Boxing Day, early morn, 2024.

Thursday, December 26th, 2024.

5:27am {background noise: Philip Glass: ‘The Hours’ soundtrack + Mad Rush} It's been months since I've attempted to type 750 words but I have been writing a bit here and there in my paper journal - recently finishing one and starting a new one - but writing has continued to be a sporadic thing, much like reading. Most of my time has been spent playing video games, streaming 'Helldivers 2' and working on my gaming channel. It's silly but the near daily livestreams has been helping my channel grow and given me some hope that perhaps I could actually make it into something if I stick with it. It's helped me spend less time in the gta online world but I realize that it's still the avoidance of other things I could be doing - like reading great books and writing regularly and accomplishing other things in my life - but after the past few years, I can't deny that gaming and streaming has become an interest of mine that I would like to do better with as well.

There is some saying or knowledge out there about how you need to pick one or two things you're good at or passionate about and go with that - not have yourself scattered to the wind with numerous interests and hobbies to the point where you never excel at anything - I would suppose it's about divided attention or not having a focused course of direction - I don't know - but I can relate to the feeling and see how I have been interested in far too many things without putting time into the things that I should decide matter most to me.

As the years get on, I can see how I could run out of time.

But would I ever stop being interested in so many things, even if I did put more dedicated time toward this or that? I could do better with my time management, that's for sure. I probably could read a lot and write a lot and still stream video games a lot - all of those things along with other tasks - if I simply scheduled my time better. The way we had schedules when in school. A maximum of 2 to 3 hours per class for each subject. Maybe that kind of routine, while created so that we'd be disciplined for being good workers, could also be helpful as an aimless agoraphobic adult who has a lot of time on their hands while also not having much time left, in the big overall timeline, when thinking of it like that. As in, it's later than you think, right?

My sleeping schedule flipped over some time ago back to where I am awake all night. I'll be awake part of the day as well and then sleep maybe around noon or so and be up in the evening, with recent days not being enough sleep but Smudge the cat doesn't like me sleeping when it's dark out and it's dark much earlier now that winter is here. Maybe I am just more inclined to be a night owl or maybe it was the early years of working midnights in the factory or maybe it's just that it works best for the household, I don't know. But here I am, writing in the early dark hours of morning (sun doesn't come up as early either, in winter) and it seemed to me a good time to approach the page, the screen that doesn't capture my attention but instead where I let it capture my thoughts, and here I am, writing.

Yesterday was Christmas Day and I slept through it. When Smudge was meowing for me to wake up, I was still in a dream, some nightmare of course, as usual, but in the midst of it, there I was, with an ex-boyfriend. It was the one I lived with here in Toronto - the Irish one - and he and I were standing together, holding one another, a very close embrace, a hug but more intimate, more intense. Every now and then, we reacquaint in my dreams. He's not the only person but he is someone I gave myself over to physically for a time, uninhibited, without holding any of my physical self back. In the dream, near the end, I had some drool from the side of my mouth (probably as I was waking, aware of that happening, perhaps nearing lucidity) and he took his finger after touching the drool and put it in his mouth.

My brain was already starting to think of the why of it and I know it was because we had shared an intense physical intimacy with one another and there was a lot we did together, tho that was not an actual memory of us but just my brain sorting through things, although I do think that hugging him was like a memory because it felt like him but who knows. What was interesting is that we were standing on a street in Edinburgh, Scotland and I wondered if that was just my sense of humour, remembering how I told him that I preferred the Scottish accent over the Irish one when there was that time in a bookstore when we were having a little spat, or maybe I just wanted to be somewhere far away that I had visited before, I don't know, but other people were there, waiting, and it was breakfast time, and I was letting myself lean into his body, both of us fully clothed, in the way I don't lean in now.

I realize it was me thinking of all the ways I hold back with myself and of myself. Hiding out in an apartment without leaving it for months on end is very much a way of subtracting one's self from any equation with others. But there is also the way I am with others now, feeling as if I can't give all of myself anymore, or that most don't even want it. As I get older, more than likely I will be faded into the background, even if I should be outside and about, interacting with others, more visible - a woman seems to become invisible unless she makes herself seen.

So why am I hiding so early on?

Also, how I have been withholding affection, holding myself back, holding out or all of those things - how I know there is more in me to give over but it feels there is no one that would hold me, all of me, in a way that I could trust to bother to give myself over - and I worry about what affect this has on who I am - and how I may be affecting those who are in my life - how they must know they don't have all of me (not only because I've said it) but because it's something one can feel. And how much stronger they must be that they can live with that. Holding someone who doesn't hold back but knowing they are holding back - what does that do to people over time? I suppose I could relate it to how I feel about writing - how I know I could write and that I should write and that I can write - but then all of the time that goes by when I don't write - is it that kind of feeling? That feeling of panic, frustration and impatience. I don't know.

6:05am I didn't even write about anything and I surpassed 1200 words. Imagine what's there, underneath this, the things I have not made it down to yet.

It's a tough Christmas. Rent is due in a few days and I couldn't imagine what it would have been like for those who also live pay to pay, if they have children they wanted to make sure had gifts, if they had people to cook food for, if they wanted to have a good Christmas but were also living pay to pay, with this high cost of living - rent and food and all of it, just too much right now - and so I am grateful that I didn't have anyone to disappoint. Sure, I wish I could have done something special for the household, but I couldn't and they knew that. They surprised me though. I was gifted a cd / cassette / record / bluetooth / etc player. It doesn't have very good quality of sound but the simple fact that I can listen to my analog music collection again is a beautiful gift in itself. I was almost to the point of tears when the box was opened, seeing what it was, that they had set something aside for it, that they were so thoughtful. Times have been tough and nearing the end of the month, I panic-mode say, "don't spend anything!" as I watch the finances for bills due - but the fact they used some of their tucked away money to get this gift for me - and I wasn't even aware of it - I was very moved. Holidays can be difficult, especially for those of us who are struggling with grief, let alone all the other reasons people suffer. I hope that those who do have joy in their homes hold on to those moments.

There is a lovely Christmas tree in my book nook in front of the poetry bookcase that is in front of the big window. You can see the tree when you enter the apartment and often, Smudge will be under the tree. Sometimes, I'm sad looking there as I remember it being more of the cats together and other times, it's just nice to see that we can have a tree up without it being brought down - though an ornament or two has been taken off the tree but nothing too serious as years ago when an entire expensive tree was warped into destruction. But yeah, I was fortunate this year to receive a gift.

Also, a friend sent me a gift certificate for a book outlet. I asked them what their favourite book was and I ordered that one for myself, along with two other novels in the same type of edition. Those should be here within in a week or two. I thought that was very thoughtful too.

Before Christmas, I felt sad nostalgia for the days where people exchanged Christmas cards - where I'd set out with numerous cards to send to people and receive many back - but I know I'm part of the problem in that tradition dying out as I stopped sending cards several years back. It's a beautiful tradition though which I wouldn't mind doing again, someday. I've said that the past few years but each year recently has felt too difficult. I think times must always have had their difficulties and that didn't stop people from sending out cards long ago. Maybe there can be a card revival. Or maybe it's just another thing we used to do that we don't do now.

Closing out this post, I wanted to share that I have hopes to write more often (don't I always?) and I am hopeful about reading a few books along with the ‘Hardcore Literature Book Club’ while also exploring my own personal library of books on my own - mood reading, as I do. I won't deny that I'll continue gaming and streaming and while I'm at it, I'll hope to post to my original YouTube channel with videos here and there. I know that channel is too old to ever take off but I still think it's worthwhile to document some things there.

I would love to go outside for walks and to take photos of this city and to wander around like I did years ago, exploring and sharing my photography of how I see the world around me. But I also feel the panic rise just mentioning that word - outside - and I know I have to eventually face it. I've missed out on so much. Imagine how much richer my life would be - how much more it would add to the storylines and imagery of my dreams and my nightmares! - if I would just get outside even once a week or month or so. I should be taking walks. I have the time in my day (or night) but I have yet to fortify my inner self to venture out. When I do go out there, I promise I'll take photos and I'll tell you everything of what I see.

6:32am I needed to write. I know that I need this, always. That writing with pen is different than typing out words stream of conscious as I do with this 750 words site. The two different formats open different parts. They say writing by hand is best but I think that typing like this gets me there quicker. Though, I do know that in the past, when I have written a lot - scrawl wall to wall on the pages - that I can go deep in my paper journals, that they hold a lot of me and my life in their pages. But years of typing journal entries online (rip my old LJ) has given me a key to unlock parts of myself and I find it as valid a way to journal as any well-inked pen. If it is a very good day, I'll have written both ways.

If you are trying to reach me, please keep trying. I'm still here.