A Date... Maybe

Well, maybe I went on a date last night. A maybedate. It's so strange in the real world, outside of the internet, when men and women are getting together. So uncertain. We play aloof and casual and it's never very clear whether we're dating or just hanging out.

My maybedate last night was nice. He shook my hand when I came in which was awkward and cute. We had coffee... for three hours. I talked a lot, which was annoying (sometimes, no matter how much my mind might persist, my mouth just won't stop), but he talked too, so there was almost a balance. He's smart and funny and he gets my jokes and makes similar jokes of his own, and he likes nature and hiking and he's totally cute.

So it went well, I think. I would love to maybe have another date. Not gonna lie, though, I've realized I'm a little scared again. Do I really want to get back out there, back to that vulnerable place where my heart is on the line? On purpose??? Please, please, please don't let me fall for him just for me to get hurt. The hurt is getting annoying...

The Earring

It's just an earring, but it feels like an end.

It fell out that night in your car three months ago when you reached over to kiss me. I didn't bother to search for it under the seat because I knew I'd be back in that car again soon and I didn't want to ruin the moment with searching. And the world was beautiful and I was beautiful and you were mine, and I got out of that car with one less earring but with one more hope.

When you dropped that earring into my hand today, you, towering over me with the winter cold pouring through my car window, it felt loud. It felt heavy and final and sad. And you didn't smile and we talked of life and its hardships and I agreed that you have it pretty rough these days. And I wanted you to touch me. I wanted you to say that it wasn't over and that you still wanted me and that you were going to keep the earring so I'd have to come back again soon...

And as I drove away, through restrained tears I breathed a sigh of relief; because you gave me back my earring... and in doing so you set me free.

Wonderful and Sad...

I'm sad these days. It's interesting, this specific sadness, because it hasn't taken root. I sigh a lot and I don't seem to feel overly cheerful, but I'm also not crying alone in my basement apartment wishing things were different. It's not a sadness that has become me, but more a state of perpetual lethargy mixed with small tinges of brief sorrow.

Because it hasn't taken root, I can still sit back and look at it objectively. I can observe my sadness. And because I can observe it, I can combat it. I will combat it.

Here is some beauty that has found its way into my life recently:

Salad Thursday

My lunch often comes from the cafeteria at work. The selection at the cafeteria is minimal -- in fact, there is only one food option each day. Two days a week they serve something resembling pizza, and two days they serve some sort of pasta dish. But Thursday, sweet Thursday, is SALAD DAY. On Thursday I order a double salad (the size of a dinner plate) with real bacon bits and cheesy garlic bread on the side. Each Thursday I walk up the stairs past the throng of individuals heading down to eat their lunch and receive at least five comments about the size of my salad. It's big. And it's good.

Hawksley Workman

Have you ever listened to an album and felt like every single song describes exactly what you're going through at that present moment? That's Lover/Fighter for me right now. Hawksley (I just discovered his real name is actually Ryan) has the perfect balance of romanticism and cynicism. He finds the beauty in the world, but also explores the anger and the sadness. For those of you who are unfamiliar, do yourself a favour and familiarize.

Canada Post

Two days ago I went outside to check my mailbox only to discover it iced shut. "No big deal," you may say, "just break the ice." Well, this ice is no sissy. This is hardcore Canadian ice, about an inch thick. Now, I am not one to normally be concerned about my mailbox. I get minimal to no mail on a regular basis, with the exception of the weekly flyer that tells me about the bonus Optimum points I can earn at Shopper's Drug Mart if I shop there this Friday. But I have recently found a reason to be mail conscious. You see, I'm expecting a package. It may come today, it may not come for another month, but sometime in the future I have some real actual mail promised to me that has the potential to make my life quite bright. So you can imagine my joy when I came home yesterday to find a bill leaning against my door. Ice shmice -- my mail carrier delivers!

and finally... New Socks

I'm wearing some today. They're black and they're business. They remind me of Flight of the Conchords which makes me smile, plus I like their thickness and their height. I also like that they were on sale.

The Train Game

I was walking to my car this morning, miserably cold, and two thoughts came to me, consecutively.

Thought #1: "Oh, I'm so glad I don't have to walk all the way to the subway."

Thought #2: "But oh, I kinda miss public transit."

I love the subway. Love it. I love the idea of it, how it saves the environment while bringing people together at the same time. I love that a homeless man can sit next to a CEO and it's not weird or special or newsworthy. I love the time that the subway lends me, to read a good book, to finish a crossword puzzle, or to remember how much I love the old songs on my iPod.

And I love the people. I am an avid people watcher, and the subway provides me with the most interesting subjects. Everyone is so different and weird and beautiful. They all have a life story that I can make up. They have interesting clothes and hair and faces and sometimes I even see their smiles, and when that happens it's amazing.

People don't often smile on the subway. This is not news. I think it strange, though, and something that should be remedied; so a few years ago, I made up a game.

Rule #1: Stand on the subway platform and wait for a train to arrive.

Rule #2: Select an individual. Preferably one who seems to be looking out the window in your general direction. Bonus points if they seem really grumpy.

Rule #3: As soon as the doors to the train close, look that person directly in the eye and smile as big as possible. Don't lose eye contact until the subject is out of sight.

In most cases, the subject will have one of two reactions. Either they will immediately avert their gaze and spend the rest of the time at the station avoiding the window at all costs, or they will briefly see me, look away, and then carefully look back. In this second situation, invariably I will see a smile form on their face a split second before we lose eye contact.

It's magical.

I like to imagine what happens afterwards. Do they go back to being grumpy? Or is it like that McDonald's commercial when one person sees a Big Mac and they are inspired to buy one as well and the idea of the Big Mac goes international, eventually feeding the whole world? It's probably just like that. I'm making the whole world smile.

I need to run some errands this afternoon, and I'll be driving Bella, my Pontiac Pursuit (lovingly bestowed upon me by my beautiful and amazingly sassy Grammie Esther a year before she passed away). I'm thankful for this car, and for the freedom that comes with it, but I hope that Bella doesn't keep me from the world. I hope that every once in a while I'll choose to take the train, if for no other reason than to play my silly game and see how many grumps I can jostle...