2.29.2004

The Freshmen
We've tried to wash our hands of all of this, we never talk of our lacking relationships and how we're guilt stricken, sobbing with our heads on the floor... God I love that song.

I spent all weekend looking for something half decent to wear to grad and was very unsuccessful. It's so tragic when I know exactly what I want and I can't find it anywhere. It sucks that pink has become the new black. Shopping in Calgary can't be much better than shopping in Yorkton. I'm going to try and get to Vancouver/ Victoria/ Seattle over Spring Break. If I make it to the States in April, not only will my father have to deal with about three straight days of shopping, but I shall drag him into Victoria's Secret as well so I can buy a bra or two that are actually comfortable. Oh well, he'd like that.

"Some people want to be found. Sylvia didn't want to be found: she just crawled into a hole and... Wanted to die."

There are days when I don't want to be found, either. It gets to be too much. I'm just so tired all the time, I'm so tired...

2.27.2004

Sylvia
You know that she could never have been happy, right? Yes. Do you know why? Mmm? Because she kept looking to external sources to make her better.
You know when you're in a relationship and the other person needs you. You can feel it. But you can't give them what they need, they have to do it for themselves. She needed him too much. She tried to make his love hers, and he knew something about love that she didn't, and even though she was trying so hard to bring him back, she was only pushing him away.
She needed years and years of therapy to get better. More than the movie could have possibly encompassed.

All that and you couldn't have told me; "Don't you dare watch the movie by yourself."

I see so much of Sylvia in me. Like she came back and decided to live her life through someone else for the sheer purpose of experiencing the twenty-first century. I see the depression, the off-the-charts stress levels. The perfectionism. Oh, the perfectionism. All masked by a pretty face and 'a smile that lights up a room'. Just keep smiling and no one will ever find out.

I'll tell you a secret: My worst fear in the whole world is dying like Sylvia Plath did.

2.25.2004

Welcome to Hell, the Doctor will see you now.
I had to go to the dentist today. I HATE going to the dentist. All I wanted to do in there was yell at him; 'Get your hands the FUCK out of my mouth.' Apparently tooth 3-7 has started to decay. I need to get it filled on Tuesday. My hands smell like latex and I wasn't the one wearing gloves.
That's what being a good little girl and sitting still in the chair of death gets me: a filled cavity and an emotional breakdown.

2.23.2004

I'd give it all for a miracle.
I don't know why this is happening. This shouldn't be happening. I wish it wasn't and I wish I didn't feel so ridiculously alone right now.

Don't say you're here for me. You aren't. Where have you been this whole time? This whole time when I was falling and falling and crumbling and dying inside? You were nowhere. Nowhere in sight.

Is it really so much to ask for someone to love me?

2.22.2004

Fantastic
Absolutely Fucking Fantastic. We were so amazing.

Don't mind me while I gloat for just one second. I received Honorable Mention representing Benin in EcoSoc!!! Eee hee!

To all of Western's Model UN team and especially to my fellow representatives of Benin: Congratulations. We worked so hard and it paid off big time.

Can we say Best Delegation?

Seven years in a row.

Benin. Who said little countries couldn't win best delegation?

Oh. My. God.

I haven't had a weekend this amazing since November. It's been a real pleasure you guys.

2.21.2004

My day in a series of conversations
Chelsea: "I'm going to do it."
Amy: "Me too."
*They get up and stand on a table in the middle of the common area in the ICT building*
Simeltaneously: "ANGOLA!!!"

Chair of Caucassing meeting: "Can anyone tell me what a point of information is?"
Chelsea: "It's used when a delegate wants to clarify the rules."
CCM: "No.... Its used when a delegate wants to ask the delegate at the podium a question."
The rest of the African Caucass: "Oooohhhh...."
CCM's Sidekick in a hushed voice: "Actually a point of inquiry is used when a delegate wants to ask the delegate at the podium a question."
CCM: "Oh, my apologies, the delegate in the nice shirt was correct."
Chelsea: "I win." *Que the evil grin*

The Delegate representing North Korea (ten minutes before our mid-afternoon break): "I'd like to motion for a ten minute moderated caucass."
*Half the room rolls eyes*
Much debate ensues over this motion: two speakers spoke for the motion, and two spoke against. Chelsea was the last of the two speakers against the motion.
Chelsea: "Honorable chair and fellow delegates, I really don't feel a moderated caucass would be a productive use of time seeing as it would inevitably be directly followed by a fifteen minute break in which delegates would be able to converse in a much more informal setting. Besides which, after all this debate, the only time remaining is... *Checks clock* One minute and forty five seconds."
*Almost unanimous desk-banging (substitution for applause) results*

"Chelsea, you looked very stylish today."
"Why thank you." Pause. "But I needed to look stylish: it was masking my 'I don't know what the Hell I'm doing' phase."
*Laughs*

2.20.2004

Was it as poignant for you as it was for me?
I've been getting these migranes all week. Bad ones. They go away after I sleep for a while, but they always come back the next day, and it's always right after I eat lunch. I don't really know what to make of it. A visit to my massage therapist is definately in order.

I think I had a mini nervous breakdown today. I was in the Social hallway after my English class finished and I had to talk to Ms. Tuffs before I went home on my spare. After coming out of her classroom, I turned on my cell phone to check my messages. While listening to my mother's semi-friendly banter about coming to pick me up, I heard someone behind me call my name. I turned around and there was Amanda all smiles. She started talking to me while I was still on the phone with the automated voicemail lady and I was trying to listen to both of them. Then Mr. Jeffery comes out of his classroom and says something to me about my necklace, but I'm trying to listen to my phone and Amanda at the same time and it turned out to be a very unproductive couple of minutes because I ended up not hearing anything any of them said to me. I hung up my phone and burst into tears. Mr. Jeffery was gone by that point and I don't think Amanda really knew what to do - could I blame her? - so she just gave me a hug before she went off to Social Stuides. I went to the bathroom to try and collect myself and by the time I made it to the Social office - I had actually needed to talk to Mr. Jeffery - I had stopped crying, however apparently, I had mascara tracks on my cheeks. I didn't care.
It was really tragic that this whole thing happened over my being stressed out about feeling as though I hadn't done enough research for HSMUN this weekend.

After my mom came to pick me up, we went into Smyth and Kang to see if they had anything remotely suitable for a grad outfit. They didn't, but I did find a very hot blouse that would serve me very well at the Model UN conference. And it fit perfectly. And it was 70% off. I think it came to a grand total of 25 dollars with tax. It perked me up a little bit. The bag the saleswoman put it in finished off the job. Those of you who know me know how I love to collect bags.

So, the bright side of this whole thing is that even if I don't know what the Hell I'm talking about all day tomorrow, at least I'll look good.

2.17.2004

Today's Special
I take photos of myself incessantly. I will use two, four, five rolls of film taking pictures of my feet or my breasts or my eyes. And then after I get that film developed, I will go home, look at the photographs that, while taking them I thought would miraculously turn into works of art, decide that I'm hideous, and shoot myself down because I am just that shallow and vain.

2.16.2004

Missing the trees for the forest.
The answers we find are never what we had in mind, so we make it up as we go along. You don't talk of dreams, I won't mention tomorrow. We won't make those promises that we can't keep.

I wonder sometimes if acting like a bitch is worth all the people I seem to be hurting losing.

Do I think you're angry with me? Probably. Do I want you to forgive me? Of course. Do I think you will? It's looking doubtful. Do I blame you? Not in the least. I've put you through this too many times.

I will let you down.

2.15.2004

Tick Tick Tick goes the proverbial clock.
There is nothing I hate more than a person who doesn't keep her promises.

You have about five hours.

This is what I've decided I'm going to tell people when/ if they ask me what I did for Valentine's Day:
I woke up around ten to a note saying that my mother had gone to the book store, so I checked my email. When I ventured out of my bedroom, she was passed out in her bed, a vial of little white pills sitting on her nightstand. I clanged some pots outside her door and she didn't move, so I figured that was as good a time as any to sneak out of the house with her VISA card. I packed a bag, took a shuttle to the airport, and payed eight hundred dollars for a last minute WestJet round trip ticket to Montreal. I made it into the city by seven, checked in to the Delta Centreville - the same hotel we stayed in on the Model UN trip - and headed off to Super Sexxe (I really felt like I missed out on that part in November) for a night of bisexual fun.
My mother was still sleeping when I got home today.

I am so self-depreciative.

To misquote a conversation I had last night (no, it did not take place in Super Sexxe):
S: Fortunately for me, while I was seventeen, my eighteen year old friends were very into house parties.
Me: That was lucky.
S: No, -lucky- was stumbling into you.

I'm still in a state of disbelief over that.

2.14.2004

Sight, Sound, and Smell
You wake up facing him and think; My God, I love you. Laying on your side, you watch him sleeping deeply on his, as the breath escapes from his mouth and lifts the short tendrils of hair away from your face. He wakes to your hand fondling the elastic band on his hospital green boxer shorts. Eyes still closed, he smiles a half smile and lets out a pleasured groan. You're grinning. One of those goofy grins that makes you feel like you're in high school all over again, but you don't care because you're so caught up in the absolute happiness of Love that all that matters is you and him and the sun pouring onto the white comforter on your bed. He opens his eyes to find you like that: eyes sparkling, hair shimmering in the morning light. It's almost as if this is too much emotion for him to handle first thing in the morning. He's still smiling; looking bemused and searching your face for something that he can't quite see. You put your hand inside his shorts. He reaches his arm behind him - not once breaking his gaze - to the night table, where his hand scavenges the cluttered oak top - fingers feeling for the condom he knows he took out of the drawer last night.
"What?" You ask tentatively - not wanting to disturb anything.
"Shh". He reaches over to you with his free hand and strokes your cheek, then gently places a finger over your mouth to quiet you. Now he's grinning too. A smile so big you think you might just climb into his mouth and stay there forever; the velvety warmth all around you like a humid summer day. Finally he brings his arm back around, gripping the shiny foil package between his pointer and middle fingers. "I love you."
And suddenly, the world outside the cocoon of your queen sized bed has been completely obliterated.

' ' ' ' '

You agree that he'll make breakfast while you run to Starbucks and buy some coffee. There isn't a percolator in your house, and even if there was, you don't think either of you would be able to figure out exactly how it works. The boy behind the counter - he's about twenty - rings up your drinks, and gestures for his nine dollars and fifty four cents.
When you arrive home, you poke your head into the kitchen. You can't see him, but pancake batter is splattered everywhere, coating the countertop and cupboard doors, and there is bacon is sizzling merrily on the stove.
"I come bearing gifts!" You call into the room. At that, he emerges from behind the breakfast bar so you can hand him his Americano. You sip your Soy Chai Latte and sit down - you love watching him cook. The world seems perfect just then: warm and bright and smelling of breakfast and the lilies sitting contentedly in a glass vase on the kitchen table. Your gaze shifts from the flowers to him at the stove, a blue plastic spatula for the pancakes in one hand and a pair of salad tongs for flipping the bacon in the other. You've never been that talented in the kitchen.

Breakfast is served on your grandmother's blue and white china. The napkins are linen. He even garnished your pancakes with fresh parsley - he knows you love the colour. As he sets your plate down in front of you, he kisses your forehead and tells you that you're beautiful. You feel like a princess. And as he takes his seat adjacent to you and dips a piece of his bacon into some maple syrup, you realize that you've never felt like a princess before. You eat your meals in contented silence, savoring the flavours. Only the sound of scraping of cutlery across china fills the house.
When you finish, he makes eyes at you like you're a sultry stranger standing across the room from him at a cocktail party. Red creeps across your face, from the apples of your cheeks all the way to the tops of your ears; just like the first time you met. You leave your dishes, sticky with syrup and powdered sugar, on the table and walk wordlessly, hand in hand up the stairs to bed.

2.11.2004

One step forward, two steps back.
In a perfect world, I would be boarding a WestJet plane headed to Vancouver in just over an hour for five days of bliss on Gabriola Island where it is currently Twelve Degrees celcius.
Unfortunately, this isn't a perfect world. Not even close.

My glass is full, but it tastes like shit.

2.10.2004

Glow
My grad photos came in the mail today. I open up the giant, indestructible cardboard envelope only to stare three eight by tens of myself right in the face. I really had to wonder if they put those before all the smaller photos on purpose, just to scare me away. All I could think while I was flipping through the various sheets of photographs was "UglyUglyUgly". As far as I'm concerned, they're fit for burning.

Yesterday I ventured down to TD square on my last period spare and bought Because I Can. This one won't leave my CD player for a while.

"I keep on looking through the looking glass/ And I want to fall on through/ Out of the real world to a happy day/ Out of the wreckage that I do."

"I'm teaching myself to/ belive in the things I don't understand/ I don't even know if they're true/ That's what dreamers do."

So far, I'm doing okay. It doesn't hurt to smile. I can be with people and tolerate the interraction. If I can stay that way through next weekend, I'll be okay. I don't want to be responsible for ruining Western's chances of winning Best Delegation. I think someone else has already got that pegged.
Me: I think I'll be doing research for most of the long weekend though.
Fellow Delegate: Why?
Me: There's just so much information to cover, I mean, it's almost overhwelming.
FD: Yeah, but if you just look at the outlines and know the overview of the issues, you can bullshit your way through the weekend.

Well doesn't that sound promising. And you didn't receive honorable mention in Montreal because...?

"You've taken it too far but somehow/ I'll lick my wounds and take the last bow/ and hold my cold left hand."

2.08.2004

I'll never sleep again.
Apparently I've developed terminal insomnia. I'm not impressed. No one with nothing to do on a Sunday morning should have to wake up at seven am.

I dreamt about exams last night. Alberta learning made the diplomas into three parts: written, multiple choice, and reading comprehension. In the dream I failed Social Studies and had to take the final exam over again in June with English and Biology. I was becoming perpetually more and more stressed out and when I woke up to some strange sound my furnace was making, I was crying. Where is some Effexor when I need it?

Today's just going to be one of those days where I can't do anything because I'm so exhausted, but I can't take a nap because my mind is racing too fast. I'll be a zombie for the day--one more addition to the living dead. I have a very strange feeling that not much of my Model UN research is going to get done this afternoon.

2.07.2004

Road Trip
You know when you're driving really really fast and all of a sudden the radio plays your favorite song in the whole world and you crank it up full blast and you're singing at the top of your lungs and tapping your hands against the steering wheel and smiling till it hurts? You know how happy you feel right at that moment?

I want to feel like that more often.

2.06.2004

What was that you said about Britney?
I wonder what would happen to the music industry if only artists who wrote their own lyrics got signed for record deals.

2.05.2004

Me and the Moon
The only reason I'm even taking this class is because of you. The only reason I'm here at all is so I can see you for eighty minutes a day for the next five months. I feel like my entire existance is completely reliant on you and I hate it.

You don't know it - you don't even know you do it - but when you ignore me it stings like a thousand exacto knives across my skin.

I hate that you're completely oblivious to me when I'm out here drowning.

2.04.2004

Fifty-seven Seersucker Stripes
Two complete emotional breakdowns in twenty four hours and an E-slap later, I've decided not to take my spare periods for granted again. I almost forgot how much I would miss Art this semester.

I'm not liking fluid retention right now. It's a good thing all of my pants are too big. I don't know if it's a very good idea to engage in a philisophical conversation about 'perfection' when I feel like my uterus has miraculously morphed into a hot air balloon.

I had no homework tonight so I did Biology review. My Model UN research - or lack thereof - will stay untouched until Friday afternoon, during which time (I have vowed to myself) I will spend from 1:00 - 5:00 doing some hardcore reading on Benin's international relations.

My bedroom is a total catastrophe. If I listen really closely I can hear it scream. There are dirty clothes strewn haphazardly about on the floor, the contents of my make-up bag have been scattered around my desk, and today's Bio notes are littering my bed because I can't be bothered to put it in my binder. I don't even care anymore if my socks match. This is what anxiety has done to me. I can't function properly like this, but I can't for the life of me figure out if I'm slipping or just letting go.

A whisper from the Little Black Dot.
I'm here. I'm breathing - if only barely.

2.01.2004

Chelsea, you're so vain.
I checked my email this morning and found a message from someone who got caught up in the Hot Abercrombie Chick Controversial Catastrophe last night.
I know I'm not supposed to need other people's approval and appreciation to feel proud or good about myself, but with an email like this, how could I not?

"I found myself bored this morning and following links from one random
blog to another. I read large portions of yours. Don't worry, I'm not
creepy or anything. It's just I felt compelled to send you an e-mail
because your weblog really evinces a startling amount of emotional and
creative depth. And authenticity, I suppose, especially given how hard
conveying authenticity is to pull off even when one is being completely
authentic. Anyway, I'm e-mailing to give kudos and to say that I hope
you choose a life trajectory that allows you to develop and elaborate
your talents.

--[His name here]"

That, I think, will make my week.