The Bloody Doors Off

There’s one person left in the apartment directly above me. He moves out this weekend.

Dear god, if I could move time.

Since 4pm, he’s been singing. It’s loud enough to be annoying, but not enough to be bitchy about. Well, I suppose this is me bitching. Over 6 hours. WTF? Back in July, one of the former crashers (who was a decent guy, and now I think probably the only decent guy who resided there) hinted that he had an addiction. You don’t wanna believe shit like that. But given the craziness over the past several months, it’s easier to accept.

But you know, it seemed like he’d been turning things around. He got a job that he enjoyed, kept him quiet. But now, in these final days until he moves out, it’s like he’s backsliding. And I feel for him. To a point. That, and my low tolerance for putting up with it, makes me feel like an asshole. There are times I wonder if I’m the problem. Especially since October. Have I done enough?

There’s a theme that’s been running through my psych sessions: being proactive versus being reactive. I react to shit, rather than taking action to make things happen/fix the problem. When things got really bad upstairs, I’d email the landlords so they knew what was happening. Which should be the right thing. But that also meant I was avoiding direct contact and dealing with the situation myself. And when things were at their worst, when I finally took the reins and made a call, some people thought I was overreacting. So then I second-guess myself. I either go too far, or not far enough. I can’t seem to find the middle ground.

Anyone have a compass? ‘Cuz I’m not even sure which way is north right now.

Interesting talk with my psychiatrist today. Discussed the gaping hole (okay I didn’t call it that) that I feel during the holidays. I do feel like there’s something missing. He reminded me that, with my last job, I complained that I couldn’t get the week of Christmas and New Year’s off because the other multimedia guy always booked it for his family. And I wanted that. But now I realize it isn’t the time I wanted off — because I had it last year after the layoff and I have it again this year — it’s that I want to enjoy it with family. And to further define that, I want to create traditions with family, one that involves not just the family I have now, but a family I want to have.

And that’s the bitch of it. I’m single, not dating, no kids. This isn’t where I thought I was going to be.

That’s all I’m gonna say right now. Thinking about this right now is painful.

Over-cooked the pork roast.

Now that’s out of the way…

Today sucked. Too much time on my hands, no motivation to write or go for a walk. Goddamn but I’m not happy. I worry that it’s this place. I’m half underground. I’ve got windows but a grey day like today, there’s no sunlight coming in and… the windows just aren’t big enough. The last apartment, I had a wall of windows. Granted, there was another apartment building across the way, but it felt better. More light, even when the sun was behind cloud. And it was more fun walking in Greektown. Even in my micro-neighborhood, there was more to enjoy. Yes, there’s a coffee shop opening a block away, but given that I’m in bankruptcy, and still unemployed, I need to count every penny. So the joy of going out and reading the paper while sipping a dark roast isn’t feasible.

I dunno man. My psychiatrist gave me his ‘light glasses’ a few years back. They’re frames with infra-red LEDs on the sides that help with seasonal effectiveness disorder. He’s got a lamp in his office; I’d love a lamp but, broken record. I should throw in new batteries and start wearing them again.

You know what I’d really love? WARM FEET. Because of the type 2 diabetes, the circulation in my toes suck. My old apartment kept the heat in (broken record) This place is nice but it’s gas heat, which costs (broken record) and even with thick socks my feet are cold. I’ve got three blankets on the couch, and guaranteed I’ve got one of them on my lap at any given time. And it’s December. I’m dreading March at this point.

And yes, while I’m at it, I’d like to rant about phone etiquette. I had someone call today about air duct cleaning. Now, my first thought upon hearing the name of the company (which included the words ‘air’ and ‘duct’) was “scam”. I mean, who in 2013 gets a phone call from a company claiming to be air duct cleaners and think “why yes, I’ll take this faceless company up on their offer without checking their credentials online, such as a website and such”.  At the very least, it was an outsourced call. But jeebus. The moment I said “sorry there are no air ducts here” he didn’t say “okay, thank you” or “thanks for your time”. No. He hung up. Just a fucking click. And you KNOW is was a random call because I only get 1% of my phone calls on my home phone now and it’s not registered to any property. So whatever mood I was already in, that just made it 10% shittier. The only reason I don’t get rid of that number is what would happen if my cell phone got wrecked. If I was working and could afford a replacement? Sure. But not now. But that also means paying $30 for a landline I may need if the cell breaks. So either way, it’s a waste. Ugh.

Now it’s after 10pm, I’m feeling like crap and even ranting like this isn’t helping.

I need to eat someone. Because the pork roast is dry. But only with permission first.

Because I’m a fine, young cannibal.

Sadly I’m not referring to the Crash Test Dummies song (which is okay, but I never really took to). No, this is more of a gut feeling that comes on when things are too quiet, when my hands are too idle, etc.

I got up at 9:00am, and by 10:30 I was bored to tears. Not working sucks ass. I must be doing somewhat better because I’m chomping at the bit, I just wish I either had a job or a project that was currently motivating me.

Haven’t even had lunch, I’m not hungry. Which also tells me that something’s up. Aside from a minor runny nose (which I’ve had for a week), I’m healthy. I’m not getting sick. Can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something not right. I’ve had this feeling before, and when the shit hits the fan, it hits. And it’s not necessarily a personal thing either.

Eh. Maybe I’ll get inspired later. Even this post is lame.

I’m a lapsed Catholic.

I was baptized and took communion, even going to Catholic school on Saturdays (only this year did I learn my mother only agreed to this because it was either going on Saturdays, or Catholic School proper). Given my falling out, I think I dodged a bullet. I’m far too liberal in some respects: I believe in a woman’s right to choose, contraception, etc. When I saw how my father was ostracized after the divorce, I think that was the last straw. I’m aware of how far the Vatican has come since I was a teenager; hell, I’ve been impressed with Pope Francis.

When I’d started my descent back in the spring, a good friend recommended talking with God. I explained my views on the Church, and she pointed out the difference between religion and belief in a higher power. So one sunny afternoon in April, I walked into a United Church on the Danforth. I knelt on a pew and opened up. I cried; holy fuck, I cried. I asked if anyone was listening. Of course there wasn’t a verbal reply; hell, if I’d heard one I’d have thought I was going insane and would’ve checked myself into the hospital right then. But I did flip through a book of hymns and opened it to a random page. And it said:

When you call me, I’ve already answered
When you call me, I’m already there

No. Seriously.

So after that, I started talking with God again. One sided, but nightly. Before bed. Mostly about what had transpired that day, some hopes for the future, and to look after my friends and family.

I stopped a little while ago, when things really got dark. It just kind of… slipped away. And then there was the hospital. They had a service on the Wednesday, but I couldn’t get myself to go. I felt like it’d be bargaining.

It’s occurred to me that I should start again. I do think there’s more out there; some kind of unifying force, a presence… I dunno. Something. I’m not sure why I find it hard to talk to her/him. There’s a United Church in my neighbourhood that I keep thinking of going into. And while I’ve been waking up earlier on a daily basis, I still haven’t gone to a service on a Sunday. I actually wanted to go to one last Wednesday, as I’d seen there were services then as well, but when I passed by during the day, that sign had been taken down. So I’m not sure if that’s changed.

The church has always intimidated me. I need to turn that around.

Saturday didn’t go as expected.

In some ways it was better. I wrote a very trippy scene with my friend Kate, a tale of two friends who had a conversation in dreams that spanned lives lived, lives yet to be experienced, and alternate planes of existence. It reminded me of what we as a writing duo are capable of: informative, whimsical, touching. It also helped kick start my engine. Let’s hope I write more every day.

I also got out to St. Lawrence Market today to get some groceries. I haven’t been there in ages. I did a ‘hit it and quit’ approach because I wasn’t up to wandering, but I should next time, especially as the Christmas season draws near. I think I also want to get out and see more Christmas light displays. This is a good thing.

On the not so great side, I was supposed to have a date tonight, but she cancelled without word of why nor an indication if she wanted to reschedule. I’m not bummed about it. We could be a good fit, but it’d take a lot of work. I’m 47; am I stupid for thinking at this point in my life that I should be able to find the person who fits like a snug puzzle piece and fills out the missing parts? Dunno.

Spending the night in, where it’s warm. Debating tomorrow.

I was talking to a friend today who is going through their own issues. And as much as I want to help them, all I can really offer is an ear to listen. At one point I was going to say “you only get out of life what you put in”, but didn’t. Because it wasn’t what they needed to hear.

But while I was out, ruminating on what I’ve been dealing with, I’ve realized it kind of applies to me. Not that I’ve been half-assing it on purpose, When you’re fighting depression and anxiety, among other things, it can make doing shit near impossible some days. But “you only get out of life what you put in” is a good mantra, even on the dark days. Because maybe on a day I’m struggling to get out of bed I can think “put in the effort to get up and go for a walk”. And who knows what that walk will provide? Fresh air? Yeah. Exercise? Sure. And maybe more. Because it might twig an idea for a story. (It spurred some pretty awesome Song for Rachel rewrites.) Or remind me to pick up bloody lightbulbs. Or I dunno. Maybe someone will smile at me, and I’ll smile back and that will brighten my mood, and that will make me feel better through the rest of the day and into tomorrow, where I get more done.

You only get out of life what you put in. I like that.

I get why, on the 6th floor of H-Wing, they played music videos when everyone woke up. It’s the least offensive noise at first light. It’s not the news, which can anger or depress you. Nor is it a couple of “hosts” making ‘witty banter’ and talking with C-list celebrities.

But Justin Bieber singing “Santa Claus is Coming to Town”, and including the lyrics “shake it, shake it baby” would be enough to set anyone off.

I need the music after last night. There’s a guy crashing upstairs who isn’t supposed to be there. He was supposed to be gone a while ago, but just this week was found out by the landlords. He’s been ordered out today. So last night he made a fuck ton of noise, starting around midnight, packing his shit. I banged on the ceiling at 12:30 because I was trying to sleep. He yelled that he “was moving” and “fuck off”.

At 1:45am, I called the cops with a noise complaint. Do you think that sat well? (It did for me.) So at 8:30am, he dropped something heavy on the spot above my room. Such a nice way to wake up, don’tcha think?

The landlords are taking the extra steps of changing the door codes and putting up a ‘do not trespass’ order today. Not sure I want to know what the history with this guy is, just glad he’s leaving.

It’s been a very grey day, in every sense. Despite the warm weather (we hit 15C around noon), I couldn’t motivate myself to go outside for a walk. And I wanted to. Mentally. In my head, I kept thinking, despite the lack of sun, that it would be a lovely time to take a walkabout. But I couldn’t get the damned shoes on. I barely made it out to get the mail.

I got other things done. A flyer for a friend’s business for barter, finalizing a poster for another. I even updated my job search profiles on two different websites. Updated my portfolio with the flyer (really proud of that one). But that was all done from behind a keyboard. It’s easier to live anonymously, the subconscious says. It’s wrong. I know it’s wrong. But today it held firm.

Wish I had more to write about tonight. Hell, I wish I was writing. I’m stuck; haven’t worked on the new play in days. I need a serious kick in the pants, metaphorically and literally.

I’ve never done crack or heroin. My last ‘drunken stupor’ episode was … years ago. I’ve been to strip clubs. I’ve smoked pot, but so has Jack Layton, and he was the federal leader of the NDP.

There’s no sex tape. Yet. I make no promises on that front. I just pray that, if I ever do, it never goes public. Nobody needs to see that.