the mEp of march, 2016

march 30
one day morphs into another whether you're the in-patient or the impatient.
although the patient is also impatient, he can still count the days.
for some, forcing emotions to come out requires an exorcism of sorts.
it's this battle which defines the fine line between love and hate/


monday march 29th
march madness. self proclaimed.


march 28th
strange sundays morph into stranger easters:
he knew it was easter and he knew it was weird:
much of mania is a self-fulfilling prophecy.

march 27th
the road ahead


facebook thinks i'm in the Bahamas. it's not as smart as he thinks it is. our mountain selfdies were sunnier today; some fog has lifted to light the road ahead. you'll see however, that it's quite a long road.

the infp's softened me up beyond recognition. as i parade through a very beloved part of downtown by myself, integrating thoughts i had twenty years ago with the sights and sounds of a more modern place, it becomes apparent to me that although i see with the same eyes; i breathe in real emotions now. 

in my lifetime Easter died.

march 26th

it's a special Easter weekend indeed.

  "selfdies" on the mountain for posterity; i have not yet spoken of Angels on the Mountain;
and if you knew the depth to which i cling to a scary intuition, you might think me crazy too.

it was 1985, when i last entered that building, still tall and forboding, rising from the top of Guy street. when i felt connected to the decaying buildings lining Pine avenue,
and an overwhelming sense of premonition came over me. for many years, i embraced that sense of 'knowing', but when the premonition sees backwards in time, it is not longer comforting, but disquieting indeed.

i supposed that is the truest observation i can make today;
i have premonitioned all of this; i knew it would come to pass;  i did not know how or why or when;
but i knew.

march 24th
being needed is not a place i gravitate to.
writing a book would be fine
even contemplating reality is ok once in a blue moon;
i'm pretty okay with pushing the boundaries;
but being responsible for other human beings
is not my comfy zone.

is it anyone's?
are people aware how vulnerable they are,
when they control their children,
their spouse, their environment?
personally, i prefer a human distance
breathing room
to allow us all to sit up straight in our own boxes.
and when we fall over we can't knock anyone else down.

who wants to be knocked down.

march 19th

butterflies greet me where i turn today:
wiping your table, now ours, and maneuvering around everything which reminds me you're not here, which today, is everything.

your messages come at me like darts; what story will fourteen words tell today?
this little ENTJ chest is full today:
it swelled as we wandered the cavernous corridors of the mall:
as i impatiently snaked through the bowels of TMR:
as i made our bed,
as i wiped our floors,
as i wiped my brow.

i still can't believe i found you
and you can't seem to believe it

Francesco tells me to trust my intuition, that it is exceptional.
this entj takes great comfort in that. having faith in something is rare indeed, but i shall carry his words
with me, on our journey into the future.

march 18th
i feel like the story needs to be told yet i am not sure i want to see it writ.
the romance oscillates in time:  when you are far, the wave peaks;
and in this instance, it seems to have crashed like a wave upon the shore

march 17th
the strangest st Patrick's day has come to pass.
it is here: this obtuse moment: it is now.
as i contemplate in perfect hindsight, every beautiful and strange thing,

they now culminate into a perfect storm of sorts as i watch you free-fall into someone else's arms


march 16th
if i asked you to write as though no one was watching, could you?
if i asked you to remember a million thoughts could you?

march 15th
an hour after first speaking to the man in the call center, we have a new flight.
one arduous hour for me, many for him.

arch 14th
several sublime nights of sleep under a wedding quilt have been crushed by daylight savings time.
as the sole human in this place i am now responsible for hay depositions into the guinea pig cages
and also, in passing, feeding the multitudes of black mollies, now bizarrely accompanied by one of
the previously-assumed deceased darting shiny glowing ones. so basically the change in feeding
schedule has brought out different fauna in the kitchen.

virtually immovable now after being woken from a second vivid dream; in the first i was riding a bus
while a woman sorted through her luggage and threw shorts out the window as she sorted and the second
wait for it, the second,  i was on a conference call in a house i've never been in and had to go to the basement
to hear because someone was vacuuming, and no matter how many times i asked who was on the call,
these people continued talking to each other as though i wasn't there, as though it was not my project
and they didn't need me at all to be there. i fought with the technology for a bit ripping cords and wires
from headsets and whatnot until it dawned on my that it wasn't a meeting i had called but another one.

the various dull rumblings from outside are varied and dull, but the world wakes on this monday, DST or not.
imagine all those souls who work on schedules, in hospitals, in stores, in accounting departments.
maybe if i were forced to be somewhere it would be a good thing.
imagine if all you could to most of the time was feel?


march 10th

It just dawned on me that perhaps he was normal all along.

There was a line in the magazine which described the similarities of Justin and Sophie: how they are both similarly similar and that the interviewer wondered how they even ever found each other and then a normal traveling couple on the metro who look alike reminded me

And I wondered this morning, why you used to tell me you were 2 sigmas out so often and now you stopped. Do I make you feel more normal by treating you normal or do I make you feel more normal by not being so normal. I wonder this often.

So I pulled out my laptop to jot down these thoughts while I can’t connect to the magical waves in the sky that connect us no matter where you are

And I realized that perhaps for all those years, I made assumptions about his level of normal and perhaps I was wrong all along.
Perhaps he is actually normal and the abnormal I saw in him was only in my minds eye. What tragedy to not know someone you think you know well.

I think you know this tragedy of which i speak.



too many unconditional rules which were immovable
too much privacy; too much hiding;
i am not that person;
i never was.

march 9th

dates barrel forward at an alarming pace
as i stepped out of my bed this morning it dawned on me how much time i spend thinking about my age
these numbers have become debilitating
and i guess i need to change that before it's too late

but my foot hit the floor at 6:52
and it seems to be a pattern now, waking by 7, as it was before, and like i said, full circle, back to the beginning.

mostly, i find positioning myself in the world satisfying, i look to my left with the morning sun peaking through
the fence and drawing lines on the snow; down the wide clean hallway are clean pigs, yes, i'm growing ever
more satisfied with order and cleanliness, wasn't that a very long dark period of messiness, it seemed forever
to this ENTJ, the piles of clothing collecting soot. we've seen many fogs lifted you and me, but this one was a

march 8th

people in my world wear matching socks. been fighting this my entire life.
however i do like the bed made. somehow i forgot that. now i get it again.
wish i would have known long ago which parts of me are movable and which parts are not.
we are physical beings. we have physical needs.

march 7th

  years later, i'm me. here i am. my bed is made, the dishes are done, and perspective is following me around.

march 6th

after a funeral for a man five years older than yourself, you think about allota-things.
the sound of his laughter rings through your ears in a cruel attempt to re-create the man, for one.
your appropriate behaviour, for two, you wonder if you have shown your daughter a respectable way to behave.
the length of everyone's life becomes merely the length of eveyone's life; there is no wishing or altering
since this is what has come to pass and any dreamlike state of wonderment will not change that.
so although you might be perplexed at the abruptness of it all, as you age, you do lament less for what could have been,
and you wonder more about what will be after you are gone.

the night was filled with a thousand wonderments which sounds cruel and unkind
but i move through this world differently now, as though seeing things for the first time,
from under a small shell on the sea floor, or peering through curtains before the last act,
hearing people speak for the first time; in tones which are crystal clear; and almost shocking
while others are warm and inviting; some wisdom has crept through my bones while i was aching
and i am the lone actor and spectator in this one woman act; the play is silently sublime, perfectly cast,
and although at times i still feel like a flatlander passing through a world where no one understands me
i am able to once in a while, zone in with the "flat" and feel far more attuned than some of the topsy-turvey
characters around me

watching the married couples on the escalator - i realized how i always used to walk on eggshells - for fear of some ridiculous
criticism and not even knowing that one can lay one's tired head back into the shoulder of a man who hasn't judged you for
the last seventeen things you have said. oh joy. oh joy. oh peaceful joy.

march 3rd

it's a new slice of reality i'm in now and the space in this room allows me to think:
like the oregami folds which mask the layers underneath them, so do i only expose the parts i am willing to see
a process has come full circle: i must now sit and write about it: the end of the bell curve is nigh.
the desk under these wrists has followed me in this journey, and the year's worth of empty diary pages
in it's drawers beckon.

most of the world asks 'Why' in the face of my "how".
i've been asking "how" since i first sat at this desk more than 35 years ago.
'Why' is a question for feelers. i see that now. 'how' is more useful - but only to those who ask -
though most people don't even understand the question.

this is the story of my life.
i've been asking questions that people don't understand.

no wonder no one has the answers but me.

march 3rd

four billion people surround us: so many souls lose their way: all that we have is each other:
jann arden sings in my mind; comforting me as no other; reminding me how east and west unite as countrymen;
and building up the strongest parts of me. no wonder women love her.

if i were to say what is today i'd say it's a good day
i'd say i was sleepy and i slept
i'd say i was hungry and i ate
i'd say i have time to spit out these words
i'd say i like the sound of the jackhammering across the park
i'd say i see the slurry of a morning blue tinting the curtains
i'd say i have room to breathe in this room

march 2nd

a million random thoughts are not so random
i've time warped myself into the same room i could have been in a million years ago
there are two closets and a laundry bin
oh my, i've been here before, God knows it.
this desk has landed right where it belongs
she never wanted it
what else didn't she want
we've both dragged old wooden furntire a million miles
back to where it belonged in the first place
and somehow, a woman in Calgary, made us a wedding quilt with her bare hands.
while five weeks ago i had no clue how it would ever end up on my bed
it sits here now, warming my legs
and warming my heart.