I'm forcing myself to write. I feel like I haven't finished something, really finished something in a while. The last book I read to the end was Cleaver by Tim Parks for my British Contemporary Fiction course. That was a month ago. I'm not completing reading articles, writing entries, anything. Apathy has been prevalent for a while in terms of...input/output? The problem is that there are too many interesting things out there right now and I want to be part of all of them. Conversely I take part in almost none because I can't make up my mind. Or something.
Christmas is also a bit stressful around here. I don't know how much I want to partake anymore. Usually it's the one time a year when the family acts as if they were normal people. I should have realized something was when I walked in and noticed that we didn't have the good china out. Way to half ass it. Tim and myself are at age of majority now so there may be less pressure to make Christmas exciting but it's the one time during the year where all of us are at the same table, literally. It was almost more depressing than if I had stayed home and did things on my own, but I wanted to give my mom her gift. I was really pleased with her reaction, rampant laughter and joy. She loves these little guys (top photo). We used to have one and I lost it way back when, she had forgotten so this was an unexpected thing.
In other news my stepfather loved his leopard print Snuggie.
I hate when there's social pressure around the holidays. If I'm such a curmudgeon this early on, wait till I get older. I'm going to be one of those old people with a shotgun. (This amuses me greatly)
So what else has happened since the beginning of December? I went to Los Angeles, which was great. There's something about Toronto right now that's got me on edge and I think I was starting to head down a strange path. The darkness of winter closing in. It was a good decision. Flying on its own cheers me up like nothing else, but looking out the window over the San Francisco salt ponds (gorgeous!) and then landing in Los Angeles and coming out to a perfectly sunny day with clear skies was idyllic. Then it rained for the rest of the time I was there. And I didn't care. Which is weird if you don't know me. Normally I would take this as a personal affront. For some reason it didn't matter. What mattered was being there and soaking it in. It felt good, somehow everything just rolled off my shoulders. The knot in my chest reappeared when I got back but smaller, somehow. Needless to say I miss it, but I'm not worried because I plan on going back. The first day Emma and I went down to the beach so I could dip my toes and we saw baby seagulls, that was cool. They ran around really fast and played chicken with the tides. The drive back to Emma's was full of lush green foliage. It felt more like Europe or more specifically the Dalmatian coast than North America. Especially right at the edge. That might have been why I was so happy. Also, the food. Best green peppers ever. No joke.
NYE passed by in a flash, we didn't make a huge deal of it but it always feels like a chance for a reboot. There are things that have been bothering me since I came back from LA and it seems correct to implement the solution in the new year. Mostly I think there will just be a culling of the herds. Simply: if you've been treating me like crap, I'm not dealing with it/you anymore. So, other goals - to take school more seriously, to finish things I start, and to learn how to drive. Gah, my writing feels so disjointed lately, I think I need to work on that too. More later.
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