Delta

I think a major reason to even have a journal is to keep track of things that inevitably change and in doing so, weird you out.

I'll get started on that as soon as the cat stops going insane.

Cat's in the hall

So, where to begin.

Let's start with job is changing. That's always new, but it's not that new since it's been a year. Let's start with I've been subjected to a number of little, infuriating changes on the way to an actal job change. Let's start there and then hop off it as it starts to sink into the background.

Let's continue with my grandfather is turning 90. He's one of the most fascinating people I know, and one of the most complicated. He's been hard done by and he's been hard to live with, I'm sure, and I worry that things may get very, very difficult if the new family dynamics that have emerged recently get sufficiently tense.

More so let's look at friendships and relationships doing their own sorts of erosion, mutation, recombination, and confusing realignments.

(Oooh, distracted by the shiny. Nausicaa of the Valley of the Winds is on in the background; a sort of joint predecessor to my beloved Castle in the Sky and andmiss' beloved Mononoke Hime, such as I like to call Mononononononoke Hime.)

Whedonisms, sorry. I'll avoid them if I can.

I'm discovering David Foster Wallace right after he died. I'm worried about other people dying, because last March was nothing less than a parade of loss when it comes to people I wasn't ready to lose. Four Februaries ago was denizsarikaya.

Turning 30 was hard, and it happened it feels like days ago. Turning 31 actually happened days ago and I don't think I could tell you anything that happened in the meantime. Other than I got drunk a lot.

I grow further apart from everyone I know and/or care about with every passing day.

And there's a cat! A hostile creature I don't understand, knocking things over. Unimportant things, sure, but it's just that much more control I lose over my surroundings.

Okay, other changes, not personal ones: Grey Region closed. A bastion of my sense of "downtown", I would stop in and grab a comic just about every time I stopped in there, or I'd pick up a miniature or a model. I'd make bizarre libertarian conversation with the proprietor, and stifle reaction to some of the more unsettling clientele. It was a Stable Place for me, though, and more and more I'm losing these things, being shoved out of old offices, getting less acclimatized to parents' house, watching my grandfather fade from his connections to his own place.

It may be time to consider "getting" a place; and yet, I don't even know if Toronto is where I want my roots to be. They should, in theory, be here; this is where I came from. But I don't know if I fit in. I don't feel like I'm on solid ground in this city, and I don't feel I know enough of anywhere else to know where I could make a place feel like home.

It's CLASSIC LIVEJOURNAL STUFF, folks!