5 Minutes to Midnight

What do you think is worse: To have your life is come to a drastic and immediate end or to have your life slowly seep out from you over time, as you lose control of your body and mind? This is the question I've been mulling over today.

After finishing an online meeting this morning, I walked downstairs to find my Mum in tears while talking on the phone. I sat down next to her, without interrupting, awaiting the bad news that was going to be explained to me once she was done with the call. She soon hung up the phone and let it out: Oldest Brother was in Toronto for a conference. He had decided to randomly stop by my Grandmother's house to visit. He rang the doorbell and knocked a few times, without an answer. He found the door unlocked, so he let himself inside. He ended up finding Grandma lying on the ground in an overwhelming pool of blood, without the ability to speak coherently. A 911 call later, phone calls back and forth between himself and us in Montreal, and about 10 hours of time, my Grandma is now in the hospital with a broken nose, probably broken pelvis, what seems like a stroke, and in a quasi-coma. To add onto that she's hooked up to a respirator and has yet to speak to anyone. She may have been lying on the kitchen floor for a full day, unable to help herself, before Oldest Brother walked in.

She only briefly appeared once in my blog, but that shouldn't make you think I don't care a lot about my Grandmother. Independent, quick, witty and always interesting & entertaining, she's the only grandparent I have really known well.

In this situation, like I said to my Mum, we should only focus on the immediate since there's no point in thinking about the repercussions of everything that
s going to follow over the long term. Still, just as my Dad verbalized what we all separately thought, there are only two outcomes right now: in the next few days, Grandma's precarious condition will deteriorate and she will die, or she will recover but be forced into some sort of home or assisted care due to her injuries and stroke, where she will stay for the rest of her days.

Obviously you should understand why I began the post as I did.

The truth is that it took me only a few minutes to make my decision: I'm hoping for a quick, sudden death for my Grandma.

Worse than the current predicament, I'd be a lot sadder if we had to keep her in some sort of old folks' home. One of the things she values the most is her liberty and self-sufficiency. Giving up her current home of 50+ years, the garden, her car and all her activities would be devastating to her. When the doctors asked my Mum, over the phone, if they could hook her up to the breathing device, my Mum answered: "I know she would fight it but I am going to say yes for my own selfish reasons."

To add onto that, Grandma was always one of the most eloquent and pertinent conversationalists; when she has something to say, it sounded important, beautiful and intelligent. The doctor's don't know the intensity or damage of the stroke, but I've seen others get wrapped up in frustration from not being able to express themselves when their words were once their closest friends. I don't think I could bare to stand that.

Oddly enough though, my feelings for my Mum are trumping those for my Grandmother. Since they are mother and daughter, I know my Mum will take/is taking this situation worse than the rest of the family. All I can do right now is comfort her (which I personally think I am quite good at). The sad truth is that if Grandma does survive the next few days, a long, drawn out half-life for my Grandmother would just sap the strength out of my Mum. I know it would exhaust her and rip the well-placed heart off of her sleeve. She would be by my Grandmother's side day and night, which is wonderful, all the while the circumstances would depress her more and more.

So here's to taking each day once at a time, coming together as a family, watching and waiting.

In my Head

I was working in a cafe in the Gay Village today - it has been a while since I've ventured into the Village.

This occasion was a steady reminder that when I'm not surrounded friends in the Village, I get very self-conscious and uncomfortable. I get the constant impression that people are checking me and each other out, creating some over-sexualized atmosphere. I become over worried about looking around and making eye contact with others, because it could be misinterpreted as me hitting on them or they would look at me with disgust.

Uh, it's annoying because I know this is all in my head. If I'm with friends, that entire paranoid feeling disappears completely. My friends become a figurative barrier against peoples' wandering eyes and judgement, or more like they stop my mind from creating these false impressions. In "straight" cafes, bars or any other public setting, I feel perfectly at ease. It's only when I'm in a "gay" identified environment.

I suppose my psyche does use my straight friends as a shield or reassurance to my self-esteem. They're familiar, there's nothing sexual between any of us, it's comfortable and it's a sure thing. But with gay people, there's potentially ways of socializing I'm not used to, mockery or rejection and just generally unfamiliar stuff.

An hour into my stay at the cafe, I got much more into the music I was blaring through my earphones and became relaxed.

Am I the only person who finds it so easy to be gay around straight people and finds it so hard to be gay around other gay people?

Goodbye Gift of the Gods?

As of late, I'm considering giving up drinking any form of alcohol for a month. With all the going-out and partying I've done this holiday season, I feel like it would be a nice change and a good measure of my will, to see if I could do without all that for a bit.

Let me first say that this is in no way related to New Years resolutions, because I think they're stupid. Why choose to change something January 1rst, just because the calendar is done with December. It's only coincidence that I've been thinking about this, at the same time that everyone seems to be making their lame-ass resolutions that will fail in 3 weeks.

Now, to get back on course.

When I drink, I go all-out. I don't ever have 1 beer or a glass of wine with meals. Nope, I much prefer milk or water. I'm the social drinker, that goes out with friends to bars and inevitably ends up sharing at least a pitcher or 3 with others. I consume enough so that I'm always at least buzzed when I'm back home. Big friend gatherings have me downing a lot more drinks, since the bottles flow freely between all of us. When that happens, my mouth does become a little loose. At that stage, I tend just to say whatever I feel like, whether it's truth, lies or something just to push another person's buttons. My friends all know this and they love me for my douche-ness, but I feel like it has gotten to be a bit much.

This short-term prohibition isn't a new idea either. I've had too many days of waking up, knowing that my mind's a bit fried and unfocused. Post-booze days are just complete wastes for me. I end up sitting at the computer or TV, not really wanting to do anything other than veg out. I've thought for at least a month about going dry. I just haven't made the next step.

My friends have all heard the idea of mine and the comments aren't favorable. The majority immediately laugh at the notion of giving up drinking for a month. "I've heard so many friends say that...", "ya right, who does that" and "No, you can't do that" are the popular replies. Xav thinks it would be an interesting idea, since he has seen the jackass that beer releases in me. Liz told me she was excited because she was thinking about doing the same thing.

2 years ago: here I am in my glory - drunkenly thrashing around on the ground

In deciding whether to go ahead with the idea, I've hit a practical snag: I seem to be trying to choose a month that will least effect my partying. Obviously, there's a dysfunction in my plan if potential future drinking is getting in the way of me giving up drinking. A good friend of mine has already told me that I can't start my month of sobriety before her birthday in mid-January. On the off-chance that I do end up seeing Alicia, I will want to go out drinking with her.

Well why can't you just have fun with the, without drinking?, might you ask. Honestly? It's not as fun. Try to convince yourself or anything otherwise, but drinking loosens everyone up, makes shit get wild and creates a great ass time. That's why.

So, I need to do some more thinking and weighing my options. Bite the bullet and go cold turkey now, and simply take the lost, drunken shenanigan-opportunities in stride? Or just admit I could never do it and there's no point? Hmm.

...or just slightly lessen my drinking, thereby consuming in moderation. Of course that shit is too practical, intelligent and simple for me...

What I Left Behind

With the lease on my apartment coming to an end, I've been slowly moving my things back into my family's house. Even with the many potential pitfalls of this decision, I've decided to stay with them until this summer. If I find things become unbearable, I've already made a deal with Tim to move into his apartment's tiny, overpriced extra room.

It's the oddest feeling to be back in my childhood room. Growing up, I was never one for throwing things away, so the shelves and walls are covered in trinkets that I found and received from the age of 0 to 19. When I originally moved out, I left all of this behind. Being back here is like a little time warp into my younger days: there are plenty of stuffed animals, that I got before I turned 10. There are tiny, collectible statues of soldiers, and cats, and rare coins; all of which were given to me by my Grandmothers or family friends. Quite of few useless souvenirs, from family vacations. The posters on the walls have all been there for at least 7 years. I swear that some of these things probably even came with the room.

I realized a while ago that I don't need many physical possessions to be happy. When I left all these items behind, I never gave another thought to them. From my apartment life, I've obviously recollected lots of useless objects, but I'm sure I could do without them as well. What remains in this room, which is a hell of a lot, is pretty much just decoration.

I think the odd feeling I get is because all these trinkets are reminders of a younger me, that I am no longer. I'm not some 10 year old kid anymore, who spent his time playing with plastic animals and lego (although anyone could argue I currently have the mental capacity of a 10 year old). I'm not the 6 year old who loved collecting things and cat poster. I'm also not the 15 year old who just went along with his parents' ideas and suggestions. In a way, the room feels like it belongs to a stranger. None of this is mine and I don't want to go back to it.

Tomorrow or the day after, I'm going to box up all these things. They won't be thrown-out, but instead stored away and saved. Memories and reminders are nice, but I don't need these surrounding me. I've very much a become a different person than the child that originally kept these things and called this room home.