I saw my counsellor today. She suggested that part of my problem is that I'm bottling up my emotions - I'm not letting myself feel despair and let it pass through my head so it just sticks around. I know that one of the scariest moments of my whole life was the day back in September when I realized that journalling had become so intensely painful that I wanted to avoid it at all costs. Journalling is reliving, and I didn't want to live it once, let alone twice. If my counsellor is right, than I'm just contributing to the problem by cutting myself off from my catharsis and pretending that I'm not having these problems.

So yeah. Here I be.

The end of the week went relatively well. We gave out report cards on Thursday (leading to many angry faces on Friday; good timing that) and there was an all-day Gender War on Friday that sucked up many malcontents from my classes. The last event on Friday was a pep rally, and I spent a great deal of time with Theresa & Rosalind & other femme English teachers, herding escaping kids back into the gym. The school is becoming more consistent about handling these situations, but it's still utter anarchy on an event day. I'd just as soon not have them, and if that makes me a dried up, stick up the ass teacher stereotype, then so be it. I have similarly unpopular views about legalizing marijuana - teaching is hard enough without sanctioning distractions and numbing agents.

The day was not lost, despite the chaos of the afternoon. After school on Friday, it is the custom of the staff to gather in a local bar and decompress from the week. I've been going for the past month, and I have to say that I've grown quite fond of smoking & drinking with my co-workers. It's a nice coda to a day that is more often than not characterized by whiny students & bone-weariness. Yesterday I was ultra-indulgent, smoking 4 of Theresa's cigarettes and drinking my weekend ration of alcohol (one bottle) right off the bat. By the time I was ready to go home, I had tapped into a deep well of restlessness - I really like my co-workers, but they're no substitute for my friends. So I decided to go dancing. And as Zen worked out so well 2 weeks ago, I decided not to press my luck.

Several phone calls and a quick change of clothes later, I was parking in the big lot on Queen Street and striding into the Tequila Bookwork to meet the Boy. We managed to kill several hours in conversation & simultaneous perusal of Toronto's free newspapers, our only problem being that the night was cold and we didn't have enough money to justify a prolonged presence in any one place. We were some of the first people in the club. Very lame.

It was a pretty good night, though. Little Spider & her boy Spike showed up, as did Grey Owl. Betelgeuse (a mutual friend of those three) sat with us for most of the night; dressed in an impeccable black & white striped suit, he seemed haughty but was actually shy. Once he had warmed up to me, we bitched about the music, about feeling old and about education - three quality topics for bitching indeed. I didn't dance as much as I wanted to, but I managed to get in a great deal of conversation with Little Spider, which was just as good. We didn't really get a chance to talk last weekend, as I was split in 20 different directions by my hostessing duties. It was really nice to see her so calm and collected. Spike is really good for her, and that fact made me grin to myself at odd moments.

"Does this suit make me look gay?"

"Yeah, but that's what you wanted, right?"

- betelgeuse's eternal question and my answer (with apologies to the onion)

Today was mostly taken up with the drive to and from the counselling office. She practices in my old hometown, so my parents really wanted us to visit while we were down in that neck of the woods. It really, really didn't work out to anyone's advantage: we had 20 minutes of rushed conversation with my parents, and then I was late (again) to my appointment.

We spent most of the hour talking about my reservations about being an adult. In essence, I can make a very sharp distinction between the joys of extended adolescence and the burdens of adulthood. I have yet to find a perk of adulthood that I didn't enjoy when I was under someone else's care, and the duties particular to my life have been so taxing that I often despair that I'm in for a miserable 20 years. And of course, I've become very good at hiding from my emotions, so I don't admit to myself that I'm feeling despair - I just bottle it up because that's what I think an adult is supposed to do.

It all makes me very tired. I am so tired of waiting for it to get good that my weariness affects just about every aspect of my life. I have trouble finding activities that restore me, so it just goes on and on and on.

We also talked about my friends, and how I'm in a period of transition right now where I don't know what my new role will be now that we're back in the city. The fact that some of my closest friends have developed problems of their own lately, and are becoming less and less available to me emotionally is just another facet of the larger issue, which is, where do I fit now?

My family also came up, and how my brother's life choices affect my own (in essence, all the different way's I'm forced to take up Nic's slack). Finally, as the hour was ending, we talked about my parents' demands on my time, and how often I accept guilt for not being able to see them as often as they'd like. Talking about my family was a lot easier than talking about myself; just acknowledging the home truths about my feelings was exquisitely painful, and I spent a good 20 minutes crying steadily. I think that's a good thing. (One of my problems with releasing my emotion is that I'm afraid that if I start crying, I'll never be able to stop - so I'm a little leery of weeping for any reason.)

Unfortunately my insurance only covers one more session with this lady, as she's not a medical doctor. I'm thinking about finding a psychologist that will take me on, as I can get that covered by OHIP. Otherwise, it's back to doing this all on my own. I tend to gloss over my problems, but I can't do that anymore. Two weeks ago I was thinking about suicide every single day; if I let myself go without help, I could make that incredibly stupid decision that would take away any possibility of ever being happy.

I really, really don't want to let that happen.

New glasses today. I'm really happy, even though I have a New Prescription Headache. I've been wearing contacts for 2 weeks straight, and that's 13 days too long. Honestly, I don't know how I managed to get through 3 continuous years of contact lens usage - even a morning with the plastic in my eyes makes me tired & fretful. But I guess there was a pretty powerful association with contacts and popularity: there wasn't much going on in my life before I started wearing contacts, and I don't think I was ready to break that streak of good luck by returning to the plastic frame life.

As with many things, it wasn't until I was older and wiser that I realized how powerful one could be when one was just oneself, simply and without cringing. I wear glasses. Why would I want to date someone who couldn't handle such a little thing?

The reduced eyestrain is just a bonus to the powerful self-actualization. No, really.

We saw the new Harry Potter movie today. All I have to say is 'ick.' Everyone involved in the project seemed to have been thoroughly numbed by a superficial skimming of plot that only hinted at the rich source text. The deleivery of many lines was stilted and boring. There was absolutely no chemistry between any of the players and the most emotional scenes were as flat as pancakes. Snape, my beloved Snape, came off as silly, poorly dressed and pathetic. Lockheart was given the most shallow character development possible. The Quidditch scene was completely unnecessary. The only scenes I enjoyed revolved around the screaming mandrake babies and Moaning Myrtle (who was, by the way, creepy & sexy in an almost Snape-worthy fashion). And, well, I enjoyed repeating Oliver Wood's lines, because apparently they were going to practice Quidditch "earlier, longer and harder." I have that kind of mind.

After it ended, I began to make a list of scenes that could've been cut so as to give more room to other plot elements. I stopped when I realized that the entire movie was about to go on the cutting room floor.