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living and dying.

Tue Nov 18 1997

So my beautiful kitten is dead now. Peter had him put down yesterday. Really I am astounded by that. I didn't ever in my life think Peter would kill an animal. I feel shurt beyond belief, and I'm supposed to be sitting here working at something - don't know what at all. I'll just miss him really.

And the headache and stomach pains will go away. Faster than the sense of betrayal. Faster than the memory of Peter's rationalizations.

I'll try to deal with this. Somehow.

I didn't finish.

Wed Nov 19 1997

I guess I can't.

[ ... one year ago today: Calmistry ]


Thu Nov 20 1997

.review., oh, and an interview aired last Sunday on News1, headline news. It's probably in the loop still.

A week of confusion and little else. While thining of taking a hiatus in self-expression, I found I couldn't write anyway. Kitten haunts me, smiling and purr-chirping to me. Haunting is wrong... the memory is misty but clear. I love that cat a lot. I feel there is no end of betrayal in having killed him.

Peter wanted to argue that it was for the best. An old person view. It is for the best to minimize pain for someone dying. He kept saying that no heroic measures should be taken. I disagree. Fine. I also think that euthanasia is of a similar type - a cowardly measure. He held Kitten while the drug induced death was injected.

My beautiful friend was suddenly sick. Dying. Still dying is not death. It is a process, one which the care giver apparently did not want. Quality of dying is not quality of living. The latter happens through hope and internal fires. The former, dying, is a state of embracing angst, pointlessness, hopelessness as if they were life.

People can continue indefinitely clinging on to their existence and prolonging their TV inputs. They can do better than this though. They can step out of the expectations that something is owed them, and give it to themselves. Living is an embracing of love and of doing things for oneself and others out of this love. There is no clinging to death this way.

Kitten lived with Peter after I left. He has never believed in moving cats. Then again he has never believed in grooming them, or cleaning up after them, or, well, anything excpet this remarkable thing - making sure they have a person who can speak their language. He says that his cats are more understood than any other cats int he world. Understood. It has it's beauty. It does. And he is right in this mostly. But the physical seat of existance counts for something. Mistreating our selves leads to that ability to understand evaporating in pain or starvation or neglect. I want to help the cats that remain with Peter - because I love them too. How will I ever be able to judge whether they are happier without shots and smooth fur if I don't try to change the situation.

Normally, I'd remain outside the causal loop. Watch. Ignore. Do other things. When should I get involved? Certainly I'm not a busybody... could a little bit o that be an improvement? Certainly a few cats might find it so. Beautiful creatures.. My beautiful Kitten.


Just for the record, I'm opposed to euthanasia, and opposed to pulling the plug, giving up hope or failing to try everything to live. Just for the record.

I pulled out several photos of Kitten, taken several years ago when I had a lot of time and film. I'm going to hand a collection to Peter for his wallet. I know he is hurting inside more than is really imaginable, more than me. It's wrong in a way to be so ... so much of a poet. :) A foolish thought.

I've been carrying the photos in my purse. Put them there as soon as I hung up with Peter. Several days now. I think this is a tad obsessive, weird. And then yesterday I showed the pictures to Richard, and he just gave me a hug. I guess mourning makes sense. I've never mourned before. Just for a friend. I'd like to say one last goodbye to my friend. I wish I could have. So badly. [tears fall]

[ ... one year ago today: eight am ]

re flec tion.

Fri Nov 21 1997

virtual thought.

Sat Nov 22 1997

The final feelings of mourning dwindle. As they should for me. I've been thinking and comparing things. Are they inevitable, things? Not really, and yet some just happen. But I have such incredible luck. Bad shit doesn't really happen to me. In part, this is a worldview move - I see the beauty. In part, this is genetics - I'm tall, pretty, intelligent. In part, it is choice - I'm over educated, easy with finances, and able to work with incredible people. Blah blah blah

I asked richard about getting along with people, more about working with them when you are managing them. He said that you must not criticize. Instead generally being positive is a good way to go. When something needs some alteration, thent eh opportunity to express this is merely in teh absense of the positive and chripy attitude. Hmmm. I've been watching this in action since then. He fully expected me to start doing it immediately. I decided to evaluate by observation first. A curious form of social maneuvering.

We'll see.

Slipping through life slowly.

I'd like to remove the more repetitive parts of my life. And yet they provide an unsentient backdrop to the harsher surprise that is ever-present for me with change. I am not at peace with change. Building things requires a care for their existence, and existence must survive over time --- this isn't making much sense. Something must continue to be over time long enough for it to have been. Perhaps labelling it is sufficient. pointing out that something was there significantly. What a philosophical education does for me... it makes me scurry under word-like rocks of partial definition. At least today. The image in mind here, the tadpole. Does it exist? Really exist? It does not have the durationof a coffee cup. Is a business more like a coffee cup, or a tadpole? A process. And yet even the tadpole proceeds into frogness. and then the word that describes the whole physical entity - a frog life span? - is more like a coffee cup. Yikes. All over with referees to keep the definitions in the corners.

[ ... one year ago today: to be continued ]

of time and fortune.

Sun Nov 23 1997

Wary. Headache blasting my thoughts in every direction. Time for a bath.


Post bath. Wish I had that other tub still... headache gone.

Slipping between fancy and plain. Which way today? Shall I desire to think or feel more? Which do I desire right now? Ah.. a question, introspective.

Fairly likely to be off visiting with Niels over the holidays. We are planning a visit to Italy. I'm so looking forward to this. And I wonder, will htings be alright if I leave for a few days?

Am I living my life incompetition with those around me, or is there a mutual trust that we've bred, like I used to have with Peter.. that thing people used to comment on, for all of their criticisms. That thing that showed on our faces. I wonder if people now realize that I am still capable of that, even if it isn't happening right now. I wish they would know it. Trust. Love. Full trust. I wish I was trusted this much. And why aren't I? Small conflicts won by those better able to proclaim victory usually. As I always tried to remind Carey, marketing is something yu owe yourself in this day and age. We shuffle through such vast numbers of people and situations that our real reputations do not carry as far as we'd like. Even mine. Even broadcast by me in some minor celeb way, even I am not really known for what I've done that is good or desirable. I'm just the bitch who doesn't get the leadership behaviour quite right. Be nice. Yuch. If I looked in just th eright way, maybe I'd get it. It's not like I have people around who can expain this to me. Not anymore.

End paragraph.

Off to lunch now. ciau

[ ... one year ago today: acerbic rembrances ]

not writing out of shock.

Tue Nov 25 1997

Trying to write. It hasn't worked since my Kitten was no longer. A lingering sense that soemthing is wrong. The "I" missing too often from my sentences. Knowing that I don't want to be in the sentences. A reflection. I don't want to be in the world just now. And I am.

I'm going to traipse down to LA. I've decided. Maybe February would be a good time. Too cold here. Warm there. God yes.

No "I". But there is.

Learnign about myself with these dates. Found myself out with realy nice man. Enjoying his chatter. I know what sort of relationship we could have. And then soemthing inside of me objected. A ittle part of Peter. His voice telling me that my own likes are not healthy. Wow.

I don't have creepy little bit s of subconscious usually. What gives? I've always hovered around what I enjoy sexually. On the edge without being a participant really in my own tastes. And here I am pursuing them more directly. And what do I find? A voice saying that this is unhealthy, unnatural. Remarkable.

I know for instance that this is stuff that he pursued quite elaborately while we were breaking up. It's not his current beliefs that are in me... old old ones. Things he said when we first knew each other, when I had a healthy attitude - enjoy yourself. I'll never again live closely with someone else's hangups. Especially ones which that person refuses to acknowledge as there. I'll reflect healthy animal at myself. So what do I do now?

Poke around a little into my own psyche? FInd out if I am playing stereotypes at myself? Am I actually bothered by my own sexuality or by that of others? Which is it?

Shall I call the dating thing to a halt? It gets me into other sorts of things sometimes, things different from my own corner of the world. [How many corners must there be?]

What indeed is significant? My shoes? laugh Probably not. My feelings? These ideas about what one should and hsouldn't enjoy? My belief is that the shoulds and shouldn'ts shouldn't exist! Yikes. And somehow they do in me, they make me a little uncomfortable. Is this why my sex life isn't?

Well.. it is, but not what I'd like. I'd like a tanlge of emotions caring passion excitment fear escape quite. Fuck flirting though. Easy, tiresome, problematic. laugh again Maybe its time to look into this further...

The assemblance of a priesthood. Digital priests. Internuns. Pusuant to all evil, int eh pursuit of the good and the righteous, hold out your hands so that we may bind them. Breathe slowly and look away at just the last moment as we get closer. Shall I continue?

Shall I?

I need someone to just like who I am. SOmeone who will approve of me. I'm tired of being alone. Perhaps more than anything that's what I want. There's nothing sexual in this. This currently is what I'm missing from Peter and Tracey, a sense that I am worth it. I sure as hell don't get it from the office.

Someone just to like me... the way parents were supposed to. The way Peter used to until he worked to close to me. The way Tracey used to swap approval with me, a commodity we both highly valued. Wasn't I good enough?

Now in a confusion of anger and frustration, I am usually the bad guy, disappointment dripping from colleagues muzzles as they wrestle over the kill. What the hell breeds this? Nothing friendly? Is the world so very harsh that there is no room for enjoying me? Must I be that way too or else? ELSE: be the bad guy.


Wed Nov 26 1997

It's easy to assume that we are all travel through time without more than minor variations in our abilitieis, or that unless we develop some form of senility that we will only increase our knowledge and skill collection. It's also fairly safe to assume that. Our entire education system makes this assumption to very good end.

But does this progress describe a monotonically curved line (no dips)? Or do we sometimes suffer set backs? Small memory losses, short term skill deficits, regregression,... I seem to. Last year I simply and suddenly forget all the passwords I knew. There had to be close to 50 or 60 of these little things what with themes and variations. They abruptly vanished from my mind.

So this time it isn't passwords, but htere is a similarity to the loss. I've forgotten what I'm supposed to be doing. Maybe it's too much repetition, or too little. Maybe I'm doing things that don't fit me well. I don't know. Likely its the changes I've gone through lately... too many big ones. Suddenly I'm immersed floating confusion. I don't have a clue what to do next. I look at a list of things, and merely wonder about them. Perhaps my will power needs a vacation.

People seem to be very understanding about this even though they don't seem to understand. That's cool. Perhaps I've noticed I hold views that I didn't expect, and not ones that I'd planned... hmm

Writing here is one of the longest constants in my life at this point.

I've been questioning doing this for quite awhile. I needed a renewed sense of value in it. I'm finding that value in the hominess of logging on in the early morning, before the sun has risen. A pillar of my mental landscape, as per design. Where once was Peter and his understanding words, now lies my own words set in digital stone.

small differences

[ ... one year ago today: fishlettes ]

tendency to.

Thu Nov 27 1997

I slept ten or so hours. Been running an experiment with vanilla. I think there's an allergy there, bad one. headaches, rashes, stomachs. I received a little collection of bath products as a present, all with a vanilla theme. They make me sneeze, and then my head stuffs up. So I went out and bought a small vile of vanilla and put a drop in my coffee. So I've been rather physically achey - like with the flu. is this conclusive? No. But I sure think I'll avoid that yummy stuff - or at least not od on it any more. Soap anyone?

Pronouns still gone. Supposed to havea second date with a guy - but I canceled. I didn't feel comfortable with him. And then after Peter sorta stood me up Tuesday with a story about how he thought I stood him up, eeek, we agreed to do something tonight. But I don't think it'll happen. I'm sure he'll forget again, or spastically expect soemthing from me like knowing where to meet him and when. Shall I double book? I think yes.

Travel through the landscape into a thought beyond. new leather boots for the winter - my accomplishment in how doings. Rubber resoled black leather. They feel lovely to walkin. Didn't expect that. never had really nice boots before. Leather on the inside too. More yumminess.

Meandering through dumb thoughts. Craig cc'ing email to me about how woman are submissive by nature - soft he says - and men are hard. This guy. yeah we were each others' first serious relationship, lovers, friends, at what... 18, 19, 20? So long ago now. So much has happened. And there is this under statement to his reaction to me still. Ah well.

Under... a tendency to look at the world without remembering I'm in it. I need to put me back into the equation. These internet blind dates are helping a lot with that. I'd like to socialize in the great world more too. That'll help to. Wishing. Pursuing.

And now, unless I never plan to work today, showering.

[ ... one year ago today: A Real World Example ]


Fri Nov 28 1997

[ ... one year ago today: x & y ]

Do we really think?

Sat Nov 29 1997

Here I am, JD.

slip away. peaceful. tired. more sleep required. Distractions everywhere. a mind turned to picking them up to do.

We are each caught up in our own journeys. I've lately been watching these closely, perhaps accidently as well. Following on with Andrew's journal, Peter's head flips, and Richard's striving to live fully, and peeking into the lives of several men who would like to have sex with me but don't know how to convince me of it (er, I mean blind dates), following along then, I've seen journeys. Epic repetition of thematic concerns and character traits emerging on queue. Patterning. It seems our attempts to alter the one part of the pattern forms the next part. Rats in loops.

And yet things do change. Perhaps only the circumstances. perhaps a new melody line adds itself in acciedntly through chance encounter. Perhaps a revelation of insight on the workings of the patterns. And suddenly part of the pattern alters for real. A new looping journey, the next step in what a person must encounter given who they are.

nature nuture bullshit

So Andrew is journeying throuh getting married, all the ramifications. And Peter is re-learning about death. He's getting all mystical as a way of delaing with killing my Kitten. Richard,... Hmmm he's lightening up on trusting others, just a little. I won't ask what sort of collective journey our population is on given that blind dates seem to be the breeding ground for polite sexual innuendo and not much else to my own chagrin.

What is my journey? Finding happiness? Finding a space from which I am doing what I appreciate and admire. Altering the small goals to fit the bigger ones. Losing track of where I'm at beause I don't share my goals with others around me in the bigger sense. Funny - I'm not money motivated, but am money attracting. I like this, but it is not a goal.

What ought a person to be, to pursue, to share? Peek in a little bit closer.

Do I have anything to share anymore? Yup.. tons of stuff. Funny. The sharers have backed away from me because I over-shared, but added expectations in return that they treat themselves differently, I thought better. Do I have other things to share? Warmth? Love? Sex? Success? Yes to all of it, and yet I need such returned easily and without doubts. The security of knowing. This is what I need from anyohter. No more doubts. Had that with Peter for so long. Liked it. But.. things change.

I had to leave to do everything else I wanted to do. This was my payment.

Take heed. Costs are high. And still, it was worth it to me. Where i'm at now is more satisfying in every way but that one. C'est la vie. I build it back in now as well anyway. With other people. With other pitches. Loyalty is often highly valued. Get inwith their program instead of tryig to have your own always. makes for brave alliances. My basic strategy. I was asked wht I enjoy in sex the other day. This is it. Knowing what the other person likes so clearly that we can acheive it. A little metamorph in me I guess. reflections make a farce of any belief in learning.

And scrolling back... looking at the attempt to retain love. it endured up until and not after working together. This ended the attempt on my part. If it happens in the future, which is unlikely again, it will be a chemical effect.



Sat Nov 29 1997

A day alone leads me into feeling warm, self-contented, and almost hypnotized with the silence. A feeling of vague relaxation layered with aloneness. Not good not bad. Not quite balanced either. Telling myself inside that it is ok to stay in my robe on purpose all day. Feeling like it is not quite permitted. :)

Is it?

Reading my different email accounts. Which way to go? A movie this evening? Perhaps a call to someone to chat? Small piddling sensations that I might not be bothered with other humans today at all. A thought. Unlikely though.

virtual expiration dates.

Sun Nov 30 1997

What if.

What if I were to not only do everything I want to do (which I've always done), but also have everything in the world come my way? What would I do?

[ ... one year ago today: day beyond days ]


Mon Dec 1 1997

The feeling I get when I believe that what I do is meaningless, valueless. I truly believe this finally. I go through the motions becase I am expected to. But it doesn't count for anything because there is this icey wall around through which no gets through. They don't want to. And inteh end my own privacy is left to me.

What will give me this feeling? Whouldn't I be boyant, laughing, feeling on top ofhte world? I don't. Maybe it's just the effect of a bad glass of white wine with dinner. Bringing me down.

A little yes... Sets a bad tone. Maybe its the feeling that the little how chores are picking on me. Aren't I supposed to get them right? Details. And responsibilities. And potentials. That's really the crux of the matter. The potentials are so incredible. I don't feel like they are mine, but they are. Things I've built create them... Not solely of course, but I was one of the people wh otook risks, and that it seems counts for a lot. It just doesn't sustain me.

Perhaps harvesting new personnel is tiring. Like dating. Getting used to people, and learning to fit in with them. That's all very important and good. In a way, it's kinda cool. But tiring.

So this morning, when I could use a good hot jolt of strong coffee, I'll walk to work down Yonge Street and pick up an incredible expresso. Through the park, a short journey between my own life and that of my creation... Our creation really. Richard and I and all those who've worked with us making this whole thing prosper.

Thinking that I should move on isn't right... I should be thinking of how to make this thing go where I'd like to go too. [I wonder if the great mail strike is over. Funny that two weeks of total mail strike has made alomost no difference. Everyones' expectations have changed. Fax and email have been used more for sales, and a few more couriers. It's been rather elegant. I don't suppose I'll mind if the strike goes on indefinitely.]

Bi thoughts percolating... not me here any longer. Time to go I guess. A mild pep talk. Good enough - not really - but I'll act like it.

[ ... one year ago today: remember those Sundays ]

What goes around gets dizzy.

Tue Dec 2 1997

It'a like the glue holding thoughts together is weakening, aging or crumbling in my mind.

Imagine that memory and thought and creativity all stem from the smahsing together elastically of the stuff in your mind. Smashing, zooming around thoughts colliding like particles in an accelerater.

Then the accelerater turns off. No more hope. Love is missing. A feeling that there is a point to it all vanishes. Where frustration builds up, there goes staleness for me. My mind is a sieve washing through and sifting, but not adding anything but bureaucrateasing.

A sense of empowerment missing. A vague recollection that I used to like who I am... still do in a way. But without the self-confidence to carry on further, I am bashed by the winds against chainlink fencing. Grated into unrelated bits.

And I wonder... why am I so sensitive to those around me? I know this feeling is not stemming from me. What do I do to withstand it? I don't want to use all I have up giving it away, not when I know it will not payoff for the others or me. It would be so easy to give everything away. I've seen it done before. I refuse. So that is what is going on. I am refusing to lose. But I want to win (a metaphor since there is no game being played). I want my metallic glittery wings to shoot open. I want to carry things to new heights. I just don't want to be the sacrifice who did it all for no personal gain. That is not my style.

The level of criticism directed at me is high to the point where most things I do get replaced rapidly by others' work and ideas. To the point where my contributions amount to nothing but lip service to the position.

Is this what has pushed women into the background for millenia? I'm suspecting it is. The incitement to do things male. Compete, bluster, drink too much beer, brag a lot about accomplishments, do things well or die trying, ...

Years ago I believed hanging out with males had advantages. I don't see them as easily anymore. Perhaps it is because I am not in my early twenties. Perhaps it is because they are not. Perhaps it is because the level of expertise in truly geeky and loser things (like beer making, explosives, car repairs, computer parts, and new cell phones) is higher in thirty-somethings than in twenty-somethings and the ass-kissing these males expect in return is higher. Perhaps it is because I don't do the ass-kissing part and am not acting girly enough - I'm too old and accomplished to feel any desire to do this.

Or perhaps because I am a senior executive in a tech company, I am expected to exert a high level of technical expertise, but I'm not because I don't have it, and because I think geeking out is for the kids and strategizing is the cool thing to do. I don't know. What happened to cruising through while enjoying, and making things happen through these tactics? Why must we have big dicks too?

Perhaps I am frustrated because these guys talk bigger than they do... I don't think so, but just perhaps. The accompishments I've acheived are nothing to bark at. And yet, they are not crowed over by anyone. They are smothered in a sea of disappointment because they don't happen daily.

and then again, perhaps the criticism and disapproval I get is destroying my mind. Approval and compliments being the life blood of much love.

I need to decide what to do. Endurance is exhausting.


[ ... one year ago today: But how can I know? ]

What of it?

Wed Dec 3 1997

I don't feel like writing. Fiddled with all the links. Read email all over the place, work, here, dating email, school accounts, here again. looked at a couple of web sites forwarded to me. Fiddle fiddle.

Have a problem. When you see someone burning themselves out, what do you do? Advice won't cut it. I need a real strategy here, somethng I can socially guide into accomplishment. It's becoming tragic, or will be soon.


Still don't feel like it. Somehow sonewhere inside me there is something compressing me into a solid, no movement internally. Fear worry excitement truth passion - all missing.

I suspect November / December just sucks. Everyone planning all these vacations. Me made to feel that I'm useless. Surely there is no harm in a useless person taking time off. I'm imagining nothing. Ambiguous thought. I'm out of imagination. Running on empty.

Vigor missing. repeat. repeat. repeat. repeat. repeat. repeat. repeat. repeat. repeat. repeat. repeat. repeat. repeat. repeat.

repeat. repeat. repeat.

I feel a little better now. The tears dry slowly. And my chin raises again like Nicole suggested in the News 1 interview for CTV.

Funny how these things happen.

[ ... one year ago today: sliding on the icing ]

of no interest to anyone.

Thu Dec 4 1997

Selfishness.. by advocation of someone who I was previously not directedly selfish towards. An easy task. An unfortunate task. If we do not care for each other as we do ourselves what have we except a sprawling and curiously organized anarchy and crossed fingers?

I'm good at selfishness. Don't usually try to carry it out though. So may the games begin.

many wakes

For the future...

frames: http://carolyn.org/diary.html

xmas gap time coming soon.

Fri Dec 5 1997

Quietest of plans formulating. A whisper of strength in my bones. I don't like this option and I will make it work. Big changes slowly emerging. Funny that the way I do things will make everyone happier. Perhaps they knew that, and goaded me into this for such emancipated reasons.

A little IQ test circulated the other day courtesy Carey, and I must admit to feeling a long missed pang of satisfaction after I wrote it. I knew sevral peoples' scores before I tried it, and I aced it. Haven't had that sort of IQ race fever for many years. Thought I'd gotten over it. Guess not. Still, as Carey mentioned to me, it's not surprising that everyone around me (she found this true of her life too) scored really high.

Will life ever really look different to me than it does now? I doubt it. It's in the realm of the possible, for I know differing perspectives exist, viable ones too. But I also know that the ruts and habits of daily life do not alter easily, and our practised niche sitting will not easily encourage other things even when they are I front of our noses. Peter being hte exception of course.

My life may always crowd aroung the data points I've built and the ones that I can build on top of them. Why would I start from scratch in a new hole to place a new foundation of my life's work when I have this wonderful strucutre already built? Why? If I felt that I could n longer progress with this one of course. Questions are such silly things... if asked in any other than the most careful manner, they are usually quite stupid.

[ ... one year ago today: frost bytes ]


Sat Dec 6 1997

Morning snow storm. Cats purring happily. A good book for a change. Bit of a martini hangover. Andrew around somewhere wanting to shop. Silence. Several.. what.

I guess another mentally quiet day. I have changed a lot. Nothing to babble about extensively. No desire to put creativity into the mix this morning either. Other things to do still.

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