The Fine Art of Falling Apart: oh, perfect

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This is what it could look like when one completely deconstructs a life as one knows it, and how to build from the ground up. Alternatively, this is a fresh look at an old story. The fine art of falling apart.

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I'm Gish. I guess this is what one can call the remnants of a pre-mid-life crisis. I listen to too much music and read too many books, and it all means nothing. Abrasive, I smoke too much, drink too much coffee and hardly sleep. Alive. Be sure to check out the new links to blogs, photos, music and other sorts of good stuff at the very bottom of the page.

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oh, perfect

Stamped: 3:46 PM

how much do I hate Ottawa? I don't know, really. It's more of an abstract dislike just because it was a city I spent 9 years of my life in, with a man I am no longer attached to. But every once in awhile, memories of our life together (mostly the nice memories) surface and I miss it. And I hate that I miss it.

I just got my itinerary for my flight schedule and such, and I have a 15 hour layover in Ottawa, meaning I have to spend the night. I'm in the process of making plans to spend some time with a friend there, but still...I don't know if that will be enough to take the sting out of the whole deal.

And the stupid airport is right in the same neighbourhood/end of town of where I used to live.

Am I making a big deal out of nothing? Probably. But it's my deal, and I decide how big it is. I think. Besides...the shopping is pretty damn good.

Labels: drama, flying, neurotic, Ottawa, past, travelling

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