January 4, 2003 — Somewhere

I’m still sick and still taking three pills a day when I remember. Outside, it started snowing two days ago and didn’t stop until this morning. The ground is finally covered, and I don’t think I’ll see grass again until spring sets in. I’m getting healthier, but I dread the next three months.

I was having a good day today; I was happy at work, and my bus ride home went very quickly, especially compared to my ninety-minute journey last night. Then I arrived home and listened to three phone messages, none for me except for a saved message letting me know a library book I already returned is overdue.

The message from the library triggered a lot of frustration and helplessness in me. They’re mostly frustrations stemming from other things, things that I try not to think about. But the library book didn’t help. I know I’m going to have to pay for it, and it was a terrible book, and I am certain I returned it.

I was upset, so I went for a walk and bought a slice of pizza. I became paranoid, convinced that the staff were making fun of me for being too regular a customer. They burned my pizza, so I had that to fume over as I tried to think of a way to prove that I returned my library book.

The problem is, even if I go to the other branch and find the book, they can just say that I brought it into the library and pretended that it had been there all along. No matter what I do, I will have to pay a fine, and I might have to pay for the book, too.

I started fantasizing about paying for the book and then going to the other branch. I’d find my book there and insist that I be allowed to take it since I’d been forced to pay for it. Then I would burn it on the steps of the library.

As I don’t normally entertain thoughts of burning books, I took this as a good sign that I wasn’t quite myself.

Finished eating, I walked home, still bitter about my burnt pizza and obsessing over my library book.

But getting back to the frustration, helplessness, and (though not mentioned above) aimlessness.

I don’t feel trapped. That’s not it at all. I just feel like I’m wasting my life. I’m not accomplishing anything. I’m lonely. I’m unproductive. I’ve spent 18 months doing whatever it is I’m doing now, and nothing has come of it. I need to change.

I think something will have to happen this summer. Johnston is moving back to Ottawa in May or June. Amy is going back to her home in Goderich. And Jeff will probably be on tour with Cuff The Duke. Andrew might still be in Toronto, but he has his own group of friends and tends to do his own thing. So I would be mostly alone.

That said, if Johnston gives our landlord notice in March, I might do the same.

I have no idea what I’ll do, and I’m a bit terrified of all that could go wrong. My life right now, aside from being unproductive and empty, is safe, consistent, and easy. I would be giving up the routine that I’ve fallen into over almost two years.

But I have to do something. I’m convinced that I can feel myself aging, that I only have a few more years left before my body falls apart. Or, alternatively, I find myself thinking, “Well, it looks like I won’t make much of myself in this lifetime. I wonder how old I will be when I give up on myself and decide to have kids, leaving it to them to do a better job making something of their lives than I did making something of mine.”

That I see a person’s decision to have children as proof they’ve given up is disturbing; that I would consider having children only to live vicariously through them convinces me that it’s me who has a problem, not the people who decide to be parents.

But we’ve gone a bit off track. Back to this summer.

In the event that I do work up the courage to give notice to my landlord, I would like to ask for a leave of absence at IKEA. Then I would like to take some of my savings, buy a Greyhound bus pass, and go to some places I haven’t been before. (Of which there are many.)

In the course of writing that last paragraph, I went to the Greyhound and VIA Rail web sites, tried to figure out how their passes work, panicked, and decided that maybe I’ll just stay home.

I think maybe you should disregard all of this. I am going to bed.

It is tomorrow now. I ought to stop panicking and making a scene while sitting in front of the computer. I say a lot of inappropriate things, and the endings are much too abrupt.