I’m laying in bed right now with all the lights off and two candles lit, one on my dresser and one on my bedside table. The window’s open and the streetlight is pouring in. I left my window open last night, as I do every night — who can sleep with a window shut without suffocating at night? — and I was woken up at least five times by what felt like a thousand ambulances and so, so many drunk people walking by — the price of living on Bloor, I guess. Every once in a while, I go through a period of having lots of trouble sleeping at night. I’ll wake up three, four, five times, and each time I’ll just sit in bed and sigh and re-arrange my blanket and wait for my mind to drift back to sleep, and it makes each night feel like it’s a thousand hours long. Sometimes, when I’m having one of those nights where I wake up at 1:31, 2:17, 3:43, 4:40 — I’ll long for my alarm to ring and will sometimes just decide to get up at 6 am.
I don’t know if people that read this blog care about what I do in my day to day life. I don’t mean that in an angst-y way. I mean, like, if you’re reading this, that’s so cool. You don’t have to be reading this. Thank you for listening to me and my feelings. I don’t get any hateful messages ever, and I think part of it is because I’m not popular enough to get hate, and because I’m pretty good at surrounding myself with positive people — but still, if you’re reading this, thank you. The only messages I’ve ever gotten on this blog have been warm and kind and supportive. That’s so reassuring, hey? The world is a lovely place, and people are great.
The other day I was working at the cafe with my co-worker Priscilla, and my boss, Gary, called out and asked for someone to help him lift something. Priscilla and I looked at each other and burst out laughing because I have the strength of a new-born and obviously he wanted Priscilla to help him. As she walked to the back, I thought to myself, “One day, when I can help by talking about my feelings, I’ll be the one that he calls for.”
I had a really full day today and I’m feeling really refreshed and hopeful about the rest of the summer. I went to a friend’s yard sale and bought a little globe, just because. I had a yam burrito for lunch. I went to a Blue Jays game and sat in the sun and got a burn on my chest and legs. We went out for a sushi dinner, and then my roommate joined us when we got london fog ice cream. The three of us sat on a little wooden bench outside of Bakerbots and ate our ice cream in silence because it was so delicious and everyone needs a moment of silence when enjoying something delicious.
I went to my first yoga class in several months tonight. I was so, so nervous — it was a hot yoga class, and I was coming up with so many excuses in my head to not go (let’s get a drink at the Communist’s Daughter, let’s go for a walk, let’s get more ice cream) — but we went anyway, and it was the perfect class. It was a good class and there was a nice flow with movement and a bit of a challenge, but it wasn’t discouraging or overly hard. Feelin’ good, guys.
So here I am, sitting in bed, putting on after-sun aloe lotion, listening to cars pass by on the street.
Sometimes there’s a group of seagulls that gather around Christie Pits and they’ll eat garbage and fly around and screech their gull screeches. Sometimes — it doesn’t happen very often — but sometimes, the passing cars will sound like distant ocean waves, and sometimes, you’ll hear the gulls screeching in the background, and when that happens, if you close your eyes, sometimes it isn’t too hard to imagine that you’re not in the city at all but by the sea shore instead.