Chapter 1 (of the Novel I Will Never Finish): A Day in my Life

I have no idea what is going on.

Actually, I do know a few things. I am afraid of ducks and, only slightly less so, swans. I'm wearing brand new socks. I'm sporting newly straightened hair. And I'm on a bus right now.

Not much else.

While I probably should be concerned about this, I'm not. I don't know where I'm coming from or where I'm going to. But, I am enjoying the whole bus experience - trying to live in the present like that quack doctor advised me to (living in the past was getting way too expensive anyways). I am probably coming from home, but I really can't be sure. I could have gone shopping or maybe I have a job....do I have a job? Do I shop? Should I have or do either? Maybe I live on this bus? No, I probably do not live on this bus, as if I did, I would almost definitely smell worse and I smell really spectacular. I don't even want to spend one more minute contemplating the living-on-the-bus reality, although maybe in that reality I'd be taller. I have this feeling I'm on my way from something - like maybe I am running away from my fears or troubles - I've done that before and I'll do it again. Or maybe I am late on my way somewhere...or if I was late, wouldn't I take a cab?

Looking around it dawns on me that I'm currently sitting on a bus surrounded by a motley crew of weirdos. What else is new? I feel like I've been on this very bus a thousand times. Everywhere I go weird people find me. It is like my doctor implanted a homing beacon calling out to all weirdos when all I asked for was a informational pamphlet on nose bleeds. I wonder how I look to them? Do I appear weird? Are they moaning inside about having to share a bus with me? Or possibly I am the best thing that has ever happened to them as far as fellow, anonymous bus passengers go. I contemplate looking around and smiling and waving at them all, but I decide to dive back into my book. I'm currently reading the classic novel, Little Women - a moving book about...NORMAL-SIZED WOMEN!?!?!? what a misleading and ultimately disappointing title. I was highly anticipating a thrilling story about a group of crime-fighting tiny females who save humanity from extra-terrestrial gargoyle-type creatures who want to harvest our brains for sport. This book was sort of like that except more emotional moments and coming of age aspects. Today's bus riders do not disappoint - they are weird.

On my left is a guy who looks like a combination of someone who was just released from a prison for the criminally insane and someone who just finished shopping at Bed, Bath and Beyond. He is either speaking to an imaginary friend trapped in the window sill or speaking to himself - I'm not sure which is better for him or for me. I try to imagine what he did to get committed and how he was able to convince them he was okay. I entertain this thought for a moment until remembering that his mental health or lack there of, is completely my invention and he could be teaching sanity lessons at the local community college. I could learn a thing or two from this living-on-the-edge sort of guy. I am spellbound by the limitless dimensions of his hair which seems to be living proof of the existence of the 24th dimension. It juts off in every direction and would be cool if he was in a boy band or just finished removing his helmet after skating on a half-pipe. My senses are confused. He looks as if he should smell horribly, but instead, I am overwhelmed with the aroma of lilacs. Lucky for him, I have a thing for lilacs. Also, lucky for him, I am not hungry for lilacs - I learned my lesson years ago in our neighbour's backyard.

I turn to my right and there is a woman who just can't stop smiling and doing everything in her power to stifle a laugh while flipping through the magazine she is reading. I'm sorry, there is no way that Cosmo is that funny - regardless of how many overly ridiculously inaccurate lists they have on how to please your man or ways to dress for summer. I mean do they actually survey real flesh-and-blood men? And are there really 99 ways to be pleased? I'm pretty sure I only have 11 and at least three of those is "feed me chocolate". Or possibly she is finding some of the airbrushed pictures particularly humourous? I like the ones where the female models appear to have naturally glossy skin that would be particularly useful if preparing for a slip n' slide. I have heard of some studies that smiling and laughing is infectious. In this case, it is having the opposite effect as I want to scream or cringe or itch something. She is smiling so widely that it is almost as if she has just been to a physiotherapist who instructed her to stretch her facial muscles daily. But, who am I to critique someone else's emotional state? I should aspire to be more like her! Why be all gloomy? Maybe I should read more Cosmo? It couldn't hurt, unless someone like me decided to rip it from my hands and hurt me with it.

In front me there is a young couple with a baby who looks about 6 days old. Why are they taking such a young child on a bus, I'm not sure? Stay at home, enjoy the peace and quiet, change a diaper or two, maybe go for a walk - don't subject the rest of us to a never-ending stream of high-pitched crying and wailing. Impressive lungs though, I have to admit, and the shade of red that her face is turning is making me hungry for my friend Emilio's tomato sauce. Coincidentally, he also screams like that while making his sauce, but usually due to the scalding (once because I "accidentally" stabbed him with a knife to proof a point...or was it to win a bet?) The couple, despite the crying child, is so much in love that I come close to suggesting they get a room, but I'm guessing, based on the baby, they already have...a few times. The baby abruptly stops crying and seems to fixate on my nose, which I have been told on multiple occasions, is quite nipple-like. My reactions to being told this range from anger to concern to curious and then back to anger again. But, it is so hard to be angry with a 6 day old cute baby even though I can tell, by it's look, that it is suggesting some sort of major reconstructive surgery for my nose. Or it is just hungry. I reconsider it's age. It is definitely not a day over eight days old, I think confidently. After a minute, I have some doubt - he may be 9 or 10 days old. Possibly he just looks young for his age.

And behind me are a couple of teenagers whining and complaining about how horrible their lives are. They are taking turns describing the depths of their sorrow and pain and suffering and it actually works out perfectly as it gives me an unforeseen opportunity to mentally rehearse my infinitely sad violin concerto that I've been composing for moments exactly like this. According to them, no one understands these teens (or buys them anything), but I think I do and I'm tempted to stand up and verbally shake some sense into them or orally smack them silly or just buy them a non-fat ice cream cone possibly filled with low-fat ice cream - I just need them to be quiet as they are reminding me too vividly of my own teenage angst which bled into my early twenties angst which led to my late twenties angst which naturally led to that job at the post office. Surprisingly delivering and sorting mail was the cure for my angst and I briefly debate suggesting this to these forlorn teens only to reconsider when they are hit by a fit of the giggles that surprisingly causes me more concern than the angst. Uncontrollable giggles should make me smile, but instead it makes me yawn as I am really really tired, plus the exact pitch of their high-pitched giggles makes me yearn for dog treats for some reason beyond my comprehension. Fortunately, I am carrying an unopened bag of dog treats. I divert my attention elsewhere before they start to notice my calculated stares and either contemplate reporting me or, even worse, start talking to me. The last thing I need is to be tricked into giggling right now. Not on this bus.

I still wasn't totally sure what I was doing on the bus. I was tired and wondered if I could use that to my advantage somehow or at least not have it be the reason for being taken advantage of for a change. Why was I so tired? Why did I feel like I hadn't slept at all in a long time? As I pondered those questions, I itched my nose, scratched my head and stretched and then did the same three things in opposite order for symmetry sake. Then I had to fight the urge to try them all at the same time, which I am pretty sure would have not only worked but may have inspired others to try as well. And then we could have broke out into a well-choreographed song and dance number. But, I quickly decided against it as I am sure I wouldn't have been cast as the lead and I'm tired. Also, I recently made the mistake of being asymmetrical and I am working on that. How long have I been riding this bus? How long will I stay on? At some point, I thought, I should rise with confidence and get off the bus, just so no one else clues into my lack of awareness and direction. I could write a book about my lack of awareness and direction, let me tell you. If I wrote a book every time I thought about writing a book, I'd have written a couple of books by now. Maybe I should do it now? Or just get off the bus already? As I alternatively psyche myself up into making the move and fighting the temptation, I notice the ads on the bus above the windows.

Usually I sit on the bus and am oblivious to these ads, and sometimes I rant and rave in message boards online about bus ads and how they are contributing towards the moral decaying of society. For fun, I often select a random message board -those ladies on that quilting forum must have been taken by surprise. But today I focus in on these ads and maybe it's my mood, but they really get me thinking and questioning myself and how I am living my life. Do I want a new cell phone? Especially one that comes with a plan, and not just any plan, an amazing plan that doesn't outwardly state, but seems to implicitly imply, that it will significantly improve my life, especially in my ability to text more frequently and get more data. I knew something was missing in my life - was it more texting? Perhaps, but I was leaning towards just needing more fiber. Too bad texting isn't also good for digestive health. And what could I do with all of that data! The possibilities are endless and I honestly don't know what any of them are. Will I need a bigger house! Can I still hang out at the coffee shop drinking tea? Should I say goodbye to my old friends who are definitely not big data users? Should I buy a parrot? (actually I have always wanted a parrot and just thought this would be a great time to ask) Previously, I was fairly sure I didn't want or need a new phone, but this highly glossy sign on the bus with its neon colours and large size 120 font letters is fairly convincing. I feel oddly drawn to the sign and decide after some thought, that maybe it is the actual sign that I want and not the phone. I wonder where I can buy a copy of this gloriously aggressive sign.

Then I notice another ad trying to convince the observer to attend the local community college. The two students (or actors posing as students as they look a little too "student-ish" in my mind to be actual students) are seen sitting in the library "studying" and have the two biggest, happiest smiles that are humanly possible. Now, I haven't studied at that college or sat in their library myself, but there is no way they are having that much fun at that library studying. What did the director of that shot want to convey? That students studying at that college are over-the-moon happy all the time especially when studying at the library? And that, if I was to go there, it would lift me out of my sad-sack life and give me a new found optimism and a sense of humour? And what are they studying? History? Not too many laugh-out-loud moments there. Medicine? Possibly they are overjoyed with all of the money they will make one day. Or maybe she just told him a funny joke, maybe something a bit risque or overly high-brow. Maybe, just maybe, they tried a photo of them displaying other emotions like fear ("so, school is scary like I thought" people may say before running away and joining the armed forces), anxious ("if these students, the leaders of tomorrow, are that worried and stressed, I shouldn't be relaxing on my sofa right now" people may say before looking into the logistics of cryogenic freezing), glum ("nothing annoys me more and makes me more angry than young, attractive people in ads looking sad" people may say before storming the campus with flaming torches, yelling angry slogans, attempting to rid the city of the institutions of higher learning that cloud us from the truth starting first with the libraries) or staring straight at the camera with an ultra-serious look ("are you looking at me? Oh, it's on!" people would say before making idle threats that they were in no position to issue, especially when you consider that they were speaking to a two-dimensional advertisement that was in no position to defend itself). Regardless, I am too busy and still scarred from my previous school experience - nobody warned me that universities didn't have playgrounds. But, I will store this info away, if I am in the neighbourhood and want a little emotional pick-me-up, I know where to go.

The rest of the ads are all public service announcements reminding me not to litter, vandalize, ride without paying or smoke. "Thanks mom", I mutter to myself, all of a sudden,.missing my mother even though, ironically she was a habitual litterer, a constant threat to vandalize, addicted to free rides and, although she was highly sensitive to smoke, she smoked like a chimney - taking huge massive inhalations followed by an endless stream of ash and soot. People would always tell her she was doing it wrong and that she shouldn't get so dirty from smoking, and she mostly ignored them and continued on her life work, a musical based on the unabridged dictionary. She didn't seem to enjoy smoking or any of its perks - like the incessant coughing, the perpetually raspy voice and having a built-in excuse to take multiple long breaks at work. I always felt that her smoking was merely a result of her confusingly strong attachment to both cylinders and fire. I spent a lot of time at grandma and grandpa's farm growing up and if I heard the story about how mom vigorously hated squares and rhombuses once, I heard it a thousand times. She was raised to love only three-dimensional shapes and had such a hard time deciding between a sphere ("kind of a like a ball, in many ways...actually, how are they different?", she always remarked about spheres, especially when I was playing with a bouncy ball, which oddly was slightly oblong-shaped due to her leaving cartons of cigarettes pressed on top of it much of the time), a cylinder ("nothing like a long, slim, filtered cylinder to start the day off with" she would say at breakfast) and the lesser-known dodecahedron ("so many angles, so many sides, I could just sit here and get lost in your sides" she whispered to her purple 20-sided Dungeons and Dragons' die the morning that father left with his girlfriend. Father drew the line at 10-sided shapes - who could blame him?). And fire? Mom was so caveman-like in her love for fire. She once spanked me for acting slightly nonchalant about fires and demanded a near-round-the-clock fire-appreciation mindset. That was so tough to keep up, but I tried. I tried for mom. Good old chain-smoking, cylindrical-focused, fire-fiendish mom. She was my mom, and we were always pretty concerned about her.

Abruptly, I stand making an unnecessarily big production out of it drawing the attention of a number of other passengers. Their focus on me is fleeting. Once they see that I am not going to break into song, ask for money or attack them (you always have to be on guard for those solo-belting, currency-focussed, knife-wielding maniacs on our city's buses) they go back to what they are doing (probably plotting their own plans to either sing, ask for money or attack the others). Why did I stand? Am I leaving this rectangular, metal "home" that seems to be rocketing towards some unknown destination that was not of my choosing? I want to leave, but the doors seem really far away. After a moment standing there, I realize that the far away doors are actually quite far away, but they aren't the doors on this bus, instead they are the doors to an apartment building across the street - I have always been confusing doors in my life - an odd, and ultimately quite debilitating problem. I pause, standing there, contemplating my next move. Do I sit again? No! That would be announcing my submission, my defeat, my clear need to add more squats to my currently non-existent workout routine. Do I commence a yoga-like stretching routine? I mean I do need to stretch right now and I recall the advice from my counsellor - "live in the present". I was never quite sure what she meant and I should have asked if I was giving off the impression that I was living in the past due to my wearing an outfit from another time complete with a hat with adorned with a beautiful feather. I want to stretch very badly - check that - I yearn to stretch, but I don't. Maybe stretching is exactly what "they" want me to do. (my counsellor also wants me to stop worrying about these other people I always refer to as "they", for many reasons - "they" may have really peculiar tastes, "they" may not have my best interests at heart, "they" may not actually care nor exist - I have an inkling that she is trying to push me towards realizing the latter, but I am just not ready to take that step in my therapy, mostly because I like my therapist and am trying to see her more often. Not to ask her out, but to slowly try to reverse our roles so that one day, seamlessly, I can become her therapist and she, my patient, and then I will push her towards asking me out. I haven't decided if I will say yes). I decide to leave. Yes! I want to leave and leave I will. Then I wonder how I should approach the rear doors - confidently? (could be a good call - it would give the illusion that I know where I am going not just now, but in life) - non-confidently? (would be hard to display this and have it appear different from hesitatingly and I just don't feel like appearing hesitatingly any more today) Since I am unsure how to proceed, but am certain I need to leave immediately, I get up and race towards the doors and trip on the top step which catapults me into the air end-over-end. I'm not sure how this happened, but I ended up completing two complete flips and sticking my landing causing the entire bus and all of the pedestrian on the street to break out into a standing ovation. While I enjoyed their applause, I quickly started to worry about next time as it would be really hard to match or surpass that.

I walk a few blocks receiving tons of high fives and slaps on the back along the way. Finally I find some peace and quiet and sit on a park bench next to a busy tennis court where a dad is trying to teach his young girls to play tennis. In the part of the lesson I am watching they are learning how to make bone-rattling grunts and how to incorporate gymnastic-style tumbling maneuvers into their tennis game. I feel that this dad is either a crackpot or on to something, but I can't decide so to take mind off the tennis I take out a small handheld mirror I always carry with me in my bag and look at myself (an overly macho friend once commented that this mirror is so small, it is really a compact and that maybe I "needed a purse" to carry it in, so I went out the next day and bought a purse and he hasn't talked to me since). I love looking at my reflection in the mirror and could do so for hours almost as if attempting to memorize the size and placement of each freckle (and possibly naming them much as stars have been named by astronomers - the big one near by right shoulder I always wanted to call "Cancer", but was talked out of it by my overly cautious dermatologist who thought that the name was tempting fate a little too much, so I settled on "Benign Tumor", which he liked slightly more). I tried to limit my self mirror watching to my home as doing so publicly is generally frowned upon for reasons I've never been sure about. Is it because it is "nicer" to look at others? Or possibly I'm supposed to share my mirror with all of the sad sacks around me who either don't own their own mirrors or are just very forgetful? Or maybe my looking into the mirror makes it seem that I "love" myself and that I should be more "normal" and less "strange". "Thanks Ms. Pinter" I always say whenever I think those thoughts in my head, which is strange because the actual Ms. Pinter was my grade 5 teacher who taught every lesson looking into a large mirror instead of directly facing us students, which meant that we learned from the reflection of Ms. Pinter who I had a massive crush on (I was often a bit confused if I preferred her right side to her left side and which side that actually was seeing as it was her reflection). Oddly, my school-boy crush didn't extend to the actual Ms. Pinter. Her reflection helped me so much that year - I have been looking for a motivating, attractive reflection to fill that void ever since.

I also love playing facial games in the mirror. My favourite, by far, was exercising my eyebrows, an exhausting, hilarious way to waste away the afternoon which had the upside of utilizing my Grouch Marx-sized eyebrows that I super-glued to my face and making my forehead quite a bit more muscular and strong which could come in handy one day. I prided myself upon being ready for just about any situation and having a stronger than average face seemed to be a good idea - I mean it couldn't hurt unless a situation called for a weak face. I'd like to have a face that can not only withstand all types of weather and being tar and feathered (I know this doesn't come up much and may not even be used any more) but can also be that face that can adorn posters and pamphlets and help the masses see that there is so much to live for and that there is good in the world and maybe, just maybe, my face could inspire and motivate people to exercise their faces as well (could be some money in this for me).

The park I was in was very serene and I was taking huge, deep breaths of the fresh air which caused the person sitting three benches away to get up and leave - it wasn't as if I was trying to use all of the air or anything! Weirdo! My goal this week is attempting to be kinder to people. I have a weekly goal and spend Sunday evenings either with a huge celebration or a few hours of constant berating and humiliation based on how I have done in regards to the previous week's goal. In anticipation of the celebration I bake an elaborate cake adorned with motivational slogans. In the event I succeed with accomplishing my weekly goal, I sit down to a huge plate of congratulatory cake and if I am not able to succeed, I end up crying profusely, all the while mashing the cake with my fists. Since success feels so much better than failure, you would think I'd steer away from hard to achieve goals and settle on super simple ones, but I don't. I learned that the hard way. It was only Wednesday, and I hadn't done a great job so far, so I decided then and there to stand on the street corner smiling, waving and saying whatever kind thing first popped into my head about the stranger (in some cases this was hard as the first five to ten random thoughts were definitely NOT kind and had to be discarded or saved in case a future goal involved being unkind to people). Being kind to strangers feels good inside and after a few hours of this I was both exhausted (that was a lot of smiling) and much happier. "I am a good person" I thought and wished my ex-girlfriend who always claimed that I was "such a loser" could be here right now, so I could stick this in her face for old times-sake.

The whole goal setting thing came about mostly out of boredom and wanting to avenge the tragic death of my pet mouse (at first he seemed to be enjoying the boat ride in the toilet) and the death of my second pet mouse who sat too close to the fireplace (actually, I sort of "threw" him in when he wouldn't share his cheese tray that was WAY too much cheese for him to eat by himself anyways. I did feel horrible about it, but also kind of justified as sharing was explicitly stated as the number one rule in the house when he first came home from the pet store) and the demise of pet mouse number three who "somehow" ended up in my famous chicken noodle soup when my parents came to visit (the story goes like this - I promised my parents that I would make the soup that they loved and then realized I didn't quite have enough chicken and was just too lazy to go tot the store to buy some more. Look, I'm not happy about it either and if there is such a thing as mouse-hell, I know I'm heading there someday). I also thought that the setting of goals "sounded good" in nearly any social setting and if nothing else may help me find a few more people to help me in times of need (not sure how those two dots are connected, but next time I am trapped at the bottom of the well - don't ask, it's happened a number of times - maybe one of those people exposed to my goal setting may happen to wander by and either take pity or randomly decide to help - you just never know).

I walk all the way home mostly to avoid a repeat of the morning's experience on the bus. I alternate between walking very slowly and speed walking depending on what song is playing. Then the music shifts abruptly to classical and I start to "dance" my way home like I am at a grand ball. One particularly long song with a very slow, meandering opening that is building towards the "meat" of the song comes on and I decide to sit cross-legged on the sidewalk until the tempo picks up. A guy across the street sees me and comes over and sits next to me. I'm not sure why - maybe he is listening to the same song? Or perhaps he thinks I'm protesting something and wants to join in for the cause? Has a couple of screws loose? I momentarily close my eyes and upon opening them there is a long line of people sitting on the sidewalk with me and this guy. I want to ask questions and then I notice that they are all very attractive. Like really attractive. So much so that I feel like I am hogging up all of the ugly, again. After a few minutes sitting in silence with all of these beautiful strangers wondering what we should do together (tag? a choreographed dance number? cheerleading?) a huge gust of wind blows by and I find myself alone again. Did that actually happen? Were those people actually here a minute ago and gone the next? Maybe I missed an ice cream truck a block away that they all ran off to? Or possibly they all jumped really high when I looked and they landed and then ran off after I looked away. Maybe they suddenly became two-dimensional? Can that actually happen? Or possibly I'm still on the bus. Maybe I shouldn't have eaten those five long-expired yogurts this morning as I had given in to my odd craving for bacteria. But hey, at least this hallucination didn't try to steal my pants.

I arrive at my house and sit on the steps.

As I breathe in and out, I contemplate the complexities of life.

It is fairly clear - I have no idea what is going on.

How to Ask a Girl Out in High School

So, you are in high school and you think you've found the girl of your dreams. You don't want to mess things up you say? Well, you've come to the right place as I've been where you are so many times in my past and said and done the wrong things enough to be considered a Rhodes Scholar on the subject. Do you want to get the girl? Follow this advice.

Approach with confidence. Nothing says "don't date me" louder than a total lack of spine. Check those feelings of self-doubt, no matter how strong, at the door. If confidence is generally a challenge for you, consider an accessory like a hard-to-place accent or freshly baked cookies.

Timing is everything! Attempt to catch her at a moment of weakness. Tears are your friend and your queue to enter. If you are lucky she will have just been asked out by a real loser making you seem relatively cooler in comparison.

It is important that she is alone when you approach so you can have her undivided attention in case you decide to perform some magic tricks. Don't perform magic tricks.

In all likelihood she will be surrounded by her girlfriends, who are like a pack of wild dogs. If they believe their friend is under attack, and they will, they will rip your face off. Bring raw steaks.

Don't forget about hygiene! Any extra washing or positive aromas or sparkling teeth are a plus. Now is not the time to show off your acne or your recent ability to grow a handlebar moustache.

I can't say enough about being prepared. Stretch, warmup your vocal chords, liberally apply moisturizers and memorize all of her posts on social media in the past 12 months.

Open with a compliment about her appearance. Don't be too descriptive or graphic or overly verbose. You may be the next Shakespeare or star soft porn director, but now is not the time to show off. Keep it simple and appropriate as if your grandmother happened to be around. Don't bring your grandmother.

Make small talk. This is a perfect opportunity to demonstrate that you are down-to-Earth and normal. Ask her about something general and non-personal like school, music, or taxation.

Don't be too subtle. It is okay to be transparent about how you feel in your comments. If you are aiming for actual transparency, consider opening your science textbook on a more regular basis. It may not be safe for you to be around other humans.

Tell her you like her and want to go out with her, but not in those words. Strike a balance between perplexingly vague and creepy.

Obvious signs to watch for that she is not interested include, but are not limited to, shrieking, constant warning of imminent bear attacks, vacant looks by her where she looks as if she is dying a slow death and being tasered.

If you have gotten this far, good job! You may now proceed and ask her out on a date. You may never know if she is truly into you or is using you as part of a detailed plan of revenge. Thankfully you don't care.

Present a detailed date proposal analyzing the costs, benefits and risks of plans A through H and then step back in anticipation of a standing ovation followed by a brief question and answer period. 

With plans set, excuse yourself. Walk off slowly and proudly on a grassy field in the gleaming sun towards the horizon like a general returning from war. You are a hero and the things of which statues are made on.

The Writing Process: Part 2

So, I am back to continue to enlighten all of you who are still tuning in (is there more of an echo now then last time or is that just the result of all of my vocal training?) about how I write. Note: if any of you are actually attempting to tune in, please stop as it is greatly disrupting my cable and most likely not at all possible unless you have tons of money and then almost anything is possible. For those who missed the first piece about the writing process, these blog posts are my chance to share where my ideas come from and how much it costs for me to purchase them and bring them here from their native Namibia. I am attempting to flesh out how I do what I do without using any actual flesh in the process. I did try to brainstorm how I would use flesh if I wanted to and just couldn't think of a plan that would be overly messy and attractive to ants. There are times when I want to be attractive to ants, but those are some of my dark moments that I don't want to get into right now. No, right now I am thinking of a family in the hills of Germany...and I'm back. That happens to me from time to time - without any announcement, I am mentally whisked away to another part of the world where I will often stay, get acculturated and even be adopted by a family or clan if all things go well. Sometimes the trip is long and heart-warming and other times the people there just want to eat my warmed heart as a tasty pate with a slice of fresh baguette. This time the trip was short, mostly because the German family was at a bratwurst festival (not for eating, but more for the out-of-body experiences that come from eating one too many sausages) for the weekend and also because I feel the need to write.

I also feel the need to decorate my room with various mirrors and colourful drapes for reasons that I have been told by my lawyers I do not need to go into detail about right now no matter how many times I pretend that I am asked. Yesterday it was 5 times. For the record, I don't have any lawyers or even one single lawyer and I have also been told by them to say that as well. Is me writing about me writing sort of like talking to myself while I eat the food I made and telling myself about what a good job I did and patting myself on the back at the same time? Don't worry - I'm not doing that as it is way too challenging to eat, talk and pat myself all at the same time. I plan to do them one-by-one-by-one and that is how I will spend this Sunday! This piece of writing is not meant to sound too self-congratulatory - self-congratulatory too an extent, just not so much so that I make anyone sick or more sick in case they happened to be reading this while sick in the hopes it would either make them better or just distract them from how badly they feel. Either way - I'm good - I take great pride in distracting people from how bad they feel or just how they feel in general. Spend some time around me and you won't have any idea how you feel at all! Not that is a slogan I can live with! It is a gradual process - you will start feeling a lot and then little by little you will grow emotionally numb, some checkers will be played, the wind will howl, the birds will fly south for the winter and a pie will be consumed. All of this for the low cost of having to hear me moan about things - I'm sorry, I wish I could sing better too.

Contrary to popular opinion, writing is not all fun and games. Fun and games is all fun and games - writing is not fun and games at all and I'm not sure why we are spending so much time trying to explain this as it seems pretty easy to understand. Oh, one more thing - fun and games is not entirely all  fun and games, that is just what the powerful fun and games lobby wants us to believe. Occasionally there are tears. Too many tears and the word fun starts to see wrong and quite insensitive and sort of like why don't the rest of you stop playing and laughing and see what is the matter already? I hope we understand each other and I can't proceed until we do or else I will have a nagging feeling sort of like a mother bird when she leaves her nest full of cute little helpless baby birds who are anxious for her to return (is that true - are little birds actually anxious? do they have the ability to feel such a complex emotion at such a young age? and maybe they are happy to have the nest to themselves for a while before boring old mom comes back who only cares about spitting chewed up food in our mouths even when we have had more than enough?)

I know I just said "we" and lumped you into all this when you may have been just passing through and you are most likely thinking "wait a minute! Like woah - slow down, big fellow. Don't get me all mixed up in all of your issues." To which I reply (a) I am willing to take your minute and raise you an infinite number of minutes - That's right! I can wait as long as this is going to take or as long as you will let me stand here on your porch before calling the authorities (ask for Bob down at the precinct, we are on a first-name basis and I know he loves two creams and a sugar in his coffee), (b) I will not slow down (c) "Big fellow?" - have you taken a close look at me recently? That is wrong on at least two accounts and I know I can find at least four or five more if given the time and some chocolate and (d) issues?!?!? What do you know of my issues? Have you talked to Sarah? Did she say that if you read this you could get mixed up in them? For the record I was just bidding time until my "mom" came back to "the nest", if by "mom" I meant "star ship" and by "the nest" I meant "home base" and when I told her that I wished I was a herring who was about to be caught in the net of a muscular, but kind fisherman and his son, I WAS JOKING! Did she honestly think I thought I was a herring??!?! Okay, that actually could make sense - I do get occasionally slimy and have a large collection of all different kinds of scales.

For those that didn't know, I have been caught in nets on two separate occasions - once was my fault entirely as I decided to drape a series of nets in my bedroom the same week I decided that any form of lighting was completely passe and the other time was at a costume party when my best friend, dressed as a net, bumped into me (dressed coincidentally also as a net, only a much smaller one) and we became entangled and lay in a pile all evening long (we believed in not only dressing as nets but acting as net-like as possible to complete the effect) - it was the closest the two of us ever had been and we swore never to talk about that evening again which I am violating right now and feeling actually not so bad for doing. The part about being caught or rescued by a hunky, should-be-in-underwear-ads, fisherman and his equally-dropdead-gorgeous-yet-overly-fish-smelling sons...yeah...anyways...

Easily the toughest things about writing for me are not what you would think of (not that I am pretending to always know what you think, or to ever be knowing what you or any of your kind think. Quite the opposite in fact, I know nothing that you are thinking about as evidenced by my inability to buy you a present or even  a piece of fruit that you don't instantly return. And when I say your kind, I don't mean that in a derogatory way, unless of course it is my turn to be derogatory - for those that don't know, a few friends and I take turns each Thursday from 9am till noon being derogatory to each other - sort of like a snack-bringing rotation except that it usually makes me angry and upset and there is no sugar involved except on particularly creative Thursdays). I can easily find my way to the computer and I get how to turn it on etc etc etc - I am mildly offended that many of you thought that the whole finding my computer and actually getting to my blog would be the challenging part for me. Not totally offended, just mildly, as I said, sort of akin to going walking in the woods and only stumbling upon chanterelles and no wild morels or having two out of five random passersby thumb their noses at me for no apparent reason aside from my decision to wear gumboots to the opera which only shows both my complete inability to anticipate proper attire for many formal events and to read through the lines in my friends texts that were evidently supposed to be sarcastic (I just figured she was quoting some unknown author or authors repeatedly. I did wonder why these quotes were particularly memorable, but I just kept quiet as the last time I admitted to not knowing the source of some seemingly random quotes I ended up having to make egg salad sandwiches for the whole accounting department aside from Fred who preferred tuna.)

No, the toughest problems with writing for me are finding cool and unique names for characters that I am using in my stories. Not that there aren't an amazing amount of awesome names, but I know a lot of people and if I use a name of someone I know they probably think one of the following thoughts (a) should I be flattered or concerned?, (b) let's take a wait and see approach and if he makes money I'll attempt to sue/bribe/threaten him for lots of money over using my name without asking, (c) isn't it weird that of all the millions of names in the world that he chose mine and does that mean that he thinks we are friends? Well, let me put your mind at rest (only literalily of course) - I am attempting to choose names that have zero connection to anyone who may actually read my writing and if I happen to choose your name then it was merely a coincidental slip-up which you should not read anything into. Or if you are in the mood, I suggest you spend hours and hours reading into it and if you find anything interesting, please let me know. Maybe there is some hidden connection that I am unaware of at this point - like maybe I unknowingly used your name because your grandfather once pulled a thorn out of my grandfather's hand when they were playing around that good ol' thorny bush that they spent many an hour playing around as young kids and my grandfather was ever-so-grateful that he just wouldn't let up with the appreciation which usually took the form of cream cheese and jam sandwiches aside from the occasional parfait when his mom just happened to make two of just in case there was someone, anyone, he wanted to thank for some small, seemingly innocuous thing - I'm sure if this happened, my grandfather would have tucked me into bed and told me this story of how your grandfather was such a hero in his eyes and that his eyes had been conditioned to be blind to heros except when thorns were involved and then they were wide open, just not wide open enough to miss the thorn in the first place and usually by this time in the story I was fast asleep, but his story would blend into my dreams and then years later when I decided to launch into some creative writing the name was somewhere in the recesses of my brain mostly because I elected against having that elective and quite-risky-sounding surgery of having the recesses "smoothed" over mostly for cosmetic reasons.

As an aside, I try to do as much as I can for cosmetic reasons outside of buying any actual cosmetic items as I'm working my way up to that, sort of how I worked my way up to hang gliding after just jumping off my couch for years until I both broke the couch and was ordered by both my doctor and downstairs neighbour to get out of the house more often. Note: I've never actually hang glided - I've just worked my way up to it which is akin to saying that I am standing in a line waiting my turn with my prized pineapple to commision a fruit sculptor (someone who carves humourous celebrity faces into fruit) who is currently on "vacation" which means he is in prison for life for mistakenly and repeatedly attempting to carve an actual celebrities face. The names I choose just come to me. Almost like I am still and they are moving at the speed of light or maybe it is the other way around and the names are stationary in space and I am screaming up to them at speeds I am unaware mostly because it will be a cold day in hell before I recognize relativity.

So, to avoid using names of those I know, I am tempted to swing the other way and only use extremely uncommon names, but then people may start to wonder what is up with these names I am choosing and why they all sound African or Korean. That reminds me - I am planning to write a piece about two ex-lovers who decide to move (one to Africa and one to Korea), change their names to fit in with the people in their respective countries and also as a voluntary and totally unnecessary witness-protection program only in this case it was only to protect themselves from each other as the love just hurt too much (all of their friends suggested clipping their nails on a more regular basis and just practicing compassion and stop being so aggressive all the time). After a few years, when they both have become accustomed to their new surroundings, they unveil their plan - to each open up a hair salon that would specialize in straightening afros and perming bangs. These salons would be doomed to fail, which was part of the plan all along, and they would both fly home to the small town in Texas they were from (to be honest, they were from a slightly larger city in Texas originally but I decided against that as I wanted them to have a more small town feel to them, which for me only involved deleting a few key strokes and doing a little extra typing, but for them it involved packing, moving and renting a storage locker to put their huge collection of antique wig stands in just before they were about to purchase their first wig) and meet on the tarmac at the airport only to remember why they left in the first place. They really don't like each other at all and only forget that from time to time because of the fact that they are actually figments of the imagination of a third person who is always mixing up who is who in his head. All in all it is an incredibly bad and intentionally convoluted idea for a story which means that if I eventually write it, it will mostly be out of spite unless I feel that I have already done too much out of spite at the time and then I will do it out of revenge or the need to exercise my fingers in as socially acceptable a fashion as possible.

Along the way, when either preparing to write or writing, I have learned some important things. One thing that stands out is I've learned how important breathing is and also that it is very very important not to touch the burning log in the fire place and also to say please and thank you. It never ceases to amaze me how others are nicer to you when you treat them well and this mostly speaks to how long I've been able to condition myself to maintaining the feeling of amazement. I can go literally for days in this state of awe where I am totally overjoyed and inspired by everything I come into contact with or directly contact head on and I'm also very fortunate when these days ends and I'm not in traction. The word traction almost sounds a bit exciting because as my imaginary friend Joe always says, you can't spell attraction without traction which always makes me smile wistfully and makes me long for some actual flesh and blood friends or at least ones with one of those two criteria, but preferably both as I'm not totally interested in a friend who is solely or mostly flesh and I'm definitely not too crazy about blood.

Another thing I've learned that is worthwhile sharing with you at this time is the importance of looking at someone when speaking to them. The main reasons seem to be that it greatly lessens the confusion of who I am talking to especially when in a busy place like a train station and because in this day and age if you can't look someone in the eyes in makes the other person feel very self-conscious and wonder "what is so wrong with me that he can't even look me in the eyes or even at my nose, which would like some visual attention too from time to time when the eyes have either had enough or decide to get off their high horse and share once and a while". I don't want to make anyone else more self-conscious than me - it is a competition I've been playing in every day since last year went I met that odd lady on the corner downtown with the large collection of stuffed birds for sale. I liked the black and white one the best, and she seemed to be enamored with my shirt collar which I agree was my best feature that day, but just couldn't take it when she offered as my hands were metaphorically full and it was just too confusing to attempt to explain this to the lady who seemed like she would be quite metaphorically-challenged. I do not want to unnecessarily challenge anyone in life, especially since the infamous Balloon Incident.

A Love in Colours: Pink

The dress was an amazingly stunning shade of pink and it sashayed and swirled around the dance floor. The music blared and couples around the club were virtually yelling to be heard, but the two of them danced, passionately in silence, undistracted by all around them, focussed only on each other, so much in love and nearly engulfed in a seemingly-magical and mesmerizing pink fabric that was practically glowing. 

She was sitting at her desk in her office and was watching the pouring rain through her window. The water was falling with such force that some would have referred to it as 'angry', while she prefered 'misunderstood' as she was certain that no one had bothered to listen to the rain's point-of-view. The constant drumming of the rain reminded her of the constant drumming of her sister while growing up and, perplexingly of how she would stand outside of her window at night, often in the rain, waving and smiling. She missed her sister aside from all of the incessant waving and smiling - it was nice at first, but it got old especially when they got older. As she sat there her mind drifted to him. Always to him, and occasionally to the tree in his front yard. How she loved that tree. Her mind settled on a single image from their vacation that summer and she smiled when the picture of his sandy, muscular body running with reckless abandon on the beach came into her head. She appreciated his recklessness so much more when it only appeared in her head while staring outside at the rain and less so when he was driving them to the movies. Tonight was the night they were to meet her parents for the first time and she was oddly calm and was sort of disappointed as she had been looking forward to being nervous. Having dinner with her own parents made her nervous at the best of times, but his presence relaxed her so much that she often became fairly concerned while cooking. She knew her parents would love him, and that made her happy, but she only hoped they didn't love him unconditionally as she believed that everything should have conditions. The rain continued to fall, and she tried to get some real work done as no amount of pretend work would feel satisfactory in the long term. She used to spend hours and hours pretending to work as a child which made her parents a little worried both because she wasn't just playing like an average child, but also because the work she was pretending to do, was being done fairly haphazardly. The work day was over and she saved her files and put her computer to sleep, only this time without the pillow and blanket as it was starting to draw her some unwanted attention from others as well as making her increasingly sheepish and apologetic around her printer and fax machine.

He was in the middle of yet another boring meeting and had a passing thought about why meetings were usually so boring, but then he partially remembered what his aunt always said in one of her less lucid moments "sometimes I just like being quiet". It was a true statement but it didn't make sense at the time and wasn't really that helpful right now either. He started a new list with the first item being starting to remember more appropriate quotes and the second being fully listening to his aunt when she  was "on". When the meeting wrapped up, he went to the washroom to apply some warm, soapy water to his face and the upper part of his neck all the while making a mental note to apply at least the same level of hygiene to the rest of his neck later on, He enjoyed the face-wash at little bit too much and actually let out a small squeal of joy which was thankfully heard by no one, but even if it had been they were used to his cute animal noises made periodically throughout the day. He was meeting her parents tonight and was supremely confident in his ability to impress them without having to resort to deception and trickery, although he was fully prepared to go there too if he met with any initial resistance. He had viewed a lot of photos of her mom and dad and had mentally given them entertaining and quite animated voices that always made him laugh uproariously and he just hoped that they were somewhat close to their actual voices. He couldn't decide what clothes to wear and had narrowed it down to a choice of either his vertically-striped suit or a pair of casual jeans and a unique and hip graphic t-shirt. The suit made him appear older and slightly taller but also was probably a better fit for a visit to the bank which he was fairly certain wouldn't come up that evening unless they all mutually decided on going to the bank after desert. And the casual and hip outfit, although comfortable, was maybe too relaxed-looking which may have his hosts wondering "Why is he already so comfortable here? Maybe we should apply some more pressure?" He hated having to choose clothes to fit occasions and he blamed his mother for that aversion as he couldn't come up with anyone else to blame at all on such short notice. He promised himself that he would look further into it and after plenty of research, type up a comprehensively exhaustive list of everyone else who may have played a part in his inability to match his outfits with his activities. As he left work, he ran to the car excited to see her.

Who Am I?

So, I am starting a creative writing club at school and before you stop what you are doing and give me a standing ovation, allow me to get changed into something more regal or failing that at least practice smiling for a few minutes first. After a short preamble describing the long set of rules, guidelines and initiation rituals for our club I gave the new members their first writing "assignment" (I am placing that word in quotation marks so none of them thinks that it is an actual assignment and also because I love using quotation marks and often misusing them too just so I don't come across as "the guy who perfectly uses quotation marks" because I know that guy and he is...how do I put this..."strange"). For our introductory piece I thought we'd all write about ourselves (I briefly flirted with the idea that we could all write about each other or write on each other or just hold a pen above a piece of unlined paper and sit at a desk in a white room with no windows and resist the urge to scream). Now, I have written about myself a few times already, but I don't want to skip the task outright or to just reuse something old, so here I am again. How to talk about myself without sounding redundant? Or should I just give in and be not only slightly redundant but incredibly, boldly redundant - so redundant that I should consider editing this sentence at a future date and either bolding or italicizing the word redundant or should it be the word "so" or both? Not sure... I mean while I'm highlighting certain words why not invite them all? I just don't want to bold or italicize too many words because then they start expecting and anticipating it and that doesn't mesh well with how I live my life or at least how I am trying to live my life since the day the crows came. For those that don't know me well, like the students in my club, no crows actually came to this point, but they are always welcome. I have a "crows always welcome" policy at my house and I always will until the crows actually come and then it will only be fair to allow another bird or animal or even my uncle to come visit, although that would mean having to reverse my current "no uncles welcome" policy that I've wanted to lift for some time now what with all of the amazing uncles I come across on a daily basis.

The kids in my creative writing club are probably wondering who am I really and since there is a good chance that I'm reading this to them right now, they may be looking at me as I'm sitting in front of them with my large purple water bottle next to me and wondering why is that water bottle so big with the short answer being that I am thirsty, a lot, and the longer more perplexing answer is being turned into a musical theatre production that should hopefully be opening at a kindergarten class near you at a later date. It is both easy and hard to write about yourself. Easy to hide behind lots of half-truths and transparently obvious falsities and hard to tell the gripping, teeth-rattling, knee-shaking, appetizing truth that everyone claims they crave. Everyone is always craving things sort of like single-cell organisms needing whatever they need for survival (is it oxygen? another cell? all-access cable tv for when the football-loving relatives come to visit round holiday time?) I try to toe the line on my floor all the time as sort of a test of the agility of my toes. I also metaphorically toe the line between what people want to hear and what I want them to hear. If lines had more sides I would also be balancing those two with what I hear while they are hearing things (not much outside of the sound of my voice which is lovely I have to say) and practicing my falsetto as you never can quite predict when it may come in handy - a sing off? my daily performance in front of the mirror before I leave the house? scaring away bears and other unwelcomed wildlife? In my writing I usually settle on starting off with the best of intentions, but then I get horribly sidetracked - horribly is completely the wrong descriptor as I love the sidetracks I walk down - they are far more interesting then the regular path that everyone seems to want me to walk down. Why walk that way, when I can go this way and have more fun, despite all of the mosquito bites and plethora of scrapes and scratches? Even though I go off on weird tangents and never quite get to the point I wanted to get to, I am a strong believer that the final destination is a whole lot less important than the trip to get there and I feel that about writing, preparing a meal and actual trips which is why an intended afternoon at the beach with the family is often spent at the museum of natural history accompanied by girl guides. And another thing, why are original points so important in the first place? My theory is that the word point intimidates us, or at least me and that is why I try to avoid points as much as I can which is why I never win at ping pongs. Not enough points. If those students are still facing me and avoiding eye contact as that may be misconstrued as acceptance then I guess I can take a short break here to enjoy the moment before continuing on.

The question on my mind right now is not important at the moment, so I won't ask it. I also find that asking questions in my writing is a completely unsatisfying experience as I never get an answer, unless I play the game of answering myself almost as if I have multiple personalities with one being the youthful, upbeat questioner and the other being the more grounded, voice of reason who supplies the answers and everyone once and a while a third guy pops in out of nowhere and orders a pizza. I don't expect lots of answers from the public when I pose questions that I choose to not answer myself, but people must either think I'm being facetious or rhetorical, which is easily understandable as I attempt to dedicate a minimum of 25 minutes each hour all day to both of these which is hard enough during the day but really challenging while bathing or sleeping (I never bathe and sleep at the same time not even on a dare unless there is the promise of plum pie  -that's how much I love plum pie. I've never even had plum pie. I will move on now). I would love to sleep facetiously or rhetorically but it is exceedingly hard to nail and usually just comes across as regular, plain old, sleep. Anyways, I do have questions on my mind like "what should I tell these students about me?" and "what stuff should I make up completely to give off the illusion of importance and dignity and tallness?" Let's see...I love my family, but that is pretty obvious- most people do and if I didn't, I definitely wouldn't be writing it in a blog that my family occasionally skims through and groans at. Also, not loving my family would make me a pretty contemptible figure that would make being the protagonist in my works of fiction really challenging and I don't think I have the mental wherewithal, vocal training or collection of shirts to be a villian. I guess I should tell the students about my brain and my heart all the while keeping it vague as I don't really know that much about brains and hearts - it is quite shocking that I've made it this far and know so little about two of the most important things in my life outside of my humanitarian work and my stamp collection. Really - I should make a shrine for each of them and pray before them except that I'll have to cut back on all of the praying I do before my stuffed baby tiger (gotta love that little guy) and the picture of my friends Harry and Frieda that no one can tell them about or else I will definitely not be invited over for the next taco night on the account of seeming creepy and I won't be able to blame anyone but myself and my red sharpie that I just had to draw roses with all over their picture. Outside of my love of my family, I also love being active, I love cooking and I love puzzles. To save time I have decided to condense the three loves into one. So, I am trying to find someway to go for a run while cooking and doing a puzzle or perhaps I am going about this way too literally (big shock) and maybe I need to find someway to make the exercise and cooking a puzzle in and of themselves or make a cooking puzzle that the act of solving would help me get some cardio in. I'm not sure what the answer is, but there is an answer out there somewhere and while I totally get the value in finding answers for myself in life I just don't have enough money for a flight to Bermuda right now. Nope, I'm the guy who saw the other guy about the thing that was not only monstrously expensive but also, long story short, caused me to put a halt to my winter plans that included some industrial strength rope, something those in the know call "whale juice" and car freshener.

I would go on and on for a while, but I am trying to keep this somewhat short as my way of paying homage to all of the pumpkin growers out there right now (I am horrible at paying homage and even when I accidentally get it right, my ability to choose the correct recipients is questionable at best). I guess all that I would like to say before I leave you is that I always aim to write how I talk, so that if you were to read something I wrote while sitting in a cafe it would be an eerily similar experience to hanging out with me at a cafe and it would be even more confusing if the piece of writing you were reading to yourself at the cafe was about the two of us sitting together at a cafe talking about me writing a piece about us sitting together at cafe. I have also thought about trying to talk how I write, and although I believe that after hours of practicing (followed by a really nice herbal tea) I've nailed it, it just comes across as a long series of clicks and I just can't get pronounce the sound the space bar makes. I think everyone should try to capture their voice in their writing and I like to think of my voice as a brilliant red cardinal who once flew so gracefully in the skies majestically drifting in awe-inspiring fashion until the fateful day when the rains came and the cardinal finally listened to his mom and just got out of bed and went to school because that is what twelve year old boys do, they go to school and they dream of training seemingly untrainable wild cardinals, or at least I once did when I was twelve. But then I grew up, as all young boys do, and I came to realize (mostly through an amazing set of educational videos my mom just happened to have in storage that she just happened to have done the voice over work for - I did think it was oddly coincidental that I loved the exact bird that my mom had been involved in making educational videos on and I briefly contemplated my mother's role in this before deciding to take a much needed nap) that wild birds must stay wild, especially the transplendant cardinal, for they are the red dots on the lower case "i"s of the world and to capture them would be akin to not serving a homemade aioli with the grilled veggies at a dinner party. Look I know that doesn't make a lot of sense- I don't make the rules here, I only report them. And you read them. How could you!?!?

So there you have it. I think I've introduced myself, kind of. I think those that have read this now have an incrementally small amount of knowledge about me that they didn't have previously. I'm sure some of them wish that it could have either taken less time or that they could have been eating cookies while reading this. I hope you have found this entertaining and I think the long-term impact it will have on you is almost limitless, all you have to do is dream. Have I inspired you to prepare a traditional Japanese holiday meal? Have I  encouraged you to dig a large hole in your backyard for no apparent reason? Have I convinced you that understanding differential calculus won't keep you warm at night? Have I made any progress in convincing you to knit me some woollen mittens to match my sweater or at least not clash with the rainbow pants I am knitting right now as I write this (okay I lied - I clearly can't be writing and knitting at the same time and since I'm clearly writing who is knitting these pants I am proudly wearing? I promised my grandmother one day quite cryptically to never forget where my lunch is and also who made my pants, but then again I promised my adorably daffy grandmother lots and lots of things - it made up much of our daily conversing). But, most importantly have I answered or explained who I am? For those inclined to say "yes" - thank you! The cheque is in the mail (if by "cheque" I mean "this large handful of nearly-expired coupons that I want to give away in the effort to cover my bulletin board solely with colourful pushpins" and by "mail" I mean "here you go, enjoy"). And for those who feel that the answer is "no", I applaud your brevity and your hard-hitting style - it will take you far in life, hopefully far enough away from me so you don't have to hear me crying from the disappointment of a failed writing activity. But, I'll be okay in the end, your "no" will only strengthen me and toughen me up so that one day I will rise with a new, thicker (and hopefully more durable) skin and hopefully I will find a way to utilize this skin to gain some sort of fame or at least membership in an underground club that I am unaware of at this point. And, lastly, for those of you who either want to answer "maybe" or who were blissfully unaware of the question in the first place as yet another thing you are blissfully unaware of in life, thanks for showing up and continue to enjoy this seasonally warm fall day.

A Love in Colours: Orange

The sky was brilliant and the sunset cast an iridescent orange glow upon the ocean. A dog barked somewhere in the distance, some kids were joyfully swimming, and they lay on their beach blanket enamoured with the stunning orange hue in each other's eyes as they squeezed every minute out of another amazing day. 

He awoke after a long sleep, sat up and looked around his room and was fighting the urge to fall back asleep. He had made a name for himself for fighting urges of all shapes and sizes as well as being quite adept at falling back asleep regardless of the time or location. Today was a busy day, he knew that, and he had a mental checklist a mile long with the length being mostly an approximation as well as the description of a list as the items were arranged more randomly. The one thing he was certain of was that he had to see her again and hold her hand and, if things went according to plan, to throw caution to the wind and hold her other hand. In his spare time he threw a variety of other items, often compostable ones, to the wind much to his landlord's dismay but that was okay as his landlord was dismayed most of the time and he always cleaned up after himself - it was just his way of letting off steam that didn't involve punching, kicking or other socially-acceptable means of violence because they are part of an organized sport. He longed to hold both of her hands for a period of time no less than 15 minutes and no greater than 4 hours as he was certain that things would come up where the hand holding would become quite cumbersome. Yes, his day was busy and he needed to get to work, but he also needed to be in her presence and he knew she felt the same way.

She hit the snooze button. Hard. It was just the way she was with buttons. There could be no way that it was time to wake up she thought, but there it was again, her alarm. She lay there and attempted to look at the ceiling but it was just too dark and the light switch was so far away. In a perfect world the light switch would be closer, but she knew how silly it was to dream about things that could never come true in her wildest dreams - she also chided herself for having really really lame wild dreams. His face was on her mind as was his legs. Oddly she had no memory of the rest of his body at the moment, but she was still half asleep so she guessed it made sense to only be able to picture half of his body. As she rose from her bed she had to reassure herself that he did have more than just a face and some legs, but of course he did - there is no way she'd be seen out in public with someone lacking a torso. She knew he was busy and that he couldn't just call in sick, but she hoped he was thinking of her and also her potted plant as he had sworn that he would for reasons she misheard as she was washing the dishes. Maybe he'd call or maybe he'd drop by or maybe she'd have to risk seeming desperate and pick up her own phone - one way or another she had to be with him.

When I Stop To Think: The Animal Kingdom

Quite often I take a much needed break from my busy day and I think. It seems like the thoughts I have go in cycles and these days I cannot stop thinking about the animal kingdom. After an initial period of questioning myself and being full of self-doubt, I have given in to being consumed with animals big and small. I like to sit back and imagine what is going through the minds of the animals of the Earth and, if time permits, what is going on in other areas of their bodies as well.

I think about whales, the largest animal on our planet, swimming around dominating the oceans and the seas and swimming aimlessly eating fish, coming up with new, fun parlour tricks utilizing their blowholes and spending much of their existence as lonely as can be as all other marine life are quite intimidated and imagine that they are very unapproachable. I'm sure there are some whales that are unapproachable, but I do feel badly for the friendly whales, the kind whales, the whales that enjoy a nice evening out with some friends enjoying a plate of nachos or sitting by the fire sipping hot cocoa. I feel badly for those whales and imagine they are saying "we aren't all just large collections of blubber, some of us have feelings including a sense of humour as well as having blubber to spare."

I think about the elephant in the middle of Africa who secretly wants to either use his ivory tusks to make knick knacks for tourists with no conscience or keys for a new grand piano. Not that he doesn't love his tusks and all tusk-related activities, but he's had his eye on a new watch for a while now. I can imagine him making up a long, convoluted story for the other elephants regarding where his tusks went and how he ended up with a fancy watch.

I think about the lone monkey who is lying in the peaceful shade of a large tree, away from the hustle and bustle of the jungle and being soothed by the lovely sounds of nature. and, unfortunately dealing with the horrible side effects of way too much potassium and, to top it all off, has stinging cuts on his hands from way too much vine swinging. As he lies there clutching his stomach, I can just hear him mumbling "I swear this is the last time I eat one too many bananas. I know I've said this before, but this time I mean it."

I think about the bunny who is fighting his genetic urges and unwanted advances from all of the handsome male bunnies who are always giving her the eye, as all she wants to do is practice abstinence and also to hop, because hopping is pretty great.

I think about the soft-spoken, shy lion who doesn't want to come across too strongly, or step on anyone else's toes and prefers to speak gently and calmly then roaring which not only draws unnecessary attention but also yields many a sore throat. Plus, all of the other lions already roar and this particular lion is striving to be unique.

I think about the gnat and aside from the spelling, I realize how little I know, how much I could research, how busy my schedule is, how I am trying to give the illusion of intelligence, and how little I care about the gnat. This may come back to bite me, if gnats bite. Do they? Anyone?

I think about the hippopotamus who is just so achingly hungry all the time and who will eat almost anything without shame and who wants to fit into the same muddy hole for purposes of bathing that she did when she was younger. She eats and eats and eats as she is constantly starving and looks longingly at the ever-shrinking hole just knowing that she'll never fit in it if she keeps eating but also knowing that she is a hungry hungry hippo and she doesn't have the willpower to rise above the stereotype.

I think about the sad, mournful hyena whom everyone thinks is laughing and just assumes is in an up mood without even taking a moment to check in to see how he is feeling especially considering his father was eaten yesterday. 

I think about the domesticated dog, the house pet, man's best friend who feels trapped and suffocated by his surroundings and his life and the freedom he has sacrificed for safety, all of the petting and grooming he could ever want and some really great dog food. Enough to make a dog bark repeatedly and also to howl, but he doesn't want to sleep outside in the rain again - life inside is good, but it has made him soft. 

I think about the parrot, always asking for a cracker and I imagine her saying "what's wrong with me? Why do I keep on asking for crackers? I don't even like them at all. Well that's not all true, I do enjoy a cracker or two from time to time especially with some goat cheese, but do I think to ever ask for some cheese or a spread to put on top of the crackers? No. I'll never learn and I deserve this mountain of crackers that are taking up most of the spare room in my bird house. Why do I always ask for crackers!"

I think about the goldfish and wonder if they would love to be a lot bigger- like big and strong enough to break out of the glass bowls that imprison them and cramp their style. I imagine a whole school of these large, stylish goldfish patrolling the oceans, flexing their muscles and looking for other fish so they can lay down a swim-off.

I think about the giraffe who just once wants to win a game of hide and seek, or show up at a party unannounced, or at least find a turtleneck sweater that doesn't need altering.

I think about the eel who is totally self-conscious about its length and would give just about anything to have a hand or a foot or to be able to sit in a chair. This eel in specific is quite paranoid and figures everyone is always talking behind his back which is exceedingly hard to do and actually quite impressive considering he is constantly moving and twisting around and that where is back is one second it is gone the next.  

I think about the skunk who smells relatively good all the time and is the laughing stock of the skunk world and would give anything to stink, like really really smell badly. I also think of his cousin who does smell bad - in fact she has an overabundance of odor and would willing share the wealth if she could, but she has no idea how well-endowed she is in this area as her nostrils are small and constantly plugged leading to troubles breathing and also sleep apnea. She is also long overdue for an appointment with an Ear, Nose and Throat specialist which is a field of medicine that is unfortunately quite rarely pursued amongst skunks. The two cousins often get together to complain and to play badminton as they both are quite fond of badminton. 

I think about the subconscious snail who is always leaving a silvery trail behind it and would give anything to leave no trail as it feels like everyone is staring at him and talking about how his trail is looking a little less silvery compared to how it used to. He wants to look, but also doesn't want to be caught looking as he doesn't want to appear to vain, or at least no more vain than the average snail. He would really love to be more anonymous and to just open a small bed-and-breakfast joint that would serve wonderful brunches or to meet a stunning female snail who would not only accept him despite all of his odd traits and then the two could leave silvery trails together.

I think about the koala who is tired of the constant state of exhaustion and lack of mental clarity that comes from a diet purely made up eucalyptus leaves. This koala wants to snap the others out of their stupor and say "this is exactly what they want us to do! Eat leaves and lie around all day! We can be so much more - oh think of the limitless possibilities if we would just stop lying around, resting on our laurels and being cute and appearing cuddly although we would claw any person who would actually try to cuddle with us. Don't let them win! I know the leaves are tasty! Believe me - I get that - I love the leaves too! I'm actually eating one right now. But, it is a big world out there and no one expects us to do anything - we've got them where we want them! Join me as we embark on a new era for koalas." Unfortunately these words fall on deaf ears as almost everyone else is either asleep or feeling pretty flaked out at the time. 

I think about the porcupine who walks around beaming with all the confidence in the world and yet, all he wants is a comforting hug that he could melt into, but that will never come and he knows it. He remembers his mother telling him that his quills will always be there to protect him but will also create a real barrier between himself and all others that will naturally lead towards feelings of isolation and depression despite feeling safe. And, as tempting as it is to have the quills removed through elective surgery, he remembers how freekish his cousin looked like after having that done and he knows that it just isn't an option.

I think of the wasps who fly around essentially impersonating nature's friend the bee. Those wasps do their very best appearing to many people not as the pests they are but like the bees who pollinate our flowers and bring us unpasteurized flavourful honey that may have hints of alfalfa or wildberry. Those wasps probably wish they had more of a purpose then secretly creating hives in carports and damp outside storages that eventually get destroyed while all they get in return is a sting or two and then death by toxic spray. The wasps would love to be adored or at least tolerated and maybe even invited to join some of the private clubs that are all only open to bees. The wasps have tried to appeal to someone, anyone who will listen, but they never get too far, because no one listens to wasps as a general rule. Wasps probably feel like they received the short straw from Mother Nature - everyone loves their cousin the bee and no one loves them.

I think of the dolphin - hyper-intelligent, graceful and powerful. One of the most perfectly beautiful beings that could ever be conceived anywhere by anyone. Those dolphins have it pretty good, but I imagine that they get pretty frustrated beating their heads against the wall - figuratively of course, they have no walls - they do understand how to construct walls, they are dolphins after all, but gave up trying to build them after they realized that having no arms or hands made it next to impossible to get further than developing detailed blueprints - trying to teach other marine life about currents, hydro luminescence, biodiversity and how to make moisture work for you all the while avoiding any skin ailments. However, life is pretty good as dolphins are so smart they are able to "play" just dumb enough to still get invited to all of the parties and for Sunday morning bocci games and read the situation to know when they are no longer wanted and leave to have their own Mensa nights.

I think of the goose who just loves to honk as it brings her so much satisfaction as she is fulfilling her role in the world and makes her feel not only complete but also happy, because who doesn't love a good honk.

Nothing But Blue Skies Ahead

The Early Years

She first met him in the sandbox digging a suspiciously big hole with a shovel that he was clearly quite attached to.

When he first met her she was wearing a cute summer dress that, for some reason, made her appear taller and, although he wouldn't be conscious of it for another 10 years, slightly more beautiful.
He dug and he dug and he dug going deeper and deeper almost as if he were trying to escape from prison or trying to excavate enough sand to build a model prison or just biding time until his imaginary friends would allow him to switch activities.
She stood there, practically bouncing, twirling her hair both nervously and with an unforeseen purpose that she planned to unveil the Sunday after next to the shock and awe of those who knew her. 

He worked with such impressive zeal, which is saying a lot as she grew up in house practically oozing with zeal often bordering on being impressive.

She wanted to talk to him, to know all about him, to ask him a million questions, but it was hard. She was only 5.
As the sun slowly set on this brilliant day, the two walked home side-by-side, equal parts tired, hungry and excited to have made a new friend.

As the summer was reaching it's end, she went to the beach with her mom for the day and saw him collecting the hollowed out shells of dead crabs with just a little too much pleasure.
He immediately took interest in her sand castle building technique as it was clearly an homage to the Hellenic people of Ancient Greece with a little art nouveau tossed in for good measure.

She watched him standing knee-deep in the shallow water bravely awaiting the incoming waves of cold water as if to say "make me wet, oh mighty wave", although he could have just been yawning.

There was something about the way she ran, kicking up sand, crazy curly hair flying aimlessly in her wake that intrigued him making him subconsciously interested in both kicking sand on his own at some later date and demonstrating this to her when he felt more confident in his abilities.

As she casually observed, he overturned small rocks and scientifically studied the miniature wildlife underneath with a profoundly compelling lack of care for their well being.

Amidst the whirlwind of sounds, smells and colours, his eyes were drawn to her freckles as if they were directly speaking to him in a language that only he could understand. In moments like this he usually had two slices of cheese and took a nap.

The sun set on a spectacular summer day and they walked slowly to their respective cars lagging behind their mothers with a stunning, unforgettable sunset behind them.

The end of October came and with it arrived both fall and Halloween and she was able to not-so-gently convince him to trick-or-treat together for the first time.
While he had never been a big fan of princesses in the past, he found himself uncharacteristically quiet and well-mannered in her regal presence and kept kneeling before her when the opportunity presented itself.
She was enjoying her evening collecting candy, greatly appreciating the seriousness and attention to detail he was pouring into his role as Batman as well as the illusion of safety due to walking next to such a famous crime-fighter.
He was so taken with the twinkle of stars reflected in her eyes, the shimmer of moonlight on her hair and the audacity she so wantonly displayed with how messily she devoured her chocolates.
They ran into a small group of other boys dressed as Batmen and she was so strangely proud of his utter disdain and incredulous disbelief in their wearing the same costume as he, almost as if he was shocked that they felt their could be more than one.
He wanted to somewhat recklessly share sweets with her, to laugh uproariously with her, to protect her from those that wanted to besmirch her and, if things went according to plan, to pet her hair.
The rains came and ended the evening abruptly, and the two young kids joyfully walked quickly, almost skipping, as their tired fathers lazily brought up the rear.

On the morning after the snowstorm, she looked out of her frosted window and saw him constructing a series of snow people who appeared to be singing in a large, snow person choir.
Though deeply focussed on his work and slightly out of breath, he saw her approach with a mug of what appeared to be steaming hot cocoa, and he smiled, as he was quickly calculating all the ways to utilize her in his scheme while enjoying the warm beverage.
She started off by making a number of miniature snowmen as her way of paying homage to the miniature snowmen that she secretly saw following and protecting her year-round.
He was enjoying her company so much, and so profoundly, that he badly wanted her to stay which made his adoration transparent and his snow pie in her face all the more confusing.
Together, they worked hard all morning and she was so taken with his flushed cheeks, constantly dripping nose and furrowed brow that she decided to take them as perplexing signs of his affection for her.
The snow angels they made reminded him of her as they were both white, angelic and carved out of snow, which was further evidence of his lack of understanding of human reproduction and his immediate need for an eye exam.
Dinner times were announced, and they went their separate ways leaving only their footprints in the snow and the virtual army of snowmen in their wake.

The first flowers of the season marked the beginning of spring and she played catch with him for hours at the park. 

He was so enamoured that he would catch anything she threw his way including, but not limited to, balls, gloves and any other however-loosely-connected-to-baseball paraphernalia.

In many ways, playing catch with him, was a euphemism for her deeper, more romantic feelings for him and in many other ways, it was just catch as she had only recently turned six.

When they relaxed on the swings, he talked of his hopes for the future, his dreams of success and his fear of growing too hairy, although he had already come up with a really solid contingency plan just in case.

In moments like this she thought of her favourite movie princesses and how they were so beautiful, happy and in love either as a result, or being completely unaware of, the limits of their two-dimensional and fictional lives.

He willingly shared his cheese and tomato sandwiches with her and wanted to literally feed them to her as one example of his difficulty letting go of bread products and because of his overwhelming desire to touch her face in as uncreepingly a way as possible.

The spring of their relationship was drawing to a close just as the spring of the year was opening up, but they both knew, the best was yet to come.

The Middle Years

The first day of high school was upon them and she wondered if he was feeling as nervous, excited and as tired as she was or if he had learned how to better suppress his emotions as was his goal during the summer vacation.
He was anxious, but having her by his side calmed him enough so that his anxiety didn't lead to too much embarrassment in the first few minutes of the first day - he hoped to evenly spread it out over the entire school year.
The bell rang and they went their separate ways but not before she looked over her shoulder at his rapidly vanishing body and hoped that she would never forget seeing him in this way, mostly due to the vanishing effect.
He couldn't wait for lunch - to share with her all about their first morning of school and to make sure she was still in one piece - it was an irrational fear that he had.
The cafeteria was a busy, loud place and she strained to hear all he had to share and she couldn't be sure if he was actually talking or just mouthing the words as he knew she loved it when he did that.
Lunch was over and he held her hands under the table, partially to hide their connection from prying eyes and also because that is where their hands happened to be located at the time and he was a strong believer in not wasting any energy with excessive hand movement.
At days end, they walked home laughing and joking about school and looking forward to this new chapter in their lives.

They were standing in the blaring gymnasium - the site of their first school dance and she was hoping that he would dance with her and then, at some point, stop dancing and then resume dancing at some point later on.
He stood against the wall with the other boys from his classes but couldn't take his eyes off of her in general and her tapping feet specifically - there was always something about her feet that intrigued him.
She grabbed his hand when her favourite song started and was amazed by his moves until they became less predictable, overtly suggesting the masses rise up and revolt and more dangerous for all around.
A slow song came on, and he held her tightly and she seemed to melt in his arms which made him quite nervous and sweaty - which was his usual, Pavlovian response to all things that melted in his vicinity.
At the punch bowl, she noticed him making the rounds talking to other boys and girls and though she had flights of jealousy, she knew deep down inside that he only longed to rest his head on her shoulders and occasionally her knees as he annoying informed her every morning.
They snuck outside and shared their first kiss, and he felt like he was in the presence of an angel, both because of the glow from the moon and also because she had been quite forceful and directive in her orders.
The dance was over and everyone went home, but they took pause and looked at each other and smiled and just kept on dancing.

Her family had invited him over for a holiday meal and she was attempting to play footsie with him but he either didn't understand the game or was playing a tad bit too aggressively.
He asked her to pass the yams and he hoped that she would not only pass the yams, but that she would intuitively understand what he was saying on a deeper level, and also pass the gravy.
She was mesmerized by his rhythmic chewing which was perfectly on pace with the constant ticking of the minute hand on the grandfather clock and she appreciated this on many levels especially as it helped her fix her metronome.
Dessert was served and he insisted on giving her the first piece of pumpkin pie which he did with such gusto and verve that she stood and finally gave him the standing ovation he had so wanted for the past week.
After the last dish was cleared, she enjoyed his version of some holiday classics which were belted out in his usual somewhat-crazed-completely-over-the-top-verging-on-spastic-everyone-in-the-room-pressing-the-9-and-the-1-and-then-waiting spirit.

He sat next to her on the couch and admired her posture, her lack of posturing, her attention to detail with moisturizing and her cute abhorrence of foods that are moist.

As the evening came to an end, they comfortably sat next to each other and tried to fight off the sleep that beckoned.

With the excitement of Valentine's Day in the air, she spied on him frantically colouring away with a look she would later recall as equal parts fear and delirium.

He intuitively felt her presence and imagined her as a lioness proudly and regally striding through the jungle commanding respect mostly because this was how they spent the last set of weekends.
Upon receiving the handmade card, she contemplated shivering just to once again see the care and attention he gives to all things that shiver.
He accepted her card with a look of "I better just smile to mask my confusion" as the card was stunning in its audacity, flair and originality as it was not only a card and more of an experience.
She wanted to leap through the halls, tossing and playing with ribbons of all the colours of the rainbow while glitter fell from the ceiling, but she didn't as it wasn't a Thursday.
He stood there smiling at her reaction as it reminded him of something that he could not quite put his finger on and for a moment, he was lost in the mist, and when it cleared it was time to go home.
They sat on the bench outside the gym sharing a box of chocolates without a care for the mess they were making on their lips.

It was the last day of school and she was enjoying his new hair style as it was verging on exploring new dimensions and befriending the aliens who live there.
They had made plans to go camping with his family and he looked forward to scaring her with ghost stories and then comforting her with marshmallows and, after an appropriate break, to resume the scaring.
She cleaned out her locker only to find a note he wrote her in completely illegible printing decorated by drawings that would have been means for excommunication or beheadment in a different era.
After their last class, he went to give her a high five mostly for her sake as she believed that everything must end with the touching of palms and, if at all possible, the sliding backwards of feet.
As the hallways emptied and they lingered, she offered to buy him ice cream mostly to see his puppy dog reaction, followed by his kitty cat rubbing against her leg and finally with his moving slowly around like a walrus - how she looked forward to that walrus.
They paused while she said goodbye to the principal and he was envious of her ability to speak coherently to adults especially when it was not for marks as well as her aptitude for not appearing overly cliched even when she tried.
School was over and they had an entire summer of freedom before them and they couldn't have been any happier at this moment.

The Present Day

She excitedly waited among the teeming crowds at the arrival gate to see his familiar nothing-is-wrong-please-stare-somewhere-else-or-maybe-don't-stare-at-all-as-I-was-taught-that-it-is-quite-rude-I'm-just-saying look on his face.

His eyes caught hers and he felt his heart skip a beat and he sighed contentedly and cursed himself as he kept putting off having that checked out by a doctor.

It had only been a few weeks, but she felt that it had been a lifetime ago that she last gazed into his brown eyes, held his hand or obsessively combed his hair for hours on end.

He told her funny stories and enjoyed watching her large and varied range of facial expressions that she clearly had been practicing and expanding while he was away.

She watched him gather his luggage and was struck by a series of new and pronounced muscles in his legs and arms that firmly cemented him as non-animated and made her frustrated as all of the woollen clothes she had spent hour knitting by candlelight would now be too tight.

He put his arm around her in the backseat of the cab as she nestled her head into his soft sweater just as he had carefully and painstakingly directed her to in his long series of often cryptic and poignant post cards.

Now that this trip back to his homeland was done, they vowed to never leave each other's side again.

They started working on their wedding invitations and she watched with awe as he decorated the cards with drawings that were equal parts touching, random and graphic.
He was thinking about the evening when he proposed and how the light lit up her face, nearly burning her and completely throwing him off, making him start again from the beginning after the doctor ruled out anything serious.
Her mind drifted to all of the hyperventilating, rapid eye-twitching and jumpy knees of his that occurred on a regular basis that she dedicated a few minutes to each day convincing herself that they were cute.
While he addressed the letters, she put the finishing touches on the cards with a care that he felt would be better suited for nursing an ailing bird back to health, which coincidentally was a theme they had only recently rejected for their wedding.
She remembered the evening of the proposal, once the ring was on her finger, and how he just couldn't stop weeping at the restaurant and how her mood went from joy to concern very quickly.
He helped her mail the letters which he was prepared to do even if she objected as she often did whenever she wanted to use postal services.
The invitations were off and the wedding was a few months away and the planning had just begun.

It was the evening before the wedding and she wondered if he was nervous and passing the time, as he often did when nervous, by attempting, and failing, to literally bounce off the walls.
As his single life was drawing to a close, he imagined her in her wedding dress riding in on a beautiful black stallion, as if she was a messenger from some far-off kingdom bringing with her a deep dish pizza to share.
The clock struck midnight and she turned in to bed, but not before remembering and contemplating his favourite, yet overly cryptic, quote "the mighty sea washes away the sand castle as only the sea can."
He flipped channels, thinking of her flipping channels, then he ate some cashews, thinking of her eating cashews and he came to the conclusion that she was much more fun in person and that she should stop copying him already.
She lay there smiling at the thought of how happy he makes her and how happy he makes himself as a direct result of making her happy and how both of them were happy about all of that.
He wanted to hold her hand, to caress her shoulders, to have some idea where her kidneys are located - just in case and he knew that she was always the one for him because she didn't run away after he wrote a 5000 word story about these and other longings he had.
Their final night apart was a sleepless one and as night turned to morning, the big day was finally upon them.

The guests were gathering in the courtyard and she imagined him brushing his hair, trying to find just the right balance between volume, control and socialist ideals.
He stood with his best man and caught sight of her and she looked amazingly beautiful and he started tearing up and only then did he unselfishly wish it wasn't allergy season so the tears could all be for her.
Then she was next to him and they held hands and she heard him repeat the vows that he insisted be mostly unintelligible so that only she would know what he meant.
He gazed upon her as it was her turn to state her commitment, which she did as if possessed by an Elizabethan poet as they had reluctantly agreed upon considering their disdain for the works of that period.
"I do" and "I do" were spoken and she laughed as he pumped his fist and then raised his arms before completing a stunning backward somersault which was even more impressive considering the tux was one size too small.
He leaned over to kiss her and she decided to not only return the kiss, but also to jump into his arms and start singing Disney classics using his right thumb as a microphone.
The crowd rose and cheered as the newlyweds turned to face them, all the while beaming.

She would always recognize him by his syntax and refusal to use commas.

He would always appreciate her love for vases of flowers and for just flowers as in some situations vases were superfluous.
She loved that he was everything she wanted aside from some things that would require too much plastic surgery and brainwashing.
He considered himself so lucky that she cared for him so deeply outside of the time when her favourite shows were on as that was her time.
She wanted to make him happy which was harder than it looked as he was constantly writing and rewriting his "What Makes Me Happy" list.
He took pride in being there for her even when he sensed that she could use a break already or at least just slightly more personal space.
The past was full of amazing memories and the future was bright for the two as they had nothing but blue skies ahead.