First Love

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I never saw so sweet a face
As that I stood before.
My heart has left its dwelling-place
And can return no more.

- John Clare

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Is It Just Me?

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you, my dear untended blog, need some lovin' and caressin' tonight... candles, soft music, and cuddling on my couch... I saw a mushy movie at the Inside Out Film Fest earlier tonight. It wan't great by any measure- amateur actors, clichéd lines, even happy endings- but it opened up a wellspring of emotions that I thought I had packaged away nicely in the basement of my imagination. I thought I had mastered the art of denial when it came to those feelings. Is It Just Me? captures, albeit badly, the angst I feel. I'm sure I'm not alone in this- someone did write the script, so there are at least two of us out there that have a soft spot for mush. The story was crappy- but the sub theme was all about romance, and I'm a strong advocate of more of that good stuff in a relationship. The cowboy gets the geek because they truly connect at a personal level. That people look beyond the surface when it comes to love. That broken hearts have more room to love, and tha...
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I've seen my fair share of them, and tonight some more. On the train downtown, I saw a man bully his own child. Sick... This lovely boy, not yet 6, got on with his mum and this man. He was playing with his trains, and like most kids do, entertained himself. The man kept threatening the mother that she should have left the kid with her parents, that if the kid didn't behave the night was off and they were going home, that he was misbehaving, that the kid was the reason their relationship wasn't going to work. The child sat between them through all of this, slowly shrinking, getting still, wanting to be invisible. The mother kept fawning over the weasly excuse of a man. He did interrupt his rant to call a friend when the train surfaced briefly to tell him he was "out with his girl" and that he'd bet 40 on three games. And then he started picking on the child. We all sat still, involved yet not. I'm angry, at the man, but even more at myself. I glared a...
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feeling loved...

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I'm saving voicemails, cards, emails... I feel loved. I've never doubted that, nor have I ever counted it, lest I take it for granted, but in these trying times, the faith that people have in me, the genuine support and love I've received, have amazed me. It's true, I've kept all of this a secret, as best I can. As I said in an earlier post, it wasn't to hide the truth, but to save myself the task of constantly explaining it. If you asked, I shared, and only just, but not otherwise. I'm exhausted from the medical jargon and minutiae I've been thrust into, and I crave the normalcy I had just a month ago, so that I can focus on living life, and not resenting it. I am nothing without the lives that intersect mine. When I do have to go, as we all must, I will not be remembered for what I take with me, but for what I leave behind. It will be about what I've shared, tough and easy times, laughs, good solid cries... you've all held me to higher stan...
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