The second letter

When I was eleven or so and I had one friend I remember telling her about my dream boyfriend. He had brown hair and green eyes. His favourite band was Metallica. I guess I still thought maybe there was a smidge of a hope for me to turn out normal, desiring the house and the lab and the 2,5 children and the valium, not just desiring to have the desire. Instead, here I am. I'm not perfect, in fact I'm quite fucked up. I'm in no position to be making any promises. What you see is what you get, if even. But I can tell you one thing, amidst the quirks and the phobias that fit into that one term "fucked up", including fear of intimacy, commitment and even conversations at times, an unhealthy view of sex and a cynical outlook on life, and the emotional capacity of the twelve-year-old I was when things went wrong, I have felt something akin to normal, healthy, sweet infatuation that could quite possibly lead to the real thing, once, for one person, and I don't mean to scare you but that's you, baby. That's what I have to offer. Take it or leave it. A piece of advice would be, leave it. Run for the hills. Because this girl's got a ton of baggage.

That's it.

The first letter

It’s one o’clock in the morning. As usual, I can’t sleep. I had this image in my head just now, in the bathroom, glancing at my own reflection as I turned back to the door, okay staring at my own reflection as I mapped out my distinctive features, and as I was looking into my own face in the dirty mirror glass, I gradually began to see past it, past myself, or past a layer of myself,
my vision sort of blurred but I could see myself more clearly.

I won’t take any Tylenols again, I promise. Trust me, I learned my lesson last time.

Something made me think of you, though.

Not just hearing your voice reason with the otherwise luring insanity of the back of my mind, but something else. A thought, maybe. An image most likely. I don’t even think in words anymore, I think in images and they’re not exactly clear either, they’re all overlapping, and morphing, and constantly moving. I find it hard to focus. I think I was remembering something about you,
a look you gave me or a secret smile.

I think about you a lot lately.

Especially when I can’t sleep. I know, it’s unhealthy. Most likely I am becoming obsessive again. But it’s not like before, when I was younger and I would lose track of time, or my grasp on reality; it’s different this time, now I can have my head in the clouds and keep my feet on the ground. It’s like what I was telling you about the mirror, I see past the first layer,
reality,

and I can gaze beyond it without it actually disappearing or changing, it’s still there, still very much real, just toned down.

Transparent.

Someone once told me that if I you run into a bear in the woods, the best thing to do is to drop down on the ground and play dead, in which case the bear will most likely leave you alone as opposed to if you start running. If you start running the bear’s instincts will kick in and she will take up chase. And they might seem like big, clumsy teddy bears, but they will catch you and one swat to your head with one of those paws could kill you in a second.

I quickly discovered that the technique worked with people as well, or situations.

Later on in life the two bled together.

Playing dead became a way of running. And as long as I was running away, I was dead to the world, just like Juliet. Recently, I can’t help but think it’s Romeo I’m running away from. You know, maybe it’s easier to just stay dead. Maybe I don’t want to wake up again and face the tedious cruelties that await me. Maybe I have good instincts and know what’s best for me… or maybe I’m a terrified little ferret.

I’ll wait for you, that’s what you said.

Well, you wrote it on a wall. We were such kids. Am I still a kid to you? Do you even know me, really know me? No, of course not, what a stupid question, how could you possibly? I don’t know you either. I think I’ve been too afraid to get to know you. I think I’ve been running away. This is no surprise to you, I’m sure. Do you even care?

I keep imagining that you share my thoughts about this and my memories of us, but you probably remember things a lot differently and it all probably means something altogether different to you, if it means anything at all.

It’s almost been five years since the first time I saw you.

It was infatuation at first sight and also the most terrifying thing I have ever experienced. I’m exaggerating. You were beautiful. I was speechless, worse, I spoke,

are you with someone,

and everyone thought it was a joke, even you, although the way you looked at me, the rest of the night you kept looking at me and smiling shyly, I’m probably inventing these memories as we speak, but it was New Year’s Eve and by right all our lives could be perceived magical if only for that one night and they did and the night lasted for ever until it was light outside and since it was the first of January and we were in the North of Sweden we had already missed half the day when the sun came up.

The next New Year’s Eve I was on an aeroplane going across the Atlantic Ocean.

I’ve yet to come back.

Do you think it’s possible that you are the reason I’ve lingered here, do you think maybe I’m avoiding you?

Other things have happened, to both of us, it’s not as black and white as that, why haven’t you asked me to come back, why haven’t you missed me enough to tell me to come back, do you even think about me at all? Nothing ever happened between us, so why does it feel like everything happened between us, and it was all that one night, that one night when something could have and was supposed to have happened and nothing most certainly did and that was my fault I pretended to be asleep by the way, I was scared, I ran away, and I kept running, it’s true, but if nothing happened why can’t I forget about you, why do I still lie awake at night and think about the way you looked at me, that first night and every night since it, and even that one morning,

you were framed in the light bouncing off the snow on the ground,

you had snowflakes in your hair, and your eyes were burning,

I’m not trying to be poet, I’m trying to be honest, but I think I’ve forgotten how.

I don’t even remember a single conversation I’ve had with you. All I have of you are images and I probably made half of them up. How sad is that? I’m beginning to think this has absolutely nothing to do with you, actually. I think this is about me. I think I’m avoiding myself, not you, or at least what you see in me, my own reflection in your eyes

as cheesy as that sounds, the way you look at me. No-one looks at me the way you do.

Or I don’t see it. Or I don’t care enough to take notice. It’s not black and white. Nothing is, not even my images of you.

The other night I actually got some sleep, but do you want to hear something ironic?

I had a dream and you were in it.

I was back home and you were there and I worshipped you as always and hid it as always and you, you were back together with your bastard of a boyfriend and completely oblivious to anything having ever been going on between us, so oblivious in fact that I started to doubt it myself, I started to think maybe I made it all up, and then I woke up, and now I can’t stop thinking about it. It wasn’t even real. It was a dream. And I’m losing sleep over it.
I’m thinking maybe going home for the holidays wasn’t the best idea, but I can’t wait to see you, to I don’t know, I don’t even know what we do, do we talk?

Do we touch each other or hug or make toasts or tell jokes or avoid or what?

I don’t even know anymore. In fact I think we’ve only been completely alone with each other twice. And there was nothing to say.

How can there be so much between us that it can fill up five years worth of sleepless nights and not words enough to fill five minutes?

I have to get up early in the morning, I’ve got errands, got to go check out this school, this art school down on Granville Island that I really want to apply to for next year, and then I’ve work in the afternoon, lots of markdowns to advertise and lots of retail fake Christmas cheer to spread with Rudolph, so I should probably go back to bed and at least try and get some sleep. But I really need to sit down an re-evaluate my life situation.

I’ll see you soon anyways.
Take care until then. Bye.
Yours, Ida.

intersection

Last night in Death by Chocolate we were serving the few desserts we had on styrofoam plates. Yeah. The dish washer is now completely broken. It's not just leaking water all over the floor and posing as a grave safety hazard for the poor employees scurrying all over the place, but it's actually broken. Which meant we couldn't use any glasses, plates, cutlery or anything that required washing, but all disposable stuff. Cheap, I know.

I really don't want to go back there tonight.

On the upside I'm getting stuff done, well kind of, I'm writing anyway. I'm on the third draft of my screenplay. We're discussing possible ways of promoting the thing and so on. This is the creative stage of our project though and I'm trying to make the most of it because eventually we're all going to be frustrated, uncreative and hating each other most likely... I'm with Cesar right now in Big News coffee shop, or "the clock tower" as I like to call it, and we've been discussing web layouts and promotional pictures, it's all very exciting..

My back really hurts since yesterday, although I don't know why. Probably all the typing...

Also a shadow of a feeling has risen from the past, the unrequited love of my life has come back to haunt me, but that's okay, I'm coming home for christmas and new years and I'll get to hang out with all my darlings back home and it'll be just like the old days... hey, a girl can dream for a moment right, before she has to get back to reality! :)

I like for you to be still

I fell in love yesterday. It was my brief coffee break and I ran next door to the Starbucks almost hidden away in the pouch of Chapters like a baby kangaroo and got my fix of dark roast. Then I strolled around in Chapters looking at all the books I would like to buy but mustn't. And then I fell in love with the words of Pablo Neruba. (And bought "Twenty love poems & a song of despair")

Later that afternoon I got off work and went home and fretted about my non-existant Halloween costume whilst waiting for Cesar to join me and get ready and then we were heading to Davie to go clubbing because it's been almost a year since we have and I know Cesar misses it a lot and I kind of wanted to just be out somewhere and let go as well.. while I was waiting I also talked to my agent on the phone concerning two auditions, one student film I'll go for on Monday and one small role in a regular film that we both decided wasn't worth it right now...

Cesar and I were supposed to go to Celebrities but when we found out that the cover was $40 we decided to seek our adventure elsewhere and ended up in Numbers where neither of us has ever been before and it was sort of fun. We danced a bit, had a couple of beers (and I should not have, because we had a bottle of wine before going and I do not mix well - but surprisingly it was fine this morning, so I guess I'm one step closer to alcoholism! Three cheers and a tiger...) and stuff. Just before we left I went off by my own and ended up on the dance floor again and I saw the same blonde who had smiled at me in the staircase earlier and I decided to linger nearby and dance for a bit. She was busy dancing with another lady though, but then she saw me and started eyeing me and before I knew it she was no longer dancing with the lady in black cat costume but with me. And when I say dancing, I mean softcore foreplay of course. It was fun. I gave her my number and said I had to go (Well, Cesar was still waiting after all.) and she said she was going back to Seattle in the morning, but if she called this number would I come and see her before she left? I said yes and it was nice meeting you, and left.

Of course she didn't call me in the morning, but then I wouldn't have notice if she did. I woke up at three this afternoon and had two missed calls from Sweden and one text message. The message was from her (her name is Sandra) and she said she passed out and will I be coming down to Seattle some time (and "What's your name again, I can't read your writing" hehe..)

I look worse for wear today, but I feel fairly fine. I made some soup and took it with me to work. The sky is gloomy but life is good. Let's see if Chocolate can Kill it for me, shall we...