20070227

Possessions

Unlimited access to movies, music, television, and books for a flat fee, that's the promise of the Internet. There's a list on my computer of albums I want to hear. Books I want to read. Movies and television series I want to see. Every night while I'm asleep, the fan of the computer is humming in the background. My first act upon waking is to cross a few items off the lists.

Once a week, I take the subway to the east side of the city, grabbing a transfer as I leave the station. My bag is filled with possessions that a nearby store will give me money for.

Bag lighter, wallet thicker, I walk back to the station and catch a bus going west. Paying with the transfer from the station.

When I go to bed at night, those lists I keep, they're longer than they were when I woke up.

20070222

Three legs

Walking home, there's an empty car idling with the driver's side door open. As I near, a man comes out from behind my building, buttoning his trousers. He gets in the car and drives away.

As the winter goes on, there are more and more patches of yellow snow. The sidewalk I'm walking on, I have to swerve like a drunk in order to not step in them.

There's this dog with three legs I see when I do my groceries in the afternoon. Two in the back, one in the front. His owner walks him in the afternoons at pretty much the same time every day. The dog, every step he takes, you could swear his head was about to hit the pavement. Whenever I see them, I always make sure to slow my pace, keep behind them. Walk with them as much as possible. I still haven't seen the dog make a patch of yellow snow.

20070221

Naked

You always figure that having a party where no one shows up, that would be the worst thing possible. A nightmare. Like getting on the school bus with everyone laughing, only to look down and find out you were naked.

The floors all swept and mopped in the afternoon. Music playing in the speakers. Enough bottles of vodka to kill you three times over. A door buzzer that never rings.

It turns out, of course, that things can be worse. The door buzzer can ring once.

20070218

This day

February eighteenth, three years ago, I wrote, "Her sister comes and picks her up after we speak. Alone, I roll into a ball on the couch. Muscles spasm. Arms and legs curl in on themselves. Chest muscles crush lungs. No breathing, no crying, my body a deformed statue. And then, relaxation. Limpness. Howling noises escape from my throat. Tears and snot cover my face."

Every year since, on February eighteenth, I've had friends over for drinks. To celebrate her breaking up with me. The party comes with the promise that the toasts will become more bitter as the night progresses. Last year, the final toast was on the cyclical nature of our romantic lives.

Four years ago, on this day, I was out with friends playing pool. I stayed in and watched the telly. I worked late. I went out for dinner.

20070214

One red-petaled flower

Standing in the queue waiting to pay for my groceries, the man in front of me is buying a chocolate bar and flowers. To my left, there's a man picking up various chocolate boxes and adding them to his basket.

Walking home, I turn the corner and pass a woman holding one red-petaled flower encased in plastic wrap.

The CBC published an article called Loathing Love's Day. In response someone wrote in that they should just be happy for other people. That they should look at this day in a positive light, "as an inspiration to shed the things holding you back from finding love."

20070211

Leaking

Flipping the switch, there's a snap as the light flares and then goes out. That was the second to last bulb in the flat. The other light being the one in the hallway that connects the living room, the toilet, and the bedroom.

Needing to cook dinner, I leave the kitchen passing by the front door, light leaking in from underneath it, pass through the living room, grabbing a chair as I go, and into the hallway. Stopping, I walk back towards the front door, open it, and there along the wall, covered by pretty little lamp shades, is a series of light bulbs.

20070210

Thump

Lying in bed, I hear a thump on the balcony. Followed shortly by a creak coming from the wood floors in the living room. Body unmoving, my eyes are focused on the entranceway to my room. No blinking.

Everything is silent. My breathing makes no noise. The living room is still. The only sound is a whir coming from beneath me. It rises up through the floor and through my mattress. Staring at the doorway, all I can hear is the continuous hum from beneath me. With my head vibrating in tune with the whir, I roll over to the side of the bed and slam my hand against the floor, thump, thump, thump, yelling out, "I know. I know what you're doing."

In the morning, I turn my head so that my ear faces the floor, and I can hear it. The whirring. I get out of bed, pick up my mattress, and move it into the living room. Dropping it down right in the center of the floor.

20070205

The list

There was this punk band in the nineties, used to sing a song called Shitlist. Each verse they'd sing about how someone had done them wrong, and then they'd end it off with the line, "you made my shitlist." Except they'd take a slight pause between my and shitlist.

There's a list I keep as well. I don't think of it as a list, and I've never told anyone they were on it. But no one's ever gotten off of it, and when my phone rings, the list is the reason why my answering machine always answers.

The last time I spoke to my mother she was asking me to housesit while she went on vacation. Yellow walls and furniture with cushions that exhaled smoke every time you sat on them. Dogs that when the sun rose, they started barking while looking at their empty food dish. I said "no." I said, "but maybe instead we." Which is when she started talking. She said, "I can't fucking believe it one little favour and you have to be such a fucking asshole." She said a few more sentences that were really just paraphrases of that one, and then she hung up on me.