A Confession.

Dear Blogger:
I tell you everything. Or at least I used to, when I needed it desperately. Things have changed though. I have found another, newer, more attractive resting place for most of my thoughts, and I can place them there in a format I relate to much more than on here.
I'm sorry things had to change this way, but surely you understand. I'm growing up. Figuring stuff out. I'd love to keep in touch with the occasional reconnection, which is what I think I'll do from now on here.
We've had great times, but I want something a little bit.. less. No one ever reads this anyway, so I can keep this and spill my heart out and no one will ever find out! I hate final goodbyes so this is perfect.
Much, much, love,
N

2KXI

It is resolved, in 2011 I:
-will carry my camera with me basically everywhere I go (maybe get a flickr?)
-will articulate my feelings more and stop being a doormat
-will finally start officially on my hope chest
-will start cooking more
-won't give in to losing focus
-will take better care of myself
-will read my book on wine
-will speak more Russian at home

You are my witness.
Forever,
N

My mum's Dutch friend

I'll call her Anne.
My mum doesn't have very many close friends, which I think is how it should be. One of her friends is finally finding happiness, and for her it lies in Peru. When asked to name people whom I admire, I always say Anne. She has this light about her, this energy. I find myself wanting to prove myself to her, to connect and say that I'm special like she is, can you feel my energy? I'm spiritual too, just wait until I am your age! I am open and understanding too, isn't it amazing how my mother and I are so different? I want to say all these things and prove myself, but the best part is I don't have to say them. She appreciates me for who I am, and she listens to me. I may not always have a voice, at least in my mother's opinion, but with her I always do. She was married but divorced. She lives on her own with her cats and a horse, but she's leaving the horse here when she moves to Peru. I love that she has found herself and true happiness. Some say she feels the need to find herself because she doesn't have children. I don't agree, or maybe I would deny that truth with all of me if it were true. She's very spiritual, but her head isn't in the clouds. She has a relevant sense of humour, and she's tall and thin and likes taking my dog on hikes. She's moving to Peru and I'm going to miss her.

A letter.

I still know your flat better than the back of my hand. The walls are all creamy white, the stairs leading to where we'd sit and watch crappy action films and had our first kiss on the left, the kitchen where countless glasses of orange juice were consumed on the left as well. The dining nook's on the right, where I had one really nice dinner with you and your mum, although you thought it was awkward and terrible. I'm guessing this is because maybe if she got to know me (which she did) and figured out that I have some substance, she'd figure out that you, doing what you always do, apparently, would hurt me pretty terribly. Which you did. Then there's your old room where everything was happy and cosy and just perfect. You moved rooms when you "felt guilty" last summer. Worried that you were stealing my innocence, which had in fact been stolen from me during my parents' divorce and then the collapse of my mum's second marriage. What always confused me was that you seemed to want to hear about what was making me sad or bringing me down, but you never really wanted to divulge on your side. Sometimes you did, but mostly you didn't. I think I know why that is now.
The room you're in now, I hope the three apple seeds that you successfully planted are growing tall now. Sometimes I see them when I'm waiting to cross the street to get to or from work, and I wonder if you're looking out of your window. I wonder if there's some other girl in there now that's teasing you about the apple seeds, or how silly your pathetic little dog is, or how you're such a paradox. You still have that ocean scene up on the wall opposite the door, and I wonder if you are still putting weights against the door when needed.
Of course I know the lobby, and the stairwell, and especially the distinctive smell that the foyer had.
You hurt me very badly and I hope you never forget what you did. This is like closure for me.

Sickie.

Hmmmm. Seems like everyone's getting sick these days. Hang in there! Slept for about 14 hours today, it was a very good idea to stay home.
It seems like now is the time that I need to start figuring out what to do with "real life". Is it wrong that I am more excited than confused? Sure, the confusion is there, but I'm trying not to let that rule my life. I once read that the easiest way to stay safe when you are alone and lost is to look and act like you know what you're doing and where you're going. I believe this was supposed to be in relation to not getting raped on the street, but I think it more than applies to this and many other situations.
I almost got run over by some blonde 20something in her car 2 weeks ago, my green, her red light whilst turning left onto a 2-way road whilst going over 80km/h.. It makes me think someone is indeed watching over me, because I fell. Not because I was hit, or I tripped, but something pushed me down. I lit a candle and hope that all the people whom I care about have someone or something watching over them.
Forever,
N

Lots and lots

And lots of
Love
Excitement
Frustration
Impatience
Abuse
Patience
Boredom

Switching schools was a bad decision from the start. I don't really remember why I originally did it in the first place. Ah well, I'm going to Spain, expect to hear about that. I finally have a partner in dance again, it's kind of the best thing ever.
I don't understand why girls tolerate so much pushing around. I recognise the trait in myself and I'm not happy. There's just no one out there really quite as good of a fit though in every other respect. I'm also playing the waiting game, have you played that before? I'm investing my time, interest, and multiple energies into something that I can only hope will pay off by the time I'm age of majority. If it turns out it was all for nothing, then prepare for me to delve into complete anonymity as I will have killed someone. I'm only partially joking, really. Love hurts.

Earlier in September we went to BC again and I have decided that I am going to get into wine. It has always intrigued me. One of my first entries was about wine and the film "Sideways". I watched the film again recently and found that it wasn't really as much about wine as I thought, but the fact that it is such a catalyst for change in people is intriguing. People can be red wine people or white wine people. I have yet to find out which I am; as of current, I can't really stand the taste of either. Although maybe I haven't found the right wine. Kind of a catch-22, really.
Either way, it seems like an interesting thing to get into, and with the help of a book called "The Art and Science of Wine" maybe I will be able to create some fine, fine wine.
If anything, you can say you heard it first from me and you used to read my blog before I was famous.
Forever,
N
PS, I have a formspring now. formspring.me/neenochka

Summer trips make me write like I think

We were driving through the Rockies near Golden as I wrote this into a Word document to post later, and I am reminded yet again of how much I adore BC. It’s always so nice to emerge from the pointy incisors of Albertan Rockies and into the kindly old molars that are the BC Rockies, and even the trees are friendlier with leaves instead of needles that are making up a fair bit of the forest now, unfurling themselves so we can see that this is safe, this will not hurt you even though we’re winding through the switchbacks with bated breath, riding a serpentine dust cloud with our fellow motorists trying not to hug the centerline and keep everyone content and Watch out this car is heavier than your car you can’t go so hard on the turns.
I love road trips.




I love BC. I love summer. I love.

Forever,
N