The sun breaks through
Those winter clouds
And lights the ground
Like Hevan found

 

But sadness hides
Away from the light
It's deep it's dark
Pins me to my bed tonight

 

I can't explain this
paralyzing fear
I run away, turn 'round
It's right there

 

Well it's only life
I whisper quietly
I bleed inside
So no one wll see

 

But there was a time
Long, long ago
When we were nothing
And we didn't know

 

We'd float through space
Content and aimlessly
No cares in this life
For what it means

 

Those days are gone
Lost to the past
Just look up at night
To make them last

 

Sadness rains down
It pours in the dark
Puts out the fire
And snuffs the spark

 

But there was a time
Long, long ago
When we were nothing
And we didn't know

 

We'd float through space
Content and aimlessly
No cares in this life
For what it means

I sit here in the darkness
In the overwhelming silence
While the echoes in my mind
Bounce around and try to find
Some meaning to it all
A reason not to fall
And succumb to the shadows
That were painted long ago

 

I've stared hard into the flame
While the dice to this game
Were rolled and rolled and rolled
Just play harder, I was told
Predator and prey
Which one are you today?
We claw through the nights
And lose track of what is right

 

Sometimes I wanna scream
And lose control
I wouldn't get too mean
Just enough to cleanse my soul
Sometimes I wanna scream
Tell the whole world where to go
Is this just a dream?

 

Is this just a dream?

 

It's hard to see reality
As a farsical fallacy
Where ignorance shall rule
To the tune of being cruel
Perhaps you can try
Just to open up your eyes
See the colours through the cage
And dance upon the stage

 

Or whisper in the wind
All the things you have sinned
Or run through the rain
Just to wash away your pain
If I could wish upon a star
I'd make us better than what we are
But do wishes comes true?
Well that's up to me and that's up to you

 

Sometimes I wanna scream
And lose control
I wouldn't get too mean
Just enough to cleanse my soul
Sometimes I wanna scream
Tell the whole world where to go
Is this just a dream?

 

Is this just a dream?

You know you’re in love when you can stay up nearly 8 hours into the night talking to your girlfriend and then realize you have been awake for a full 24 hours.  That was Friday night, and wow am I tired today (Sunday).

 

At the moment, I’m trying a new smoothie concoction of my own design:  strawberry-banana yogurt mixed with Arthur’s Mango Plus smoothie.  It’s actually not that bad, and with a bit of rum it could even have a kick to it.  But, uh, to keep it healthy, we’ll keep out the rum (for now).

 

Today, all I wanted to do was get my haircut.  That’s all I really wanted to do.  I forced myself out of bed at the ungodly hour of 8:00 am on a Sunday morning.  Knowing I had to act fast, I threw on some clothes, tossed towels and clothes into my laundry hamper, and bolted down the stairs in my apartment building.  The 2 washing machines on this side of the building were not in use, so I took advantage of them (and later did my laundry, too!).  While loading them up, a man came in and asked if I was going to use them both.  I had to break his heart, tell him yes, and send him on the long journey to the other side of the building to do his laundry elsewhere.  Score.

 

I then came back up the stairs to my unit, had breakfast, and made my way down to the laundry room 30 minutes later.  After putting my wet clothes in the drier, I came upstairs and got on with the day.  Dishes.  Fuck.  A sink full.  A week’s worth.  Fuck.  I really do hate cleaning dishes.  If only this unit had a dishwasher that was a machine and not me!  Actually, that’s a lie.  I made my way downstairs again 10 minutes after I started my laundry in the drier because the power flickered and shut things off for a good second.  Upon my arrival I discovered the drier was stuck in a “waiting for drying mode to be selected” kind of mode. 

 

My laundry was finished drying by the time I was done with all the dishes, pots, and pans.  I went and collected it, came back upstairs, threw it all on the bed and folded and put it away.  Fun times, I assure you.

 

Hrmm ... this smoothie is pretty good, but I think I’d like it thicker.

 

Okay, now that all that stuff is done, it’s time to go and get my haircut, get some lunch, and buy groceries.  So off I go!

 

Fuck, again!  The barbershop isn’t open.  The door to his building is locked (his shop is upstairs in an office-like building).  Okay, not a big deal, really.  It’s just past 11:00 in the morning; the building and little shops probably aren’t open yet.  Time to move on.  Grocery shopping!  I did a really quick run-through of all the aisles and gathered necessities for the week.  I then pulled out a recipe I grabbed from the kraftcanada.com website.  I shall try it tonight.  Looks yummy, eh?

 

After I put my groceries away I called my girl and, well, woke her up.  Yay for a 2-hour time difference.  We talked for a bit, and then it was off toMcDonalds!  Actually, try as hard as I might, I just can’t get too excited about that.  I’d much rather a Harvey’s or A&W when it comes to the world of burgers, but this is all that’s close to me.

 

While enjoying my lunch, a lady opened the door to the women’s washroom to let her 4 or 5-year-old daughter out.  A metallic clanging shattered the airwaves in the room.  The little girl had tried to put a paper towel in the garbage, but only managed to pull off the triangular metal top.  The mother told her to leave it.  Apparently she had broken the toilet seat, not the garbage can lid, and to just leave it.  What a great lesson to teach your kid, Mom!  No, don’t be responsible and bend over and put it back atop the garbage can.  Don’t suggest to your daughter that she take responsibility for her actions and tell an employee (who’d probably give her a free toy for being honest.)  No, just leave it be.  It’s someone else’s problem now.  People annoy me.

 

Just as I was leaving McDonald’s, a man dropped his tray.  The floor was treated to a splash of soft drinks and a splattering of a chocolate sundae.  Poor floor.

 

Ah well, it was now time to go visit my barber and get this mop chopped off.  Alas, the door is still locked!  What the fuck?  Why is it locked?  It’s past 1:00 now!  I’m quite annoyed.  I’m quite positive that I have had my haircut on Sunday’s before by him.  What the hell is going on?

 

Okay, okay, stay calm.  There’s a salon in the same plaza.  Yes it’s called Falko and is probably full of la-te-da type of people, but screw it, I need a haircut.  I walk over and look in.  People are in there, yes!  The door opens, yes!  I walk in and … and … get dumbfounded looks.  Suddenly I’m strangely out of place.  The man cutting another man’s hair looks at me with a queer smile on his face.

 

“Can I help you?” he says, eyeing me as if I just walked off the screen of a 50’s movie and forget to change my dated clothes.  “Uh, yeah, I’d like a haircut,” I say, pointing to my hair.  He looks at me more strangely, as if I do not understand something.  “Sorry, I can’t cut your hair today.” He tells me.  What the fuck?  You’re cutting that guy’s hair, and there’s other people standing around him.  What the hell is going on?  Okay, I just thought that part.  I really said, “uhhhhh, ookkaaayyy…”  Seeing that I don’t understand what’s going on, he informs me that it is family-hair-day and they are not really open (despite the open door).

 

So I leave.

 

Fear not, I know of another barbershop just down the road a bit.  I walk.  I listen to music on my iPod.  I look in shops and watch a woman with a seeing eye-dog look through sidewalk-sale items with perfect vision.  Perhaps she’s tunneled vision, I conclude.  Ah, here we are, Leo’s barbershop!  I manage to walk past Leo’s door and open a big white door.  Well, it opened, so I walked in.  Something doesn’t look right.  I walk further … oh, fuck, these are apartments.  Dammit.  I let myself out.  I try Leo’s door, and it’s locked.  Dammit!  What the hell is going on?  This is Toronto, isn’t it?  Yes, it’s Sunday, but it’s friggin’ Toronto!  Everything was always open in Newmarket on Sundays when I was growing up, so what the hell?

 

Remain calm.  It’s okay, it’s OK.  I walk back towards my apartment, and then hang a right to go east.  I know of a few more barbershops along the way.  It will all be okay.  I’m on the wrong side of the street, but I see a little unisex hair salon just across from me.  I’ll try them on the way back if the one I’m thinking of is not open.  Ah, there’s the one I was thinking of … just across the road … with a police cruiser sitting in front of the main door with its lights flashing.

 

I look up the clouds and ponder, just for a second, if someone or something in this world doesn’t want Mike to get his haircut today.  Usually when things like this happen, it’s for a greater purpose.  Something is going to happen to me today, I can feel it now.  I’m being guided, directed, shown the way to do something incredible or meet an old friend that, in another set of circumstances, would find the encounter had passed me by.  Perhaps I’ll save a life today; push someone out of the way of a speeding car, or help someone at the scene of an accident.

 

I’m now just across from another major shopping complex.  I’ve come this far, I figure, I might as well go into Canadian Tire and just browse.  See that fireplace I’ve been eyeing and tell it once again that, in the immortal words of Mike Meyer’s, “She will be mine. Oh yes, she will be mine!” One day.  When I have four or five hundred dollars I just don’t need.

 

Oh, and yes, I did have that big moment in my day.  While standing at the stoplight, waiting for it to change, I notice a woman helping a man up from the street.  His bicycle is beside him.  I guess he fell.  He’s got to be over 60 years of age.  He walks his bike over to me.  Shit, he’s getting closer!  Ah, phew, he walks right past me.  Then stops.  Then looks down at his bike, and then comes back to me!  Fuuuccckkkk!!

 

I can barely understand his gibbering language as he stares at the gears and asks, “Is it broken?  Broken??”  It looks fine, but he’s very persistent.  He’s holding the whole frame off the ground, so I reach down, grab a pedal, and spin the back tire round and round.  “No, that chain is on there, it’s working fine.”  His dumbfounded look would have confused even the stupidest of dogs.  “You sure?” he asks.  “Positive,” I say, “it’s on and your bike is fine.”  He doesn’t even thank me, gets on his bike, and heads off down the road.

 

That was it?  That was my great purpose for today?  What the hell?  Seriously.  That was just retarded.

 

I make my way over to Canadian tire, browse, buy some double A batteries, and leave.

 

On my way back I pass the barbershop that had the cruiser.  It’s long gone, but the establishment is nevertheless closed.  Another block or two up the road finds the unisex shop closed, too.  Okay, I get it.  I’m not supposed to get my haircut today!  Geeze!

 

I saunter home, defeated, and decide to take the back entrance into my building.  I can see my windows from here, and the windows above my unit.  What is that in their windows?  It looks like … oh my god, it can’t be.  Yup, it is.  It would seem the people living above me don’t believe in curtains.  They believe in clothes.  Why use curtains for privacy, when you just hang all your shirts on a rod across the windows?  This is a first for me, I have never seen this before.  I have seen flags in windows, beer bottles in windows (very creative use of beer bottles, here), and even just no curtains in windows.  But to hang your clothes and use them as curtains?  I need to move.

 

I get into my unit and mix up this smoothie-yogurt drink that is now long-gone.

 

And that, my friends, was my day.

Sorry if your "news update" section on facebook just got slammed with updates from me.  I imported my Windows Live blog into facebook, and unfortunately you can't pick and choose what to import.  It just takes it all.  So yeah.

 

Dinner is ready at the moment, so I can't really type much.  I'm reading a book right now called "I wasn't ready to say goodbye".  It's really good and I highly recommend it.  I'll write more about it later.  But it's a Mike recommended book, for sure.  It gets a gold star and then some.

I feel like talking about something important.  Something grand.  Something larger than the rest of us.  I feel like talking about HIV and AIDS.

 

Right now, right here in Canada, it is estimated that 60, 000 people are living with HIV.  60, 000 people.  That’s almost the same size of the town I grew up in.  What’s even more frightening is that 1/3^rd of these people – 20, 000 Canadians – don’t even know they are infected.  Scary stuff.

 

HIV is an acronym for Human Immunodeficiency Virus.  Once contracted, this virus gets to work on destroying your immune system.  Every one is different for the timeline of immuno-obliteration, but it always comes.  Always.  There’s no escaping it once you are infected; unless, of course, you seek treatment (more on that, later).  Eventually the viral load will build up so great in your system that you’ll be classified as having AIDS (Acquired Immunodeficiency Syndrome).  The two are different.  AIDS, technically, could be caused by any disease process that strips you of your immune system that you “acquired” in life (ie. were not born with it).  HIV will always lead to AIDS if you live long enough – it can take anywhere from 3 – 10, or even 15 or 20 years before full-blown AIDS develops.  It all depends on your general health and medications.

 

Yet, HIV/AIDS is classified as a hidden epidemic in Canada and North America.  It’s also very challenging to find accurate statistics on the diseases, too.  For example, the tainted-blood scandal of the 1980’s resulted in over 20, 000 Canadians becoming infected with hepatitis C (a liver disease to which there is no vaccine or cure) and HIV.  However, of that 20, 000 lump-sum number, only a little over 1, 000 people contracted HIV.  So where did the rest of 59, 000 people come from?  Approximately 5, 000 people with HIV have immigrated to Canada since the 1980’s, there’s a few hundred in federal penitentiaries, and about 10, 000 infections have occurred from injection drug use.  Aboriginals are misrepresented; nearly 10, 000 women and 50, 000 men are infected; and women currently are on the rise for infection rates.  Nearly half of all infections are from men having sex with men – the list of mind-boggling statistics goes on and on.  It is quite challenging to sort out.

 

Not only that, but to even get HIV means you have to be exposed to someone who has the virus.  And even if they have the virus, the viral load in their blood has to be high enough to allow for transmission.  Not only that, but there must be a route of transmission and a high enough concentration of the virus passed into your bloodstream for you to maybe sort of kind of get infected.  One study I read even showed that men who were circumcised had a 50% reduced risk of becoming infected through heterosexual intercourse.

 

It’s a lot of information to take in and sort out.  I’m not trying to write a scientific paper on it – I’m just throwing around some information I have come across in the hopes that it will make you think and wonder.

 

Like, have you ever gone and got an HIV test before?  If not, why?  I have.  Did I truly honestly with all my heart believe that I had it?  No.  But you never know until you are tested.  Some people go 10 years without knowing and then, one day, nearly drop dead as if being attacked by the worst flu ever and then mysteriously recover; but now with an AIDS diagnosis.  Scary.  I got tested because I read somewhere that you should know your HIV status.  It makes sense.  Why be afraid of knowing it?  Why be ashamed?  There’s nothing shameful about it.  You have a right to know your HIV status.  If you’ve ever had unprotected sex, received blood, or potentially got someone’s blood or body fluids into your own blood stream then you should get tested.  Even if you haven’t – you could be the most sheltered and protected person in the world – you should still get tested.  Why?  It helps with the statistics.  It makes scientists happy.  At least they can now say there is one fewer person with an HIV diagnosis.  I think we should all be tested, for all that we can test for, just so we know where the country stands demographically.  Of course, that would lead to a huge uproar in human rights, etc.  But things are coming, things we can’t protect from or be prepared for.  SARS was just a glimpse into the biological nightmare soon to haunt us.  My advice:  get tested for HIV and Hep C – it’s better to know and deal than not know at all and later get a sucker punch from life.

 

So, how does one deal?  Right now, HIV/AIDS has a terrible stigma.  Horrible stigma.  Under-education to boot!  This evening I read a statistic saying x-percentage of high school students 14 – 17 believe there is a vaccine for HIV (I forget the percentage).  The number isn’t relevant – the fact that even one kid out there, in Canada, thinks that there is a vaccine is one too many.  There is no vaccine and there is no cure.  There are only anti-viral treatments.  You have to plan when to start them – it’s a personal decision based on many factors.  Do you start right away, or wait until you start to become ill?  Once you start you can’t stop, you must continue the treatments for the rest of you life.  You can still live a long and healthy life if you take the treatments, too.  It’s a whole bunch of pills to pop, everyday, for the rest of your life.  I remember seeing an ad online.  It was a billboard divided into two.  On the left side was a condom package with the caption, “If you can’t commit to this …” and on the right side was an endless array of various pills, along with another caption, “then how do you expect to commit to these?”  I liked that ad and found it very powerful.

 

HIV/AIDS research and knowledge has come far in just 25 years.  It’s quite impressive, actually.  The once terrifying and “gay-man” disease has been realized into the ultimate virus of humanity that knows no discrimination.  It changes and mutates everyday – it’s a constant biological war.  We develop a cure (and cures have been found), but the virus eludes it and mutates again.  There’s 3 strains, I think, of HIV in existence today.  It has spread to infect over 40 million people worldwide since the early 1970’s.  That’s about 0.6% of the entire world’s population in a little under 40 years.  I know it doesn’t sound like much, percentage-wise, but you have to remember that these things work on an exponential curve.  Hit the tipping point before a vaccine or cure is found and we are fucked.  Big time fucked.

 

So, in the end, what am I saying?  I think we need more education on HIV/AIDS.  What happened to all the commercials from the 80’s of “no glove, no love”?  Why has the fear of this disease dissolved into the background of society?  How did we ever let it become a hidden epidemic.

 

I don’t know about you, but the idea of something microscopic killing me is down right scary.  It’s a smart virus – it’ll never stop fighting.  What do we do if it ever mutates and spreads through human contact like the common cold?

 

Or maybe I just think too much.

 

 

I know I should have written this entry before the end of 2007, but the motivational and time factors simply did not play out as planned.

 

So I'm writing it now.

 

Wow.  28 years of life, and counting.  That's rather exciting.  The past 8 years have all been about growing up and becoming the person I am today; I'm very pleased with who I turned out to be.

 

There's been many rough times over the past 8 years.  The big one, of course, was when my brother Chris unexpectedly passed away.  That was hard.  Very hard.  But I got through it, for the most part.  I pushed away many friends, too, or just didn't bother to make the effort to maintain the friendships.  That's a shame, but it's what happened.  It would be nice to have more friends, I think.

 

Anyhow, 2007 has been a wild year.  It's over, now, but I have good memories.  Work has been going really well, and soon I shall be working in the CT/Angio department.  I got a raise, have made good work-relationships with my co-workers, and find that most people here really like me.  You'd be hard-pressed to find anyone saying a bad word about me.  That alone speaks volumes.

 

My student loans have steadily been going down.  They should be gone by April of 2008.  That's incredible, considering how much student-loan-debt I graduated with.

I took two courses through one of my professional associations, and plan on taking a final third one to complete the series.  I guess I'm still a student, at heart.

I decided to become more financially aware, so I bought some books on investing and actually read them!  wow!  Not only that, but I've set up some regular deduction plans for RRSP's and investment vehicles.

 

I've even fallen in love - unexpected, though definately appreciated.  There are some snags and issues, but who knows, perhaps we can work things out.  It's been a long time since I've been in love with anyone or anything, for that matter.

 

I know this isn't the in-depth, page-turning entry that everyone was hoping for (not that anyone really reads this), but it's all I have to say right now.  I'm starting the new year out with a slight cold from exhaustion, but I do have 4 days off now.  Then I start up in CT/Angio.  The future looks very bright, indeed; I'm happy.

I shall post something reminescent of 2007 tomorrow night.  Tonight, I decided to make the creative juices flow inside my brain and wrote a little love song.  Tada.  Probably my last piece for 2007.  Gawd, I have to work tomorrow - yay hospital shift work.

 

---------

 

I may not be a famous Super Star
But I know who I am
I know where we are
The dust has settled
And the skies are clear
There's a future down the road
Let's leave the past in the mirror

 

That star still shines
Alone in the night
You know the one I hung
Last New Year's night
It shows the way
Through these troubled days
I promise you
I promised you

 

That I will love you
I will love you

 

I will love you when the roses bloom in the spring
When you call at midnight just to sing
And when the rain falls down upon us
I'll love you even more just because
I will love you when all the bills come due
When the car won't start and it's a half-past two
And when my heart beats fast 'round you like it does
I'll love you even more just because

 

Now I'm no gypsie with a crystal ball
I can't see the future
No, not at all
The Loan Sharks swim
All around us
They say play for keeps
Or play for bust

 

I just need you right here right now
You're all that matters
In these matters somehow
No matter how dark these days might get
Our star will keep shining
You can count on that bet
I promise you
I promised you

 

That I will love you
I will love you

 

I will love you when the roses bloom in the spring
When you call at midnight just to sing
And when the rain falls down upon us
I'll love you even more just because
I will love you when all the bills come due
When the car won't start and it's a half-past two
And when my heart beats fast 'round you like it does
I'll love you even more just because

If you haven't seen it yet, there's a viral vid floating around the 'net showing how you can make a bottle of Mountain Dew glow like a glowstick with just a pinch of baking soda and some hydrogen peroxide.

 

You can view it here:

 

 

The first time I saw this video I thought, "hrmm .. that's cool - if I ever have a Mountain Dew, I may try it..."  But other thoughts of phosporesence and toxicity flowed in my mind.  A few moments later I dubbed the video a fake and moved on with my life.

 

I watched it again, today, and then read the comments loyal break.com fans had posted.  Not to my surprise, there's a great deal of people saying they have tried it and it does not work.

 

That's when the real purpose of the video came to mind.  It's an advertisement.  A highly clever one, wrapped up in today's internet-glitter with all the bells and whistles and targeted at youth who would find this incredibly cool to do.  So what will they do?  Go out, buy a Mountain Dew, and try it.  To their disappointment, it won't work - but hey, at least they got a cool and refreshing glass of Mountain Dew out of the deal!  The video, oddly enough, says to pour out all but a quarter-inch of the mountain dew into a glass - you only need the small remnants of the bottle to make the "trick" work.

 

Wow - I never realized that advertising need be so cleverly wrapped up and packaged to look "normal" for a product to sell.

 

It’s almost Thanksgiving.  My 27^th Thanksgiving, to be exact.  The first Thanksgiving where I won’t be with family.

 

During a phone conversation today, someone asked me what I am thankful for.  I brushed aside the question since I hadn’t really thought about it.  Now that I have, I think my very basic answer is simply:

 

Life.

 

I am truly thankful for this experience.  To be alive.  To think for myself and to live in a free country.  I am thankful to have a good job – I guess I can actually say career at this point – and a steady pay cheque.  I’m thankful for the opportunities that have been afforded me and the courage I have a had to meet them head-on.  I am thankful for my imagination and my dreams.  I am thankful for the friends that I have had and the memories I carry.  I am thankful to be weathered and knowledgeable; inquisitive and not ignorant; empathy.

 

I am thankful to have a chance to make my mark on the world through tiny ripples and large dents.

 

I am thankful to be alive.

 

 

This is not a song about anyone or thing in particular.  Just my attempt to write a love song.  Yet, it seems like the character singing has lost his/her love (a break up, probably) and is missing them.  So it's a sad love song.  I don't write many love songs.  Very rare.  Perhaps the trick to writing a good love song is to actually be in love with someone :P

 

 

This Is A Song About Love

I remember the first night I held you in my arms
The stars were bright my heart was loud I swore to you that no harm
Would ever
Come your way

 

Why did I say?

 

It doesn't seem to matter now
It doesn't change the if's and how's
About love
About love

 

This is a song about love
This is a song I wrote for you
I've tried a hundred times before
All the paper crumpled and thrown on the floor
Nothing will ever say it more
Than "I love you"
I love you

 

I still roll over and expect to find you by my side
The nights are long the dreams are bad I'm missing you and what we had was beautiful
Like stardust
In the night

 

I can't get it right

 

It doesn't seem to matter now
It doesn't change the if's and how's
About love
About love

 

This is a song about love
This is a song I wrote for you
I've tried a hundred times before
All the paper crumpled and thrown on the floor
Nothing will ever say it more
Than "I love you"
I love you

 

My love for you is bigger than us
It burns with desire
It's hot and it's blinding and it can scald
It's a wicked and terrible fire

 

I can't get it right

 

It doesn't seem to matter now
It doesn't change the if's and how's
About love
About love

 

This is a song about love
This is a song I wrote for you
I've tried a hundred times before
All the paper crumpled and thrown on the floor
Nothing will ever say it more
Than "I love you"
I love you 

So, it's been awhile since I have updated this.  Like all blogs, they eventually fizzle out - except for the sporatic entry to try and keep it alive :P

 

I suppose there is a fair bit to update, but I'm about to head off to bed.  So that won't be tonight (the update).  I did spend about 30 minutes or so hammering out a set of song lyrics.  One of the lines had been stuck in my head for months upon months, since I came up with it, and it's only now that I have turned it into something tangeable.

 

I'm also quickly realizing that I hate typing in this blog.  Not the blog-concept, but the blog-writer - Wow, could MSN make this any more annoying?  It has a half-second delay to anything I type (before appearing on the screen).  Very annoying.

 

Anyhow, this song is about the "girl with the bug-eyed shades".  I'm sure you've seen her.  That girl who walks around in a short skirt and wearing dark sunglasses that seem to hug her face.  They are also quite large and resemble (to me, at least) the eyes of a bug :P  So, why not write a song about her, eh?  I think, in the end, I made her a somewhat sad character.  She has escaped her past but now doesn't know where to turn.  She feels safe wearing the glasses - the world is a better, brighter place.  Perhaps she has endured too much heartache over the years and finally said "enough".  Putting on the glasses might make her into someone she has always wanted to be.

 

Anyhow, time for bed, so here's the lyrics.  Enjoy.

 

----

 

There goes the girl
With the
Bug-eyed shades
And the skirt that ripples
Like the waves

 

A sheltered heart
That cries inside
There's no escape
From the ghosts
In her mind

 

She runs fast
She runs far
Been runnin' so long
Don't know what for

 

One more day livin' on her own
One more day; try to get through
The world seems safe
Those glasses on her face
The bug-eyed shades
Will see her through

 

There goes the girl
With the
Bug-eyed shades
And the skirt that ripples
Like the waves

 

She looks left
She looks right
The past if far behind
It's an open road

Tonight

 

Blue Moon's rising
The distant sun
When Blue Moon's rising
She comes undone

 

One more day livin' on her own
One more day; try to get through
The world seems safe
Those glasses on her face
The bug-eyed shades
Will see her through

 

There goes the girl
With the
Bug-eyed shades
And the skirt that ripples
Like the waves

 

Today was a day of exploration.  A day to escape the bar-less apartment and see the sun shining in the sky.  After returning a few movies to Rogers, I hopped onto a red rocket and blasted towards a not-so-distant subway station.

 

My day of mini-adventure started when I set foot on Queen Street.  I knew there was some sort of “green” festival going on, just a little further ahead on Yonge, but wasn’t too sure on what it was all about.  Live Earth and beeps of SOS flashed in my mind.

 

I saw large yellow barriers and police cars blocking access to Yonge – they had turned the street into a pedestrian-only zone.  A fitting tribute.

 

The street itself had been transformed into a temporary exhibit.  With the largest stag-shop I had ever seen (and I haven’t seen many) towering high above all, I walked the street.  I walked from tent to tent, peeking in and seeing what was for show.  One tent promised free energy generation – so much so that your hydro metre would spin backwards.  Another talked about the concept of an Environmental Footprint, while others recited from the good book about the benefits of recycling.  Petitions were scattered about like the exhausted homeless on the side streets.  I signed one – a strong statement to rid Styrofoam from industry and use viable and biodegradable products.

 

The sun beat down – I should have worn a hat.

 

As I walked further, the tents remained the same but their chosen leaders did not.  Suddenly there was jewelry and petty trinkets to buy.  Free information was no more and the language of money was universal.  But a voice echoed further on.  Familiar, at that.  I ventured forward.

 

The white tents still stayed the same, but were reclaimed by the environmentalist as more information and industry sprouted.  Electric scooters, tree planting, and environmentally friendly pesticides crept onto the scene.

 

At Dundas and Yonge there was a square; the surrounding buildings witness to much over the years.  A huge screen bore the image of the mayor, David Miller, and speakers blasted his encouraging message of Toronto and the environment.  People took turn on the stage to inform and educate, and then Al Gore appeared on the screen to lay claim and rights to Live Earth.  I sat and watched for a while and, even though the message was old and burned into my brain from when I was a child, the delivery was different.  Very different.  Environmentalism had become a religion.

 

Cast down the ways of old and embrace the new, embrace the future and you shall be saved!  Fear the almighty deity of Global Climate Change, for it hath no mercy and will scorn you.  Listen to the music; go home and spread the word!  Tell all what you have seen and be relentless; change the future – a future of environmentalism, a future of living with the earth and not on it!  And so the messages went on.  It was actually the only thing that truly impressed me.  In a day and age of lost hope, lost purpose and meaning, it seems to hold ground.  Turning environmentalism into a religion may be key to its acceptance and practice.  I’m still too analytical.

 

Unfortunately, the content had not changed.  Things that I knew 18 years ago are still fresh in my mind.  I, like those walls, am now bearing witness to a change that I have been expecting for years.  I always said that if you want to do well in life, in my generation and those to come, then find a niche with the environment and market it.  Perhaps Mel Brooks was sending us a message in the 80’s, too, with air in a can.

 

And so I left.

 

I walked back to where I came onto Queen Street, and then headed west.  Another event was on, just down the road, at Nathan Phillips Square.  An art showing.  A free one, at that!  And more white tents, of course.

 

I walked past old city hall to get there, and smiled at a little girl clapping her hands to a man playing the bagpipes in front of a war memorial.  I stopped to take in the memorial, and then gazed up to the gigantic clock tower that shot up from the building as if suffocating.

 

The curved buildings of NPS reminded me of the last time I was here, on New Year’s Eve, some years ago.  A woman from the Bank of Montreal handed me a boxed electronic gadget, and then started asking me personal question so she could fill out a rather official looking form.  I gave her my name and my birth date before realizing the scam.  Not wanting to be inundated with phone calls and emails to switch to “BMO” (I hate that name, btw), I told her I wasn’t going to give her any more information.  She promptly took back the gift bestowed upon me just moments before and left me alone.

 

I set out to view the tents.  It was eerily quiet for what, in essence, was a market setting.  You’d almost believe you were walking through an army’s camp after a fierce battle.  In some tents were artists talking with other artists, or with potential customers; but for the most part the artist just sat there, slumped in a chair and looking quite sad.  The price tags averted many eyes and hastened many footsteps.  I simply took my time, taking in all the interesting sites and sounds.

 

I only talked with one artist.  Her tent was full of canvases that portrayed gate hinges and handles; most of them rusted and old looking.  I wondered what intrigued her so much about something so simple and forgotten.  I found out that she lives in Hamilton and confessed to living there myself, for a good while, during my studies.  From her voice it was obvious that it was not her favourite place to be.  A potential buyer came in.  She looked to them, then back to me and smiled.  I smiled, and she walked towards the buyer.  “Good-luck, with everything,” I said.  She watched me a moment longer – I felt an awkward tension, but the sea of people walking past took me in and I didn’t see her again.  I should have stayed and talked more with her.

 

I came across some tents full of crystal artwork.  It was quite impressive.  I’d like to buy some, I thought, but can’t afford any right now.  I passed by many more tents and wounded artists who sat there, licking their wounds, and too uninterested to make small talk in any language other than money.  There were few paintings of nature, and no photographs.  Ironic, I thought, considering the Live Earth festivities just a few blocks away.

 

I gazed up to the old city hall clock tower on my way back to the subway.  Across the street lay a homeless man, in the shade, and spread out on the sidewalk like a perfect subject for a policeman’s chalk.  A living petition that no one would sign.

 

Here ends my tale of an adventurous day.  The lunch break and ride home was uneventful, aside from two guys – middle aged and overweight – who were dressed and acting like immature teenagers.  They tried to invite themselves to the head of the line at the bus station; ignoring those who had been waiting for the past 15 minutes in hopes of getting a seat.  I said to one, “Don’t you think you should go to the back of the line, like everyone else?  It’s the considerate thing to do.”  He said nothing, but as I boarded I heard his friend say, “I don’t want to get on this bus.  Too many assholes.”  And so they stood on the platform, sadness written on their faces, as the bus departed like a cruise-ship into the sea of the city.

Ah yes, the title says it all.  I do worry too much.  The joy of being a survivor.  It must be genetically coded into me; passed down from generation to generation to ensure my survival.  Maybe it's a virus.  Hidden deep within my flesh and mind; surviving for thousand of years by making its host worry about life.  Worry about survival.  Forcing such a host to do whatever they can to survive - to be protected through-out life.  Or maybe I really do just worry too damn much.

 

With mainstream school a thing of the past, I'm finding it more and more difficult to fill the days when work is finished.  That's probably a good thing, though, because it's slowly forcing me to try new things.  To do new things.  And that's good.

 

You know, sometimes it's hard to not think that this is all some alien experiment.  Maybe I'm an alien - laying in some matural chamber and living out my life until I die; only to awaken as a 5 year-old with a lifetime of experience.  Wouldn't that be something, eh?  To live out your life before you even start living out your life.  To gain all the knowledge and experience that only time can teach you; to be armed with a book of knowledge that you've studied again and again before any test was ever thrown at you.  It sure would be convenient.

 

For example, today, I had one person explicit telling me how meaningless life is unless you have something to live for.  He was talking about faith, but it could apply to anything, really.  He went on and on about how your job cannot fulfill you - that promotions only lead you wanting another, and so on.  I walked in on two employees discussing the grand old topic of love today, too.  Each taking turn to explain that life is meaningless unless you have someone to share it with.

 

I think I may one day lose my mind.  Hopefully somewhere private and not in public, but meh, if I lose my mind then what will I care, right?

 

I'm not sure what I'm trying to say with this blog entry.  Maybe just a simple, "does anyone want to know me?  I mean *really* know me, all the ins and outs - I promise it'll be an interesting ride".

 

Then again, does anyone even read these entries?  I wonder.

 

I shall leave the lyrics to a song by Monroe(TX) - it was the first song I heard from them; the one that got me hooked.  Enjoy:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

JAMIE GOES

 

The sky is black
The radio glows
Burning one headlight
On a silent road

 

Jamie goes

 

A storm's been brewin'
In his mind
He found all the answers
He cared to find

 

Jamie goes

 

Shooting down the road like a runaway train
A trail of dust spells his name
Tired of fighting; tired of the same
Old and Old and Old
So Jamie goes

 

A burnt-out heart
A wandering soul
The glow's hypnotic
On the radio

 

Jamie goes

 

Too much pain
For one set of eyes
Too much said
And too many lies

 

Jamie goes

 

Shooting down the road like a runaway train
A trail of dust spells his name
Tired of fighting; tired of the same
Old and Old and Old
So Jamie goes

 

The road is winding
But he's shooting straight like an arrow
Jamie goes

 

A storm's been brewin'
In his mind
He found all the answers
He cared to find

 

So Jamie goes

I sit here alone
Trying to capture fleeting thoughts
Make them my own

 

I feel so much rage
This world caught fire
And all the world's a stage

 

I just want
Some peace of mind
Something to find
Something to make me feel alive

 

I need more
Than my dreams
More than it seems
when you look at me from the outside

 

Well what do you know
Of pain and loss?
Can you let it show?

 

Not even the blind can see
The clapping storms in my mind
Just let it all be

 

I just want
Some peace of mind
Something to find
Something to make me feel alive

 

I need more
Than my dreams
More than it seems
when you look at me from the outside

 

Can't you look at me from the outside?
Look at me
From the outside

Funny short movie on break.com:

 

 

it's worth the 13 mins, in my opinion.

Wow, working a week of evenings sure does mess around with one’s sleep schedule.  I was doing well the first few nights, but as the week wore on, I would stay up later and later, until the inevitable sleep in until 2pm on Saturday.  On the plus side of things, I was making an extra dollar an hour … ohhhhhhhhh, ha ha.

 

It has been 6 months since I started working at Sunnybrook.  Time sure flies by, and people sure do come and go.  I can’t imagine working a full career their, myself; it is a place for the young.  I’ll probably stay until June of next year, by which time all of my student loans will be paid down.  Then a new life will begin.  A life of absolutely no debt – it’s hard to believe.  What will I do?  Where will I go?  It’s exciting to think of the possibilities.  I’ll be ready to make the move into CT by then, but if it’s at Sunnybrook or not, well, only time will tell.

 

I’m looking forward to investing my money.  I have a few good plans to make a fair bit of money in a relatively short period of time.  Enough so that I could retire, and quite well, by age 40.  Wow, age 40 – it seems so far off and yet it’s going to get here sooner than I think.

 

So, it seems that every time I check my email that someone new has added me to their facebook account.  It’s kind of fun and exciting – but it does have a small sting of sadness.  Finding out what old friends are doing, how their lives have thus far unraveled; some for the better, some not so.  It can be an eternity of lost moments and regretful decisions, only to have reality slam back in your face with a shining light that says, “thing worked out quite well for you, too.”

 

It’s true.  When I sit back and think about it, I do have a lot.  I’m working a career that I can get out of bed and say to myself, “let’s go to work!”  Well, I don’t actually say that – but you get the idea.  I really do enjoy the challenges of my many tasks, and the days do seem to fly by.  I have a pension plan, to which the hospital also pays into.  I have a medical and dental plan, along with other good benefits, and I even have life insurance.  Wow – how did I grow up so fast and not notice any of this before?  How did we all?

 

And it’s only the beginning, too.  The future is bright eyed with a dash of awe-struck wonder, just to make things interesting again.

 

I think I ramble on about life not being real, from time to time, in this blog.  I feel the need to do so again.  I don’t know, but people, including myself, can and do take this life way too seriously at times.  It’s not even real.  Well, I guess a better way of saying it is that we perceive life quite different from what it really is.

 

A good example is sight.  There’s no colour to life.  Everything exists in the dark as it does in the light.  But it’s the light that gives it colour.  And we see that.  The image of an object is projected upside on the retina of our eyes, and its up to our brains to flip it right-side-up again.  Neurons fire and chemicals are released, and almost instantaneously you have the image of life before you.  Look at it this way:  some creatures only see in black and white, others only see things like infrared radiation.  To them, that is life – the concept of colour is beyond foreign.  The same applies to sound, touch, taste, and smell.  Our bodies are just a mode through which are brains can experience life.  It truly is amazing.

 I wonder what we’re missing, though, through lack of perception?  What else is beyond the cave to which Plato would have us bound?

You know, sometimes I wonder if anyone else ever wonders about the things that I wonder about.  Wonderful.

 

I’m sure everyone has thought of that, from their own personal perspective, from time to time.  Right now I’m wondering how life got so insanely crazy that we should all be hung upside down and left to die in a remote desert on some distant planet.

 

I am a prophet.  I remember telling some friends in high school that, if they want to make the big dollars later in life, that they should get into an environmental field of study.  Sure, the money would be pathetically poor at the start, but by mid-career things would definitely pick up.  Now, politics and the environment go hand-in-hand with each party screaming as loud as they can that they are the greener or the most friendly.  It’s shocking how petty professional adults can be.

 

I wrote a song today.  I’m not going to post it unless someone asks me to – that way I’ll know that this dusty old blog is actually being read (smart thinking, eh?).

 

I feel a new life coming on.  It’s roughly 15^th months away, but each day I grow just a tad more excited and willing to embrace the realization.  That, of course, being I will have paid down my student loans, with interest and in full, and owe absolutely nothing to anyone.  I like that idea.  It will be a grand rebirth, a day to reflect back on 7 years of post-secondary school and a year and a half of an x-ray career.  A day to get drunk and party – though I probably won’t.  I believe I shall spend the rest of 2008 buying petty commercialized crap to fill my one-bedroom apartment, and then make some heavy investments come 2009.  A new life will begin.

 

Aside from starting a new job, the last 6 months have been fairly consistent and routine.  Take one weekend off work, two or three other people, and all of a sudden my life has turned upside down with commitments and shaky-promises; while I’m left standing under a streetlamp with my hands in my pockets (just a metaphor, that didn’t really happen …)

 

Yet, this time, it’s all quite different.  Yes, the somewhat chaotic feel is nostalgically familiar, but I’ve come to realize the power I have over it now.  That of course is the power to just say “no”.  Such a simple word, so easy to utter and get out.  No.  There, I said it.  No.  I said it again.  No, no, no.

 A new me is just a little over a year away.  I must simply just survive until then.  Life is both looking up and down, for the time being, but it shall quickly right itself once again.

I think whatever sickness I have had is finally lifting.  I'm starting to feel a whole better than I have over the past, oh, I don't know, 3 or 4 weeks.  It's been a strange illness - cold-like symptoms at times, then flu-like symptoms .. then nothing ... then back pains, or more cold-like symptoms.  I am happy to say that I'm starting to feel like my usual self again.  Oh yeah, that was another thing, I truly didn't feel like myself, on the mental front.  Sometimes the days were a daze, if you follow.  Hopefully I am finally winning this biological battle over Mike's body and/or immune system!

 

Oh my god.  Ohmigod!  OMG!  My place of work has an incredible turnover rate.  It's insane.  People are leaving or quiting or dropping out like flies.  I'm stunned.  As long as I can stay there until my lease is up on my apartment in TO, or my student loans are paid down, then I am happy.

 

One night, during one of my little delusional moments, I wrote a letter.  Okay, I wasn't exactly delusional, but I was feeling a bit more emotional.  I was emotional.  I hadn't felt like that in awhile.

 

So, here is a copy of said letter.  I truly just don't know what to do with it, so I'm posting it on here.  I give you fair warning now to leave and never return!  You don't have to read it if you don't want to.  But you are about to dive deep, very deep, into Mike's psyche.  Please keep your hands and feet inside at all times.  My next blog posting will be a grand rambling about how nothing is real; at least not how we perceive it.  Enjoy!

 

-----

 

Dear Chris,

 

I have tried to write this letter once before.  For some reason, though, I wasn’t able to get much out other than a measly first paragraph.  I’m hoping to do better this time.

 

I miss you.  I can’t deny that, but I think I hide it pretty well.  But from who, these days, I don’t know.  I’m not the same person that you knew all those 6 years ago.  I’ve changed.  Life has changed.  For everyone.

 

I’m actually listening to a CD that myself and Steve O’leary put together for your funeral.  Do you remember him?  He’s living in Barrie now, in his own house!  In some ways I’m jealous of him – he’s moved very far forward with his life.  I talked to him recently online.  He sounded as though he was jealous of me with all the education I have beneath my belt.  I guess the grass is always greener.

 

Mom and Dad are now living up north, in a town called Wasaga Beach.  It’s much smaller and quieter than Newmarket was, but I think they’re happy.  The new house is quite the feat – it’s a bungalow with a totally finished basement.  They wanted to sell the house in Newmarket before it got too old to fix up and take care of.  Dad and I did some changes to the house, though, before it was sold.  We took down almost all the wallpaper, including in your room, and painted them.  We also painted the trim in all the rooms, and even the hallway, a nice white.  The house was looking pretty good, actually – it was a shame they had to sell it.

 

There’s been some losses to our family since you died.  Keelee is no longer with us.  He lived to about 13 years of age, but he was having some health problems in the end and it was best to put him down.  He missed you, that I’m sure of.  He still seemed like a big puppy, right up to the end.  I miss him, too.  Grandpa Holt also died, and about a year later, so did Uncle Rick.  I guess on the brighter side of things, though, Shannon now has two kids of her own and Shawn is living and working in Ottawa with his girlfriend.

 

Brian Glick is now out west, in the United States, and working at Microsoft of all places.  I’m really happy for him – he conquered so much from when he was a kid, and he looks totally different now.  I don’t talk to him anymore, though – it’s not that I’m jealous of his current lifestyle, but maybe just that he has such a bright future ahead of him.  I don’t know, it’s weird.  The last I heard, his brother Davey is going to be doing an internship at Microsoft.  I bet the two of them could change the world of computers as we know it.  Inka no longer lives beside our old house, but she moved to Waterloo.  It’s where both Brian and Davey went to university.

 

On that note, I did end up graduating from McMaster.  I went through some rough times after you died, and almost dropped out in the 2^nd year.  But Dad encouraged me to stick it through, to get something out of it, as did a career counselor, and so I did.  I ended up getting a Bachelor of Science degree.  In the world of degrees, it’s pretty small and petty, but I guess it’s something more than other people.  After that, I decided to go to college, also in Hamilton.  Dad thought it best to buy a house down there for me to live in and for us to rent out; to try and make a little extra money.  It was a really nice house, and he did sell it for more than what we paid – I think in the end he made about $30, 000 out of the whole deal.  So that was good.  So yeah, in college I took this program to be an x-ray technologist.  That’s a person who takes x-rays of sick people all day long.  It was a 3 year program and I graduated in August of 2006.  That was the summer that Mom and Dad moved, too.  It was stressful times, because after I graduated I had to write a certification exam that was 3 hours long.  Very hard stuff.

 

Jeff Preger and his mom came to your funeral.  I hadn’t seen him in ages.  Guess what?  He’s bald!  Like, totally bald.  All of that red hair of his fell out.  It was different and I almost didn’t recognize him.

 

Do you even know what happened to you?  To be honest, even we’re not entirely sure.  The coroner said that you had a grand-mal seizure.  It’s apparently a really bad seizure.  I know you were on medications to control them – I’m sorry they didn’t help in the end.  Sometimes I can’t help but wonder if we missed that one warning sign.  Remember?  That time you had a seizure at work?  That had never happened before.  I’m sorry we didn’t do more.

 

You died on January the 14^th, of 2001.  It was a Sunday, and we buried you on the 19^th, a Friday.  It was a very long week, for everyone.  I remember Dad told me on the phone that something had happened to you and to pack some stuff and that he and Aunt Sandie were coming to get me.  I honestly didn’t know what had happened – I thought maybe you had fallen and hit your head, that you were in the hospital and you’d be okay.  Once Dad got to my place he broke out in tears and hugged me.  He had never done that before.  I don’t think I knew how to react.  It was then that he told me you had died.  I didn’t want to believe it.  How could I?  I had just seen you that weekend.  I remember you telling me about how you were saving up your money to buy a car.  You were so excited about that.

 

We went to the hospital when we got back to town that night.  It must’ve been 10:00 or so by then.  Dad and I sat in a small waiting area, alone, while waiting to go to where you were.  I remember watching him shaking his head, tears in his eyes, and saying something to the effect of “it shouldn’t be like this.”  We got into an elevator and they took us to where you were, covered with a white sheet.  The nurse pulled it back when I was ready and softly said, “this is Chris,” and then said it again.  I can still hear it so clearly in my head.

 

We went home and there was many cars around our place.  Mom was in the family room with her friends.  It was dark in there, and for some reason she looked like a mourning queen to me – everyone watching her with respect and sorrow.  I can’t remember what either of said when I got home.  I couldn’t go to sleep until I called a few people.  I called Steve O’leary, first, and told him what had happened.  I had woken him up and it shocked him beyond belief – he told me he didn’t sleep well that night.  I called Sarah Exel, too – I needed to hear her voice that night.  I called Laura Brooks, who was also going to McMaster, and told her what happened.  She said her and her roommate cried for you that night.  I didn’t, though.  It would be some while before I cried for you.  I didn’t even cry during your funeral.  I think I felt that I had to be strong for everyone.  To show a brave face for the family.

 

You had a grand funeral, you know.  So many people came.  It was packed, there wasn’t enough chairs for everyone.  Steve was there, and Brian, and Duncan, even Gus – our childhood barber – came.  Our dentist was there, all of the family; even your old friend Darryl Dawson came.  We had two viewings before your funeral, too.  One on Wednesday night and the other on Thursday night.  It was very surreal.  During that time I made up a collage of pictures of you on this magnetic white board.  It’s something you do, apparently.  I had a hard time being there, though, and looking at your body.  You were at the back of the room in an open casket and surrounded by countless flowers.  I can’t walk into a greenhouse these days and not think of you through the haunting smell.  It’s become an odor of the dead, I think.  It was there at Grandpa’s funeral and at Rick’s – it’s always there, I suppose.

 

Do you remember that girl I was dating at the time?  Tasha?  Well, she had her baby that week, of all weeks!  It was on the 17^th.  I was actually going to skip school and be with her in the hospital when she gave birth, but I freaked out on the Saturday night.  I told her that I couldn’t go, I just couldn’t – I didn’t know why, but something terrible tugged at me.  And then you died on the Sunday – can you imagine what Mom and Dad would’ve gone through if they couldn’t get in touch with me?  The next day, on the 18^th, my friend Amber had her 2^nd baby.  I got a phone message when I came home after spending a few hours with my friend Liz.  I don’t know if you remember her – she was that rich girl who lived in Aurora.  She’s now living in London (Ontario) and isn’t where she thought she’d be by now, either.  Life sure can be strange sometimes.  More often than not.  She was the only one that did something with me that whole week, outside of Steve helping me burn a CD with music for your funeral.  The one I’m listening to now, actually.  I haven’t played it in a very long time.

 

I’ve been sick for like 3 weeks now.  I couldn’t help but wonder if it was something more mental than physical.  I think that’s why I put the CD on tonight.  And why I’m writing you this letter.  A counselor told me, once, that it can help with the healing process.  We’ll see if it does.

 

There was snow on the ground the day we buried you.  I was a pallbearer, as was Steve, Brian, Duncan, Daryl, Shawn, Kevin, and one of your friends that I can’t remember his name.  We carried your casket from the funeral parlor and into the waiting car.  My only thought through that whole ordeal was “don’t anyone slip, don’t anyone drop it.”  We drove to the cemetery in Newmarket that’s just off Main Street, before Davis Drive.  Myself, Mom, Dad, and Uncle Bob and Aunt Penny shared a limo to get there.  Everyone else followed, too.  I don’t remember much of the actual burying … it was cold, it was silent, and I haven’t been to your grave since.  I’m sorry.

 

Your work place, the Mad Hadder, held a reception for you, free of charge.  You know, at some point, Kevin, myself, and Steve went out to that bar that’s in the Tannery for a few drinks – I can’t remember when that was.

 

I went back to school on the Sunday, two days after we buried you, and back to my life in Hamilton.  Things had changed though, in all that time, and my life took a different path than I ever imagined.  I’m very lonely these days.  I know, you would never have guessed.  I’m not the same person I used to be.  I used to be so social, so involved in the community and with my friends and with life.  Now I’m not.  I’m very much alone.  I don’t really have any friends anymore.  We’ve all moved on and away.  The thing is, though, I still can’t figure out if it’s just what happened, or if I pushed everyone away.  It’s not that I like being alone or something, but it seems to be all that I know how to do now.

 

You are missed by us all, Chris.  You’re not forgotten – you never will be.  There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think about you in some respect.  I’m sure the same goes for Mom and Dad, too.  I feel that I need to also apologize for any and all sorrows I caused you as we grew up.  We were just kids, but I know I treated you differently sometimes and I shouldn’t have.  I can’t ever make that up to you, and it really eats away at me sometimes.  It does.  I’m sorry for it.  I’m sorry for the names I sometimes called you, and for any times that I made you feel not smart or not like one of my friends.  If I could go back and do it differently, I would.  I really would.  I promise you that.  I miss you so very much,

 

 

Your loving brother,

 

 

 

 

 

Mike

 

 

 

I have to go away for a little while.  It might be some time before I come back.

 

It's been fun and memorable.

 

If you need me, I can be reached at 416-551-1270.

 

 

-Mike