Good To Write





In a Super Friendz song from ages past, the words candor and careen in the chorus: 'It's good to feel like - It's good to feel liked' over and over again, in a pulsating fashion.

We are nothing if we are not constantly desiring the approval and admiration of others.

We want to be original but we can't exist without the admonished view of our peers.

I can't dismiss this year. It has been an adventure every step of the way. Here I am - in early January - waxing and waning about the year I've had.

Tonight, I walked home in a wack of snow. Snow and ice. It pervaded every step. It took over every notion of coldness and made my bones wreak of fragility. It made me human, that coldness. It made me 'me'.

Why do we write? Who do we think that we are? Why do we rival those who do it as well as we do (if not better)?

I remember the day that 9/11 happened. I was working for my dad's friend Tim in a lumber yard outside of Manotick.

Reports kept coming in that a massive airplane had hit a building in New York. I didn't believe it. My friend Joel worked with me that day and had the same sense of disbelief. A francophone worker refused to climb up the wood chip dispensation machine ladder because he feared for his life. It was comical, but I didn't get it.

Being Canadian, I didn't get it.

I'm watching Season 1 of Rescue Me and now, I get it. I see the things that I missed before. I see the things that I clearly ignored.

I see the signs that we forewarned and ignored.

I see a world that is bored.