every mud puddle she could if it were possible. but it makes me feel GOOD that we’re thriving with each other. she is sooo good to me. and i was thinking tonight as we watched a movie, (her passed out on my lap, due to the 6 hours of walking she got today) that having her velvet head to stroke makes pretty much everything better.

i’ve been angry lately. letting it out on people i shouldn’t – strangers who provoke me and who i won’t see again. i’ve needed to let go of so much, as i try to REALLY start a new chapter – getting rid of everything i don’t need, painting and re-arranging – my home, which i’ve realized is a weak metaphor for my own mind.

i’ve realized how far i’ve actually come.


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