expect less.

I suddenly remembered a conversation I had with my mother when I was 9 years old tonight.

We were driving to the grocery store one afternoon in late April when, from the backseat, I softly asked her why people have to die. She didn't know. She proceeded to tell me that she feared death and often had vivid dreams of her own demise - she refused to share with me what happened in them, though.

For many years after that conversation, I had a paralyzing fear of death. So bad, in fact, that the anxiety I'd feel would keep me home from school and send me into crying fits, that became so numerous that it was odd for a day to pass without one. I eventually forced myself to get over it, instead turning the fear into a morbid fascination.

I think about dying more than I'd like to admit to. I think about how I will die, and when I will die. I think a lot of why I ultimately have to die. I don't think I ever really feared death. More so, I think I feared time, and simply not having enough of it. In a certain light, I'm still hanging on to that fear because (direct SK quote here) in the countdown to death, the question of why? melts into when?. How much time do we really ever have? I refuse to make plans for the future because I have such little foresight as to how long I'm going to be around for; how long I will have to keep the promises I've made. I suppose that, in holding back, I'm really not living life to the fullest - I'm not making the most of my time. It seems easier this way, though. It feels like less people get hurt this way.

So, what would I do with my last day, anyways? Don't pretend like you haven't thought about it.

I think I'd take the ferry home - to the island. My dog would be alive again, and we'd walk through the daffodil fields one more time at the farm behind my old house. We'd go down to the bay together, and I'd through sticks for her across the beach. We'd get tired after a while, so we'd nap together on the shore. We'd die peacefully there, while we slept, and the ocean's waves would take our bodies away. We drift off to sea, and nobody would even see that we were gone - nobody would be have to be sad or even miss us.

It might be depressing to think about things like this, but I also think it's therapeutic. There's no sense in ignoring the fact that one day you will die. They say ignorance is bliss, but quite frankly, I think that's more absurd that anticipating what is eventually coming for us all in the end.

What do you think?

the day after that day.

You know....Valentine's Day.

Valentine's Day has always been, to me, a meaningless holiday constructed from the combined efforts of greeting card companies and chocolate manufacturers to boost sales between Christmas and Easter. I usually spend Valentine's Day in perfect solitude, ignoring it's existance altogether. Minus, of course, giving my niece a little treat, but that's because she's my special lady. It's nice to do things like that for her, because I firmly believe that just because I'm not a fan, doesn't mean that I can't encourage her to have fun with it. It's not like she's at "that age" yet, anyway.

And now, here's the greatest thing that bothers me about Valentine's Day, and at the same time, doesn't. For me, I ask the question: "why do we need to set aside a particular day to make us all take the time to let the people we love know how much we care? Shouldn't we be doing that every day? Is that not something important to do?" Really, the world lacks love in it's day-to-day life, and that's very discouraging. Now, the thing that I do like about it is that it's one day out of the year that reminds us how much we really do love the people in our lives, and gives everyone a solid chance to let it shine. And that's good times all around, y'know?

How did I celebrate the day of love, you ask, now that I'm attached? Good question. Well, the ol' ball-and-chain was outta town, so I spent V-Day celebrating S.A.D. (Single's Awareness Day) with the lovely and charming Emily (whom, of which, I am strangely surprised is still single...wow, check out that alliteration). We made a bitchin' dinner and an even snazzier dessert, followed by hot tubbin' and a few flicks. Everything Is Illuminated I highly suggest for you to check out; Color Me Kubrick, on the other hand...I'm sorry John-boy, but sometimes you fail to impress.

I wish the red didn't fade from my hair so fast. Ben Kweller and I hung out tonight while I slathered my melon in dark-purpley Clairol goo. My hair now smells like a vanilla dream. Swoon!

Jesus loves Bowie. He told me himself.

Okay.

So, I used to be obsessed with my hair. Not so much the style, but how dirty long it was. It was mermaid hair - it was gorgeous. It was longer than a pornstar's penis, golden, wavy, and perfect! Mind you, it was shapeless and I did spend like, a small fortune on shampoos and conditioners for it. Whatever.

I had an identity crisis in August (as I'm sure you'll recall), and chopped my mop considerably. And dyed it. Whatever. It was good, for a time, but then it grew (imagine that) and I needed a change again.

And so Friday afternoon kicks in, along with where this tale is going:

I cut off all my hair. Insert heaving noises here.

It looks decent, I guess; it's more petite than it's ever been. In fact, I'm almost pretty sure that I was born with longer hair*. I had a mild breakdown last night at work and asked Scooty (in tears) "what have I done?".

"Hair grows, dear."

True.

* = indicates complete lies

P.S. It's Post Secret Sunday! It's Post Secret Sunday!

it is now February.

I was sitting on a bench downtown on Saturday morning.

I had convinced Emily to go back into the bookstore we had just come out of, and give her number to the strikingly handsome clerk who rang her issue of Interview through, and gave her a free Globe and Mail. Well, it wasn't right after we'd come out; we went for sushi first.

We had talked about the fact that, in her short 19 years, she'd never done something so bold as asking out a random stranger. I rationalized with Emily that there wasn't anything really bad that could happen in her instance - either he'd call her, or he wouldn't. She tried the old "but what if he has a girlfriend?" schtick. So what if he has a girlfriend? If he does, he won't call you. Again, it can really only go one of two ways. If anything, she flattered the young man, and possibly made his day that much better. Funny thing is that she may never even know. And so became my thought of the day: why don't we all take more risks? Why don't people chase the things that they really want? What holds people back? Can it really only be the fear of uncertainty that makes people so chicken shit to do what they want?

And so here's my new February's resolution, because my new year's resolutions didn't hold up so well: take and encourage more risks. It took me a good half hour to convince Emily to do what she did, but it was worth it, even if she doesn't get a phone call from the guy.

Life is too short to live afraid and left wondering.