Holy crap... two years? Really?

That last post was dated August 2010.  Is it possible that I've not written anything since?  I suppose it must be true... either that or I've deleted everything between then and now during a somnabulist session?  But if that were the case, I should at least recall having written something at some point.

Well... I'm happy to report that I'm as happy as I was when I last wrote, though likely not as intolerably so.  Tolerance is a funny thing... people can pretty much get used to anything... which I suppose is why it's so important to read Schopenhauer often and extensively.

I'm also happy to report that that MPA program I was only beginning is soon coming to an end.  Or, at least the courses are soon coming to an end.  I got sufficiently busy with work that I stopped for an entire year (shortly after the last post, in fact)... and while abandoning it often seemed like a really good idea, I nudged myself forward millimetre by millimetre and am in the last month of the last semester of courses.  Of course, there will still be the dog and pony show to fulfill the degree requirement... and there's never any guarantee that that'll get done... but every second that goes by is another second that goes into the "too late to quit" bin.

Hit the brakes!!! Hit the brakes!!!

Oh. How things change.

So... I have definitively disentangled. No more ULTE. And this time, I'm not just saying it, or tossing it over in mind, letting it clank around in my skull and settle back down. I had the goodbye conversation.

If I were not so completely and unprecedentedly in love, perhaps I would wonder how ULTE is feeling, whether our protestations of the entanglement being a non-relationship were really true... but I am... so I pretty much just can't dig up the caring for that in particular.

And how fortuitous that he with whom I'm madly in love is madly in love with me! I shall not continue further... I know how intolerably happy I have become :)

It's funny how my or anyone else's hurtling towards death is no longer of any interest to me...

As I hurtle headlong towards my own death... part 2

One doesn't so much *take* the path of least resistence as one *rolls* down that path, strapped to a gurney, immobilized, possibly by ether.

Sometimes it's just easier. I've declared many times that I'm done with ULTE... but today, he let himself in with a key I (quite casually) gave him on Friday. After all, it's easier to have him let himself in than for me to have to worry about getting home on time. So I give up on giving up. It would be too much work otherwise.

Neither this nor that.... and that's a good thing.

So no, I haven't managed to disentangle. And yes, no matter how disturbed I become about the subject of the minute, after a few days, or at most a week, I generally get over it. It's his consistency that fuels my amnesia. It is always as if nothing had changed. And, in a world where there is nothing dependable aside from a mother's love, one cannot help but find comfort in this incredible consistency.

Neither young and stupid nor old and sleazy, ULTE1 is LT for a reason.

Missing Hawaii? Make Spam Musubi!

I even wrapped them in plastic.  All I need is a cabinet with a heat lamp in it.

d.
Sent from my BlackBerry device on the Rogers Wireless Network

Disentanglement

ULTE1 is entirely too LT. I know I've said it (numerous times) before, but this time, I really mean it.

As I hurtle headlong towards my own death...

I can actually very honestly say that I have been too busy to write... and besides which, there's also the fact that my struggling to meet deadlines does not make for very interesting reading. You probably already know that I have at least five distinct jobs for which I get paid a single salary, and that I am running a business, and that I am a third of my way through a tedious master's degree... the other details are all as they were.

Fortunately, help is here. The business side of things will require less of my time, as, for the first time, I have actually secured excellent help.

Unfortunately, the situation with my five jobs will likely get worse before it gets better. If you keep up with my local news (beyond checking my weather), you will see hints of the systemic problems that are now coming to a head. And by local news I do not mean the CBC, which, thanks for all the little notes, but I'm with Kerouac on the thin vs famous thing. I was tricked.

Yesterday was the Tofino Food and Wine Festival... it was sunnier and more lovely than it was last year... and a million times more productive. Sylvia came out for this one, and got tipsy drunk as she went with me from one conversation to the next. I was only a bad friend once, when I left her with a surfer dude of ill repute (with warning, if I may add). It was a lovely event, filled with friends and familiar people. Aside from the very productive conversations, I discovered a BC wine that I would be entirely happy to drink (when one is presented with that many BC wineries and that many bottles, it would be wrong to say "Oh, I don't know... I don't drink BC wines").

The 2006 Syrah from Nichol Valley in Naramata was delicious. Of course, at $30 a bottle, it really ought to be delicious... since a bottle of good Gigondas costs about that much only after import taxes and shipping from France... of course, price is rarely a sufficient indicator of worth. I will continue to insist that I know nothing about wine and stick mostly to what I know, but will now include this syrah in my list of possible buys. How is it, however, that I like this syrah but can't stand so many shirazs? This seems almost like it might be a slippery slope to being made super aggro by an attack from an Australian Shiraz or GSM. Perhaps it's time I learnt to understand and describe my southern Rhône standards?

This weekend is also the Rip Curl Stew surf competition... Sylvia and I walked down to take a look yesteday... SAIS was in the water, and BNs and DCMS were on the beach. Everyone, it seemed, was on the list of competitors. I have yet to reflect on my feelings on the matter. One thing is for sure though: as I hurtle headlong towards my own death, I am far more aware of the velocity of others hurtling towards theirs... and fountains of youth become more attractive than crowns of wisdom, which, more often than not, are no indicator of wisdom anyway.