Actually, I know I will miss it

I am laying on a bare mattress that rests in the middle of the floor in an empty room. It is my last night in North Bay - ever, or at least for the foreseeable future.
I’ve thought very little about my actual departure from this city. It has been a date marked on my calendar for months now surrounded by exclamation points and stars, but, other than considering the kinds of supplies I’d require to pack up the house, I’d never really given much thought to the other implications the date held. I am leaving this city essentially the same way I entered it: without any real attachments to its inhabitants and less than thrilled about my living arrangements once I settle into my new life.
Despite making many friends, I knew that each goodbye I made was permanent – unless, of course, it was the other party who made the effort to keep in touch. In truth, I dodged goodbyes wherever possible and implemented a strict “no hugging” rule for the ones I found myself unintentionally caught in. This statement sounds slightly depressing, but I never expected to make lasting relationships in this city and found relief in the fact that it seems I haven't.

But not before exclaiming, "This is why I broke-up with you!"

I was surprised when my cell phone rang because, after all, I can't recall having ever given anyone the number - not intentionally at least. I narrowed my eyes at it in hopes that my sheer level of annoyance would cause it to cease its vibrating and cower away in a corner somewhere. When it became clear that the phone was not going to make things easy, I flipped it open and proceeded to offer up a half-assed greeting to whoever was on the other side.
"This is Corey," an unfamiliar male voice announced, "you broke up with me three days ago."
Oh. Corey.
Truth be told, I did not actually know Corey by name. You see, last week I got drunk and decided it would be hilarious to send the same text message out to each member of my family. The idea had come from an episode of the television show 7th Heaven, in which one of the Camden's daughters is broken up with via text message. "M br8kn up w/u," the text read.
What I forgot was that my sister had terminated her old cell phone plan before she went away to Europe/Africa approximately a year and a half ago, and I had failed to update my phone's address book with her new phone number. Needless to say, with a number that was less than current, my sister never got my hilarious text message. Instead, it went to Corey.
Oh, Corey.
Dear, sweet, creepy Corey. Distraught over our break-up, he called my cell phone in a last ditch effort to save our relationship. In what can best be described as two and a half of the most awkward minutes of my life, I attempted to explain the hilarity of my mix-up to the voice on the other end of the phone. When he failed to laugh the way I felt he should and quickly proceeded to accuse me of stalking him, I hung up the phone.

Save(d) as Draft(s)

I keep having nightmares about dying, night after night.
I used to think that I wasn't afraid of death, but I have come to realize that I was deluding myself.
I am afraid completely afraid to die. The idea leaves me terrified.
7/24/07

I still mean every promise I have ever made.
7/25/07

I used to have an intense desire to own a white duck.
I had it all planned out. The duck's name would be Professor McQuacks and he would follow me every where. We would go to the park together where I would feed him pieces of bread as he swam in the water and the other ducks looked on in jealousy. At the end of each day, I would tuck Professor McQuacks into my bed and read him a bedtime story. However, in the morning I would wake-up with a bad case of salmonella and realize that I had accidentally rolled over the Professor in my sleep.
7/29/07

I sprayed the air freshener in the sign of the holy cross, hoping against all hope that it would somehow purge the smell, that was surely evil, from the room. It didn't though.
8/01/07

My sister is always giving me inside information on things that I don't care about, like dessert wines and diamond mining. "I will let you come to my champagne tasting," she tells me one evening, "I will only make you pay $100."
8/03/07

I have a hard time thinking of myself in terms of anything but goofy looking. I feel incredibly self-conscious when talking about my physical appearance because, after all, I have looked in a mirror before and been greeted by the sight of my bulbous nose and Charlie Brown-like head.
8/04/07

But I'll know for sure Friday morning

It's a race against the clock. Which will come first, my period or my annual physical?
Only time will tell.

Algonquin 2007

I have spent the past three days verbally sparring with a handful of 14-year-olds. In spite of their youthful enthusiasm, I broke their spirits relatively quickly by shouting things like "Get a haircut!" and "In a few years you're going to have to start paying taxes!" at them. They were doomed to fall in love with me from the start.

Coming Soon: More pictures of dogs!

I bought a new camera today.

ALL OF GOD'S RICHEST BLESSINGS and then some...

"I don't care which one of them shows up. I am getting one of my cousins drunk tomorrow," I declared.
"But Amanda is only 15!" my mom cried disapprovingly. She is always trying to rain on my parades.
- 07/18/07

"You are just jealous because nobody wishes you ALL OF GOD'S RICHEST BLESSINGS," I said to her, quoting a card I had received (along with $25) from a great-aunt earlier in the week.
"If you say that one more time today I am going to throw something at your head."
"Fair enough," I replied and walked away.
- 07/10/07

We were in the same class for two years, but the only reason I even remember his name at all is because he threw-up one day in the first grade. My friends and I all spent the next few months emphatically avoiding the spot his vomit had landed, which happened to be right smack in the middle of the only doorway leading into the classroom.
I never thought I would be so desperately concerned about the health of someone that I was never even really friends with. Yet each night I squeeze my eyes shut and pray to a God that I don't even believe in, asking him to let this boy I once knew go into remission.
- 07/08/07

But other than that, I have a sparkling personality and a winning smile

Did you know that I am an asshole? It's true, I am. A giant one.
It is a realization that has been slowly dawning on me over the past decade or so.
I was once told, in so many words, that recognizing your own flaws is meaningless if you are unwilling to do anything to change them. I recognize that I can be judgmental, introverted, and suffer from a bit of a superiority complex. I hold on to anger for ridiculously long periods of time, and I frequently consider myself morally superior to those around me when, in truth, I am really no more moral than anybody else. And let's not forget the fact that I am incredibly flaky and have severe commitment issues.
Recognizing your own flaws does not somehow negate the negative impact that they have on both yourself and those around you, but I'd like to think that it is a step in the right direction.

July 11th

The circus is in town this weekend. They have set their tent up right down the street from our house. I remember you in your silly hat, with a smile plastered on your face, as you handed me a mound of cotton candy and told me that you had made special arrangements for me to ride the elephant. What I did not realize until years later is that anyone can make special arrangements to ride the elephants, assuming they are willing to part with ten dollars.
Each year I think that the fact that you are gone will not matter any more today than it did yesterday. This year I find myself surprised to realize that it does.
Those first few days I thought, "Yesterday this time my world was intact."
I continued to count time in relation to when you had exited my life for that entire first year.
I don't remember when I last visited your grave. I can't decide whether this fact would upset you, or if you would simply be pleased that I think of you at all.

It's been longer than 30 days so I may just have to keep him

Three years later and I still have the receipt for my dog (yes, I irresponsibly bought him from a pet store). One day, I plan on taking him back to the family run store where we first met, holding the receipt very clearly in my hand, and asking them what kind of return policy they have.
"I do not think this is the same dog that I bought here," I will tell them. "This one is much bigger than the one I left with. I am not exactly sure what happened, but I am almost positive that it is not my fault."

It kind of makes me feel dirty

I never hid the fact that I was leaving the house that evening with the sole intention of going to a friend's to make brownies whose main ingredient would be marijuana.
"Why don't you bring me home one?" my mother joked.
"I will be bringing some home," I told her, "but do you seriously want me to save you one?"
Since our conversation earlier in the year, in which (through my response) it became overwhelmingly apparent that I had partaken in recreational drug use on more than one occasion, I have been incredibly honest with my parents about the majority of my illicit activity.
I brought the brownies home later that evening, and while my mother has yet to partake, I have somehow become a supplier to my entire family. Last weekend I gave several to my aunt and today I gave one to my uncle's common-law wife. What is perhaps even more disturbing is that I did all of this in front of my Grandmother.
"Do not eat the whole thing in one sitting." I cautioned. "In fact, I am only going to give you half of one and I don't even want you to eat half of that in one sitting. And wait at least two hours before eating another one. It will take some time to kick in and you will regret the second brownie after the first one starts to work."
I never thought the day would come when I would be lecturing my aunts and uncles about proper safety precautions when it came to ingesting pot-laden brownies.

Plethora of Posts

Dear Internet,
I am higher than a fucking kite right now. That's a funny word - kite - I wonder who made that word up. But that is unimportant - what is important is that I am stoned.
Stoned. Stoned. Stoned.
09/06/07

"I would love to!" I exclaimed, and was more than a little surprised to hear myself say it. I have never emceed at a wedding before and generally find myself uncomfortable in situations that involve speaking in front of crowds. Also, I do not speak Swedish and that could prove to be a problem.
07/06/07

My father and I met with a real estate agent last week. He was a balding, elderly gentleman who had sunspots intermixed with patches of white hair on his shiny head.
I was not thrilled that my father had called in the real estate agent when he did - the house was a mess, and I did not have adequate time to change out of my "work clothes" (read: pajamas) and into something more appropriate. I had wanted the house to sparkle with cleanliness and general awesomeness before we presented it to a realtor, and I generally enjoy a chance to shower so that I am clean when I meet new people. However, my father insisted that none of these things mattered in the grand scheme of things
31/05/07

"What is this for?" I asked her, holding up a strange looking device.
"Mosquito bites. It produces a small electrostatic current that causes the bite to stop itching," she explained.
"Oh," I said. "Does it hurt?"
"No. You can't even feel it."
I was curious as to whether or not this was actually true. And so, in the sake of science, I put the device against my sister's arm and initiated an electrostatic current.
"Ouch!" She cried, "What the hell did you do that for?!"
"LIAR! You lied! You said it did not hurt!"
16/05/07

Our conversations are never boring, that is for sure.
"I do not know," I told her, "I do not think that I could do it. I mean, I am relatively sure I could receive, but fairly confident that I could not reciprocate."
14/05/07

You know it is going to be a good story because he begins it by saying "So I was banging your friend Ashley..."
12/05/07

This morning I burped for what seemed like an hour. In reality it lasted mere seconds, but it felt like much more time had elapsed.
11/05/07

The pharmacist at the local drugstore reminds me of Wayne Newton. Every time I go in to get a prescription filled I cannot help but hum a little bit of Danke Schoen. I am still not entirely convinced that Wayne Newton hasn't given up show business in favour of pursuing his dream of running a relatively small pharmacy in Southern Ontario. His voice even has a similar cadence to Wayne's and, while in reality he is explaining possible symptoms and saying things like "rash" and "palpitations of the the heart," I imagine that he is crooning to me in a low, sensuous voice.

Because apparently he believes an angry stomach is an indicator of a future contraction of an STD

He wouldn't stop talking about poop, and not just his own poop either.
"Did you feel that?" I asked him, in response to his excrement anecdotes.
"Feel what? My gut is rumbling."
"That's not your gut," I explained, "that is our friendship evolving. You just brought us to a whole new level."
"I think my gut is angry with me," he said, ignoring me completely.
"That is probably your body's way of telling you that you are going to get the scootes later."
"What is that?" He asked, "Some sort of STD?"
"No, it is diarrhea, but close."

Rejects

There was poop. On the floor. Gross, runny poop on the living room floor, which is carpet.
I'd spent the past twenty minutes thinking my sister had dropped one hell of a bomb in our shared bathroom, prior to leaving for work, when really it was poop. Dog poop. Yuck.
I stared at it for several minutes, t-shirt hiked up over my nose in an attempt to keep the smell at bay. Could I pretend that I just hadn't seen it? Yes. Yes I could.
- 4/4/07

Sick of the tyrannical oppression of the fenced in yard, the dogs decided to escape into the woods.
Confused at their sudden absence, I stood on my parents patio, scratching my head, as I waited for my brain to kick in. When a combination of whistling and calling their names failed to draw them back, I tried yelling out invectives at random.
The woods are beautiful, but they become exponentially less so with each additional minute that you are forced to trek through the near-frozen mud wearing your brother's Crocs.
- 4/11/07

The mouse, no matter how hard I stared at it, did not get any less dead or any less smelly.
- 4/13/07

I called him, crying. "I miss you," I whispered into the receiver. My confession was met with silence, and I closed my eyes wishing for a way to take it back.
"I miss you, too" he finally answered.
- 4/19/07

Looking back on it now, I have spent the past two years trying to distance myself from everyone I've met here. Slowly, I stopped returning phone calls, went out with less frequency, and started spending more and more time out of the city. It wasn't until yesterday that I really stopped to think about it. And now I am suddenly overcome with a complete and utter sense of regret. It's done now. It's over. There's no going back.
- 4/26/07