Ghosts of the past

You think you've sorted through it. You pretend you've found peace about it. You convince yourself that you have dealt with the issues. You imagine you've moved on with life. You are arrogant enough to assume you can bury the past.

Humans are funny creatures. We adapt to new surroundings and situations with ease, and convince ourselves that the past will remain in the past. Close that closet door as if the bones won't rattle when you walk away.

Maybe you will be sucsessful...for a year. For five years. And then suddenly an emotional hurricane rips the door of it's hinges, and its all there in your face, raw as ever.

Past relationships. Past dynamics. Past mistakes. Smacking you up side of the head with a vengance, reminding you that the past never dies. It just festers.

I'm consistently awed by how the energies of me and those I am closest with intertwine and mesh on levels that seem inexplicable. Patrick dealing the the residual anger of a relationship past. The boi feeling uncomfortrable about an old fling and a unfinished ending. And me, with a mountain of regret and no way to fix it for any of us.

Fairytale endings are remarkably hard to achieve when ghosts of the past keep stomping on your glass slippers.

I'm going to add to my list of Inventions That Should Be (dehydrated, shrunken friends - slip 'em in your pocket and add water to reanimate!) Life's Little Teflon Coating - scrape it off, toss it out, wipe and start again, residue free.

But Wenchiegirl! Past experiences build chartacter! Adds flavour! Teaches lessons and adds maturity! Fuck off. Past experiences also result in denial, guilt and a squick factor that reappears at the most innopportune times.

I'm going to check out of life for a few days. Load up the ute with a cooler full of water, toss a mattress, the dog and my journal aboard and just fuck off to god knows where till my head stops screaming at me.

I'm taking every past ghost i can rustle up off to the outback, tossing them into the sun and letting the fuckers fry.

Random thoughts

Alcohol is best mixed with milk. don't ewwww until you have tried it.

Yay for the Rubenesque ideal. Long overdue for a recall.

Orson Scott Card's Ender series, while ok, is overblown, IMHO. Far under-publicised is his fantasy series based on the character 'Alvin Maker'.

I miss snow. And I miss wearing leather. And snuggly sweaters.

Kitten feet smell like Fritos. Or corn chips, if you aren't in North America and therefore have no farking idea what a Frito is.

Multiple moose should be called Meese. Like geese, only with horns. and less honking.

Nothing is so upsetting that it can't be overcome with one or more of the following; Good coffee. Good chocolate. Good sex. A good book. A good friend. A good cry. A journal and a pen.

Words I like; Mine. Oogeous, Scrummy. Oodles. Seductive. Feet. Plethora. Indulge. Fundamental. Trollop. No.

Words I detest; No. Wait.

Sacrasam is a widely abused form of humour; far too many asshats attempt to pull it off in a half-assed fashion and fail miserabely, while those who have mastered the art to perfection often go overlooked and unrecognized.

Even after years of travelling and living overseas, I am still startled when someone finds a canadian accent exotic.

I feel like every teenaged "puppy love' cliche was written about me, personally. Like all those silly sayings (I never knew love like this exsisted", "I see forever when I am with you", "I don't remember what there was before there was us", etc etc, gag, gag,puke) were written specifically to describe the vomituous drivelI am experiencing right now. And I am loving every second.

Hommeade pipe bombs planted in garbage bins at the McDonalds around the corner from me? Are still enough to make me jump and bang my knee. (and what did you do this evening, kids?)