Love sick

A long time, but not long lost, friend flew in from Toronto for a few days. I adore our friendship. The way that she finishes my sentences and we giggle conspiratorially as we wade through old memories and gossip about nemises and mistakes from the past.

It's something so easy. There's never been any cattiness or drama. If we don't talk for months, it's acceptable and the fault of no one. When we have the opportunity to get together each year, more often if we're lucky, things just fall into place. Conversation begins where it left off, life has continued but it's not an effort to catch up.

It is a wonderful experience that diverts my every waking moment from being a lovesick weirdo.

It's so ridiculous that you can go so long without knowing someone or having them in your life and all of a sudden two and a half weeks is torturous. Technically, I can live without him. But realistically, I'd much rather not.

So I spend a little extra time curled up before bed, reading postcards like some kind of staccatoed bedtime story.

I feel old.

20 years ago, Kitty was born.

My little blonde-haired, blue-eyed, mini-me (in personality only... obviously, due to the whole blonde vs red, blue vs green reality) is no longer a teenager.

It seems like yesterday I started university, moving into residence and away from her and Kiki. It's amazing how fast the time has flown by. At that time, she was just beginning highschool and here she is, the summer before third-year university. A brilliant, strong, hilarious, sickenly sweet human being.

We alternated between being sisterly pals, with me doing her hair, having sleepovers, chatting about anything and everything, to being great enemies. Since I've left, we've become more than sisterly pals, we've become great friends. Some of the best. Someone that even if I wasn't a four-year-old fortunate enough to have her come along as a baby sister, I would choose as a friend. I'm so in awe of her and the amazing person she has become, and to some extent, has always been.

She's been filling my life with joy (on and off) for the past 20 years. Thank you, dear Kitty, for being born. I know not what I would do without you.

Love, your big sister.

To accept, or not to accept?

It's weird when people from the long-ago past contact you on Facebook. Without a word in years, they suddenly want to be friends.

After being long-lost boyfriends, cheating when you make the leap from small town to big city for university, trying to mess with your head every time you return to your country home. After professing to you in moments of pure drunkeness that you're the best thing that ever happened to him, that he was a fool to ever let you go. As if he had a choice in the matter. False promises. Not that one would want them to ever come true.

It's a battle between wanting to creep knowing you're better off, and just wanting the past to be in the past.

Lazy Sunday

The Boy is gone to Europe with his BFF for a few weeks, where my BFF can also be found these days. I'm pretty envious, but excited for the whole gang at the same time. Ah, to live vicariously through other people.

It's been fairly quiet on the home front, spending a bit of time recharging. Taking care of spring cleaning (a wee bit late), birthdaying a lot (my darling roomate has taken to referring to me as "Paris Hilton" with my three birthdays... which is somewhat unnerving), and reading.

Reading is something that I've not had nearly enough time to do lately. It's something that I enjoy, but that gets pushed to the background. It used to be an escape. I'd be found hidden away somewhere reading the adventures of others and getting lost in the pages of my favourite tales. Much to the chagrin of my mother. She'd give me chores, I'd complete them as fast as humanly possible and hide out in my room with a book until she yelled for me to come back. I spent many nights with the light on, unable to put the book down to sleep until I'd pass out on an open novel.

All of the reading necessary for university ruined that for me a little bit. So much time was spent reading for school that it was no longer enjoyable to do it in my downtime (unless it was some fluffy chick-lit which I could breeze through in a couple of hours).

I finished Kerouac on Sunday and have started in on the pile of unread (or partially read) books I have going on. I have a different book for reading outside in the sunshine than for reading before bed. One for work, one for home. It doesn't make much sense, but hey, that's how I roll.

Other things that have happened since the boy's been gone:

• I won $90 at the casino for birthday deux, vegas style. We were lucky to be at a table with some really nice guys who helped us decide whether to stay, hit or double down.
• I transferred my Ontario licence for an Alberta one. It's still a beginner's/learner's... but hey, it's a start.
• Improved my golf skills at the driving range. Mourned the loss of roomie's car. Poor car had a good, long life (20 years!). CAA/AMA guy didn't even laugh too much when Krista kissed the hood and paid her final respects.

I've been reading

Carlo Marx and I once sat down together, knee to knee, in two chairs, facing, and I told him a dream I had about a strange Arabian figure that was pursuing me across the desert; that I tried to avoid; that finally overtook me just before I reached the Protective City. "Who is this?" said Carlo. We pondered it. I proposed it was myself, wearing a shroud. Something, someone, some spirit was pursuing all of us across the desert of life and was bound to catch us before we reached heaven. Naturally, now that I look back on it, this was only death: death will overtake us before heaven. The one thing that we yearn for in our living days, that makes us sigh and groan and undergo sweet nauseas of all kinds, is the remembrance of some lost bliss that was probably experienced in the womb and can only be reproduced (though we the to admit it) in death. But who wants to die?

-- On the Road, Jack Kerouac

I need a vacation from my vacation

...though I'm long since back. I feel the need to get away once again. Just seems like there's no time to fit in the 18 hours of sleep I could use.

Shocked in a good way.

It's about time.