For the time being, this is where I will be hanging out.
Feel free to stop by!
Little Bit Of A Change.
Monday, May 16, 2011
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Now Entering Adulthood;
...But not really. Customer Service Representative is a fancy title for a teller. But either way, I have broken into a realm that I haven't ever been a part of:
A realm where I can say "wait, let me give you my card" to LITERALLY everyone.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
A Good Friend, A Decent Friend;
I am not a "need to have" friend.
All of my life, I have known people who have been one of two things: The people who are aloof and self-reliant. They do not need to have other people in their lives for the most part, and they are unconcerned with what others around them are doing. They are able to live their lives in their own spheres without being affected by the actions of others. The other type of person needs to have the approval of others constantly. They need to have the attention and the love of others as a method of dealing with life.
With the two types of people that I have known, there has always been one similarity. Both have that one person that they need to have the love and approval of to feel happy or comfortable. Even the people who dedicate their lives to being on their own and living happily in their individual bubbles need at least one person to love them in order to feel complete.
I have never been that one person to someone. I am a good friend and a loving friend, but I am never that friend that is constantly sought after. I haven't ever been that "one" person in a life where my input and presence makes an astounding difference. For a long time as a child, I felt as if I was a "back-up" friend - you know, the one who you call when everyone else is busy, or the one that you hang out with because they are so desperate for a little bit of attention. As I grew older, this changed, but not very much. I am a good friend. A decent friend. But never THAT friend to someone.
I don't know if it is something about my nature, or something about the world. Maybe it is because at times I fit into both categories. I need people desperately or I do not need anyone at all. Maybe I have become too unapproachable to become the everything to one person.
I don't know if this is a bad thing, just yet. I don't know if there is something wrong with me, or if there is really nothing wrong. Whatever category I fit into just doesn't seem to fit with the image I have created in my head.
I know that I am a good friend. I know that I am a decent friend. But sometimes, I don't know if that is enough.
All of my life, I have known people who have been one of two things: The people who are aloof and self-reliant. They do not need to have other people in their lives for the most part, and they are unconcerned with what others around them are doing. They are able to live their lives in their own spheres without being affected by the actions of others. The other type of person needs to have the approval of others constantly. They need to have the attention and the love of others as a method of dealing with life.
With the two types of people that I have known, there has always been one similarity. Both have that one person that they need to have the love and approval of to feel happy or comfortable. Even the people who dedicate their lives to being on their own and living happily in their individual bubbles need at least one person to love them in order to feel complete.
I have never been that one person to someone. I am a good friend and a loving friend, but I am never that friend that is constantly sought after. I haven't ever been that "one" person in a life where my input and presence makes an astounding difference. For a long time as a child, I felt as if I was a "back-up" friend - you know, the one who you call when everyone else is busy, or the one that you hang out with because they are so desperate for a little bit of attention. As I grew older, this changed, but not very much. I am a good friend. A decent friend. But never THAT friend to someone.
I don't know if it is something about my nature, or something about the world. Maybe it is because at times I fit into both categories. I need people desperately or I do not need anyone at all. Maybe I have become too unapproachable to become the everything to one person.
I don't know if this is a bad thing, just yet. I don't know if there is something wrong with me, or if there is really nothing wrong. Whatever category I fit into just doesn't seem to fit with the image I have created in my head.
I know that I am a good friend. I know that I am a decent friend. But sometimes, I don't know if that is enough.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
The Freak Table;
When I was in high school, I was a goth girl.
I wore all of the black makeup and the wacky eyeliner and I even spiked my bangs down over my eyes. I had some trouble with the clothing because I went to a Catholic school, but I wore a pair of black boots that I was often getting into trouble over. I was supposed to wear black shoes that went no higher than my ankle, but these boots were dirty and the laces were broken halfway. They rose up three inches above my ankle and because of the broken laces, they sort of hung open. I looked really cool, but the principal felt differently, and I suffered through many in-school suspensions for them. I wore black spike bracelets and on the days when I could wear what I wanted, I wore my long black coats and my black clothes. Back then, I thought that I looked really cool.
All of my friends were the same. We were all the goths and the punks that didn't really fit in with other groups. In elementary school, we had all found it tough to make friends or play with others, and when we arrived into high school we all just found each other. We gravitated to each other almost instantly and we found a place in the huge school to call our own. We were literally called "the freak table". We sat far back in the cafeteria and we had the whole long table to ourselves. We used to carve things into the table and for some reason no one ever said anything. They all had to know that it was us, but no one ever said anything to us. Only a couple times did other groups try to tackle this long table, but it was never successful. It was our table and no one really wanted it that badly. No one really wanted us that badly.
One day, a friend of mine mentioned a conversation he had overheard in his math class. Some of the 'popular girls', the ones who played sports and wore makeup and hiked their skirts up as high as they would go, had been talking about me. Not noticing my friend, they were discussing my ability to be 'pretty'. They talked about all of the girls that sat at the 'freak table', but they seemed to have an interest in me specifically. They mentioned that if I would just wash my hair and wipe that makeup off of my face, I could actually be pretty, like them. They strongly believed that I could be worth something if I would just try a little harder to look more like they did. My friend thought that this was hilarious and he told me immediately after class. Everyone at our table laughed about it, and I joined in. I thought that it was stupid that they refused to refer to me as pretty because I refused to look like them. The best part of it was that they actually did think that I was pretty, but they had to find a way to make themselves contributors in the ways that I could be presented as better. I had never heard anything so ridiculous in my life, and I have always remembered it. Even to this day.
I don't have any piercings anymore. I don't wear all black and my eyeliner is a simple line along my lash. I have long hair and I never put product in it. I curl it slightly, and otherwise leave it alone. I usually wear dresses or women's suits to fit with my job at a bank. I look nothing like I used to look, and there are many people who may say that I look better than I did before. I still think that those girls were stupid. I still don't agree with what they were saying. Growing up, I have changed in the way that I present myself, but I have to wonder what else has changed.
Am I still the same girl that I used to be? I like to believe that I have grown up and become wiser and more mature, but I also like to think that I haven't lost the spark that I carried throughout high school.
I like to think that I will always be one of the freaks.
I wore all of the black makeup and the wacky eyeliner and I even spiked my bangs down over my eyes. I had some trouble with the clothing because I went to a Catholic school, but I wore a pair of black boots that I was often getting into trouble over. I was supposed to wear black shoes that went no higher than my ankle, but these boots were dirty and the laces were broken halfway. They rose up three inches above my ankle and because of the broken laces, they sort of hung open. I looked really cool, but the principal felt differently, and I suffered through many in-school suspensions for them. I wore black spike bracelets and on the days when I could wear what I wanted, I wore my long black coats and my black clothes. Back then, I thought that I looked really cool.
All of my friends were the same. We were all the goths and the punks that didn't really fit in with other groups. In elementary school, we had all found it tough to make friends or play with others, and when we arrived into high school we all just found each other. We gravitated to each other almost instantly and we found a place in the huge school to call our own. We were literally called "the freak table". We sat far back in the cafeteria and we had the whole long table to ourselves. We used to carve things into the table and for some reason no one ever said anything. They all had to know that it was us, but no one ever said anything to us. Only a couple times did other groups try to tackle this long table, but it was never successful. It was our table and no one really wanted it that badly. No one really wanted us that badly.
One day, a friend of mine mentioned a conversation he had overheard in his math class. Some of the 'popular girls', the ones who played sports and wore makeup and hiked their skirts up as high as they would go, had been talking about me. Not noticing my friend, they were discussing my ability to be 'pretty'. They talked about all of the girls that sat at the 'freak table', but they seemed to have an interest in me specifically. They mentioned that if I would just wash my hair and wipe that makeup off of my face, I could actually be pretty, like them. They strongly believed that I could be worth something if I would just try a little harder to look more like they did. My friend thought that this was hilarious and he told me immediately after class. Everyone at our table laughed about it, and I joined in. I thought that it was stupid that they refused to refer to me as pretty because I refused to look like them. The best part of it was that they actually did think that I was pretty, but they had to find a way to make themselves contributors in the ways that I could be presented as better. I had never heard anything so ridiculous in my life, and I have always remembered it. Even to this day.
Am I still the same girl that I used to be? I like to believe that I have grown up and become wiser and more mature, but I also like to think that I haven't lost the spark that I carried throughout high school.
I like to think that I will always be one of the freaks.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Thursday, March 10, 2011
The Bird is the Word;
The Niagara Artists' Centre in collaboration with Grey Borders Reading Series Presents...
The Bird is the Word
featuring Visual Art and Visual Poetry installations by
derek beaulieu • bill bissett • Judith Copithorne
kevin mcpherson eckhoff • Marinko Jareb • Travis Kirton
Kelly Mark • Steve McCaffery • a.rawlings
Laurel Woodcock • Hallie Siegel & Matthew Donovan & Gregory Betts
On display from 9 March - 4 June 2011
OPENING RECEPTION ON FRIDAY 11 MARCH 7pm
Readings beginning at 8pm by
derek beaulieu, bill bissett & Honey Novick,
a.rawlings, kevin mcpherson eckoff and Steve McCaffery & Jeremy Lessard.
Musical Performance by Gary Barwin
*****************************************************************************
This exhibit explores the territory where language and visual art intersect through the work of writers and artists. This common (play)ground has been covered by Concrete Poets, Cubists, Dadaists, Futurists, and Surrealists among others. Expanding semantic expression beyond the conventional structures of language includes the exploration of typography as imagery and engages philosophy, semiotics, and political and social commentary. The Bird is the Word will feature poets and visual artists from across Canada delving into the conceptual, spatial, and material presence of the written word. It showcases a multiplicity of media and disciplines including video projection, onsite installation, collage, sculpture, and micrography.
This project is supported Grey Borders Reading Series.
Laurel Woodcock gratefully acknowledges the support of the Toronto Arts Council.
In Vein;
I have only had surgery twice in my life.
Well, actual surgery where you need to be put to sleep. I had it two years ago for a cyst removal, and I had it yesterday for wisdom tooth extraction. Both times, I woke up and I began to cry immediately. I don't know exactly why this happened, and I can't seem to remember what my thoughts were when I first came out of the haze.
I think this is the most frustrating part about being "put to sleep". I have been trying all day to remember what was going through my head when I first woke up, only to realize that I can't even remember falling asleep. This is the scariest thought in the world for me. I can't believe that there is something that can completely take over my senses to the point where I cannot even remember what has happened. Even in my drunkest moments, I am usually able to remember at least small details about what I did or said. All that I remember from yesterday was the small prick, and the doctor telling me that they were going to start the anesthesia. I remember him asking me if I had written a note for them on my arm. I looked down, and I had written "don't eat or drink anything" for myself in order to not break the rules. After that, I don't remember anything.
I hate that. I hate not knowing what happened. Falling asleep and waking with no understanding and the most intense pain where my teeth used to be.
There probably isn't anything scarier in the world, to me.
Well, actual surgery where you need to be put to sleep. I had it two years ago for a cyst removal, and I had it yesterday for wisdom tooth extraction. Both times, I woke up and I began to cry immediately. I don't know exactly why this happened, and I can't seem to remember what my thoughts were when I first came out of the haze.
I think this is the most frustrating part about being "put to sleep". I have been trying all day to remember what was going through my head when I first woke up, only to realize that I can't even remember falling asleep. This is the scariest thought in the world for me. I can't believe that there is something that can completely take over my senses to the point where I cannot even remember what has happened. Even in my drunkest moments, I am usually able to remember at least small details about what I did or said. All that I remember from yesterday was the small prick, and the doctor telling me that they were going to start the anesthesia. I remember him asking me if I had written a note for them on my arm. I looked down, and I had written "don't eat or drink anything" for myself in order to not break the rules. After that, I don't remember anything.
I hate that. I hate not knowing what happened. Falling asleep and waking with no understanding and the most intense pain where my teeth used to be.
There probably isn't anything scarier in the world, to me.
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