Although I am a dog person, I couldn't turn away from this seven months old cat who was abandoned and needed a home.




I named him Asta -- named after William Powell/Myra Loy's dog in the Thin Man.

I'm moving once again so that mean no mail should be sent to Bathurst Street but rather to Wychwood Street. Two blocks away and on the top floor of an extremely old building seen here




Actually, the only person who write to me constantly is my adorable andrew b. I know I'm neglecting you by not writing back ever so often but let me just say this; whenenever you send me things, I always put it on my wall. In my new apartment, there will be frames of stuff you sent me on the wall in the living room. Thank you.

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My latest obsession is George Sanders. Always that actor that we all know very well but couldn't really remember his name.

I read an autobiography  that he had committed suicide and left this note:

Dear World, I am leaving because I am bored. I feel I have lived long enough. I am leaving you with your worries in this sweet cesspool. Good luck

I'm not ignoring anyone -- don't think that. I'm just avoiding myself these days and basking myself in work and watching Judge Judy and movies. Making 'zines and being alone the way I want to be alone.

I know some people are kinda pissy with me that I'm avoiding contact with them in term of actually going out and spending time with them. It's not personal and yet it sort of is. I'm not sure if I can say I'm depressed or busy or anything. I come home from work and I sit in front of the television.The idea may be seemingly lazy -- just to sit in front of the television but in actuality, I'm so busy at work that I hardly have time to do anything else. My work defines me because I'm actually contributing to a worthy cause so that makes me somewhat satisfied.


i'm not in love. I don't think I even love anyone. Maybe this is why I'm sorta numb to the way things are. I just don't care.

Today I am typing up my first LJ entry from work. That's right. i've been working. Not only have I been working, I've been offered  not one but three jobs in a matter of a week. Funny how things work out when you're a miserable whiner for the entire year of 2008 and then suddenly, you're relevant and important.

Not to say that I haven't been depressed because I still am but at least I got a great distraction -- work. home. work. home. work. home. -- sure, this limbo may be old in a couple of months but let me relish in the joy of working, okay?

Someone asked if the reason why I'm happy about working has to do with money and then say  'i thought you don't care about money, angela!' -- I do not care about money but I do care about needs. . Like hearing aids? which I'm working to get and I get a 20 percent discount because we sell hearing aids here! (my earmolds are aching!). It's as if I'm spending my entire pay check on Fable graphic novels, y'know. ('cause I don't do that -- well, not anymore) The first paycheck is going to a copy of the new woody allen movie vicky cristina barcelona, rent, and 50 bucks is going in the Leon's college fund.

this is my life and i rather like it.

my beloved typewriter died tonight in the middle of writing this sentence;

"in her last letter, the woman he has nearly married wrote: 'We have seen all of this before, but in less elegant terms"








what was i talking about while writing this particular sentence? I have no fucking idea. Thus, the problem with writing these days. prescription drugs are making me wonky and all Bruce Lee.

A French friend said she thought of me when she read this poem by Fernando Pessoa and recited it for me. I was so touched and not because it's french or anything -- but because a beautiful poem reminded someone of me. I don't think I ever reminded anyone of something really cool -- like a billie holiday song or a Ted Hughes poem. Nothing significant really.




I went to Ikea in search of cloudberry jam mainly because someone recommonded it and also because the name itself is just amazing.




I saw him this afternoon after watching Entre Les Murs (The Class). I didn't see him coming but there he was -- running across the street and exclaiming "Angela! Angela! There you are" and there I was, standing there confused and questioning why he was even there speaking to me. He apologized profusely for history and for the first time in a long time, I could care less. I nod and passed him a half grin that he mistook for an invitation for anything else.

I am threatening to leave the Internet and the world yet again. it's not for attention, really -- just merely out of frustrations that there's a lot of crap going around. White noise. Drivel bullshit. I'm constantly disappointed in people. I really do hold them up on a pedestal and they let me down constantly with their lips being glued on people's asses. I'm being admired and yet crucified by the same people for being who I am and I'm too depressed to bother.

and there I am today; french chicks reading poetry, cloudberry jam sitting on the counter and a broken down typewriter thrown across the room.

This is the update.

Thus.

well, I never said I was interesting.

fuck off.

You know how we have a very different perception of ourselves and how others view us? Well, I'm rather curious about how other people see me. How do you see me? Provide with pictures!


in my mind, I am Pam Grier.



and when I hang out with people, I feel like Larry David

what can i say -- it wasn't even a week ago when i was thinking about suicide once again -- thinking about committing seppuku and deciding not to bother because it would be too messy and everyone knows I'd rather clean up after myself.
With a few days, I received news that I got the job at CHS in Toronto. The great thing about the job is that it's something I always wanted to do. Being an ASL coordinator or something like that -- names and labels are --y'know..whatever -- but I get to deal with new people and learning Deaf Culture and ASL. that's always good to me.
With that said, I moved to my sister's place and cut all ties with my father.
What does this mean, though? its not as if i'm about to commit suicide anytime soon since I now have obligations and responsibilities and it's just rude to kill one self when you've accepted a new job. The downside/upside to the job is that it's three days a week which leave me time to teach ASL but not enough to live entirely on my own.
I'm still feel kinda  muddled, crazed, and confused on a daily basis -- sort of like trying to see things clearly in a fogged up rose-colored glasses. I'm not good at metaphors or being subtle anymore. I'm turning 30 this year, I don't give a shit about being all mysterious and aloof.

I'm trying not to be in love anymore but in this department, I fail. I'm gushing still and yet so miserable because he is so sad. I don't like seeing friends sad. It make me fall apart and I don't mean that in a dramatic way -- it's just one of those things when you're feeling so helpless whenever the person say "i'm okay. i'm good" and you know they're lying and so you pretend and just say 'so, how was the movie?'

speaking of movies, i watched 260 movies in 2008. i couldn't believe some of the shit I saw like One Missed Call and The Strangers and The Last Mistress (shit, Asia's boobs were out the entire film!) and yet there were so many wonderful, wonderful, wonderful films out there that reaffirms my love of cinema. The last being The Wrestler in which Mr. Rourke and Ms. Tomei  totally made me wanted to take out my guns'n roses tapes and show some love to my vagina.

I don't know what I'm saying. What I'm trying to say here is changes can be good. Changes can be bad. Changes are changes and what more can we do after that? not much.




so start writing to me at:
619 delaware ave
toronto, ontario
M6H 2V3

show me the love.

This is for you and me.

I am trying but everyday is getting harder and harder for me to get up in the morning. Well-meaning and good natured people are so far and inbetween. The one thing that got me up in the morning is when strangers send me these:

the year of 2008 is probably the worst year in my life since the year mike and i broke up.

i've been tricked, played with, fucked and I have nothing to show for it.

Ed is gone.
Meaghan is there but barely.
I fell in love this year but as usual, i'm way into the guy then he is into me.
no jobs.
I still can't afford hearing aids or glasses.
i can't even get disability or benefits from the government.
i cry almost everyday.
i was mugged TWICE.
my bike got stolen.
I experienced something extremely traumatic that I can't even discuss it here.

my life is fucking shit and yet i'm always here for whoever that needs me....

I tried to do various projects where I can get people to contribute...to add something to the pot..whether it's the happiest days of our lives or to make signs for the 'get by' project. Some people belittled me or think the idea is stupid. I'm  having difficulties even finishing those projects with the lack of interests and I just don't feel that I'm in that right frame of mind to even bother anymore.

but right now...how can i pretend to even care anymore when i haven't had anything, really...to indicate that there is something to live for?

life is so very heavy to me and it is so light to you.

Dear journal:

a lot has happened but for the first time in a long time, I didn't run to you.

It's not as if I don't love you but you can't help me. As a matter of fact, my last entry were somewhat vague but definitely misinterpreted.

I'm tired of being misunderstood.

here I got is an excerpt of a short story I wrote:

EXTERIOR. PARIS AIRPORT RUNWAY. DAY

 

A plane is taking away from Mina, who is running through a blizzard. She stops and waves her red wallet over head. The plane stops like a sluggish animal, a crocodile, the staircase falling open like a jaw. The attendant steps out into the snow in a short-sleeved white blouse and navy skirt.

 

Bergman has said about writing a script. “all in all, split second impressions that disappear as quickly as they come, forming a brightly coloured tread sticking out of the dark sack of the unconscious. IF I wind up this thread carefully a complete film will emerge, brought out with pulse beats and rhythms characteristics of just this film.” I think about how so much of a good story seem to happen elsewhere, off the canvas or screen or page, in Europe, or a backwater New Brunswick town, in what is left unsaid. A word on the tip of the tongue, ungraspable. The teasing smush of a feather boa over naked breasts in a strip-tease. Mina is six years older than me and is rarely amused by what I have to say.

 

Mina

Shut up

 

Me

You shut up!

 

Update:

Everyone else is doing so much better than I.

Whatever.

Fuck you.

For those who said they were going to give me their videos/words for the best day of our lives project -- I need your submission by November 1st. No excuses.

Second: My new project now is to do a video based on the Talib Kweli's Get By song. I need EVERYONE here to take a picture of themselves holding a piece of paper that read 'Get By'. This guy already did one and I barely know him -- and I KNOW YOU people. Take the time and ask your friend to take a snap shot of you holding 'Get By'. I'm looking at you. I know you're reading this. Do it. Do it. Do it.

Seriously. GET TO IT NOW!

What do you do in the morning?

A reflection by Professor Levy (really, Primo Levi).

Not much to say except this is what what we all need when we're going through despair. I'm inconsolable and distant and yet I'm always there for you.
Aren't you here for me too?

I sold 670 books.

I now have 223 books on my shelves.

I feel empty.



One of these days, I want to travel the world to hang out in libraries. Who want to be with me?