So the year 2001 is almost over.

It is thanksgiving weekend in Canada.
The weather i gorgeous.
On Saturday we went to October Feast. Schnytzels, sauerkraut, polkas, and a lot of beer. In the morning we have seen first snow of that season: just an inch of puffy flakes on the roof of the car - ground was to warm or wet to sustain any snow.
I keep myself stressed out by my procrastinating just for sport I guess.
I do not watch the news.

How different everything is now.
I give my condolences to fellow Americans.
I pray for suffering people of the world.
For mothers and their children.
And I hope in spite of it all.
In spite of hatred and indifference so carelessly bred in so many places for so long.
That is all I can do, or think of.
Hope.

Yeah, I like my work now.
And the summer is great.
And I am going to Whitehorse next week. Just to have a look around.
And things are looking up.
I do not do my weblogging regularly or almost at all, and world is still rolling around very nicely.
Love you all.
Thank you, thank you very much.

I have changed my workplace. About a month ago. Now I do not spend about three hours a day in public transit buses and trains - I bike instead. My reading suffers a bit - there is no better place for reading than Toronto subway between rush hours. Biking is great though. Under the blue sky with puffy clouds, through small residential streets lined with trees and victorian houses surviving different stages of decay or renovation ideas of their owners that depend on their sometimes strange tastes.
Today I am

I am busy today.
Way too busy for this tulip blooming, lilac scented weather.

I have met my friend Raven couple of days ago. It was morning, splendid spring sunshine. She was carrying two big coffee from donut shop in the cardboard holder. I asked why her voice was so hoarse.
“ I am recovering - she said - from what doctors call psychotic episode.”
“What happened?” I asked.
“I was in the church and I have fallen in the trans and I felt like I wasn't the God - I felt like I was all the Gods.”
And she smiled, and I new that she is telling the truth, quietly and in non boasting manner. I have known Raven for years and I know I can trust her calm and quiet ways.
“Some people told me that they saw me levitating during that time. Doctors wander, how come, I had my first psychotic episode in my forties.” And she smiled again wide and bright - brighter then spring sun that was shining on us, on the street corner, on passig by cars. We talked some more, and she went her way home, and I went to work.

And today I smile when I think about it.

Spring. Morning. Sunshine. Bright new leafs. Crisp breeze. Raven.

I spent all Sunday afternoon browsing weblogs.
I found out about weblogs first time from “New Yorker” article by Rebecca Mead. After reading it I felt inspired first time for a long time. I started reading weblogs regularly. I became fun of megnut.com and kottke.org I followed the Blogger saga. I stumbled across many interesting entries. I felt like a spy, like a vojeur. I have met people yet I haven't met them. Odd.
I thought about writing my own weblog, but for some reason I was under the impression that it wouldn't work with Mac. That probably was just an excuse of my inner procrastinator. Finally after a few months I went to Blogger site and I had my first blog in five minutes. And that was scary . It was a bit like parachute jumping. Except that I didn't know if I had my parachute on and where I was jumping. And I didn't know why I was jumping.
I wrote a first sentence and my inner censor tapped in. Whom I want to portray? My whining side, my coping hero or my goofy bits. Which side of my personality is presentable? Whom I wanted to be in there? What should I allow myself to reveal and what I should keep to myself? Do I really have something to say? Is it that important?
Am I reaching out, crying for help, or is it simply act of despair caused by loneliness - consequence of the uprooted artificial life in the big city of the first world? Is it willingness to share, plea for understanding, or may be it is new social ritual - attempt to join and win acceptance of new 21st century tribe of screen reading folks. The crowd that eats breathes and breeds somewhere like everybody else but these people also pump their thoughts through a system of wires to that not so easy to imagine space called Internet. So what am I doing and why?

I am not a writer, and I do not write, not a diary, nothing since high school essays. Just shopping lists . I wrote couple of poems at my time, but that was long time ago and not true anymore. I am not systematic. I have problems with commitments. English is not my first language. Writing is hard and so time consuming for me. Probability that I will keep up regular entries is less than slim. Yet I feel strong compulsion. I like stories, and yes, I have one to tell. How? I don't know how. Why? I'm not sure. Is it going to be my story? Of course. Is it going to be about me? I hope to not all of it. But I hope I hope I hope it is going to be.

I grew up in Europe where there isn't an unturned stone. My grandparents lifted all of them from their fields one by one by their hands and build walls or simply stacked them on piles marking the borders of their fields. When I first came to Canada (it was 12 years ago without a day day from today- time goes fast!) I was astonished and by raw wildness of this continent tamed if not raped by proud highways crowned by gas stations and fast food restaurants. And a lot of ugly buildings. There is lots of space here so it still can be wasted. But people are very kind - as I have learned later.
A few months after that my brother and I went to visit his friends in the town 700 km north of Toronto. I was traveling by bus. We were going through kilometers of forest. Very raw and wild kind of forest. Signs on the road near the gas station would warn the drivers that next gas station is over hundred kilometers away so everybody better check if they have enough gas. My mind was trying to cover it all and I tried to spread my imagination and understand how big is that forest. It was hard mental exercise. In Europe patch of forest 20 km wide is considered the vast wilderness. In Canada of the forest spreads from one ocean to the other and I have never seen it. I only had seen a little piece off it and I try to imagine how big it is. It must be big.
The similar thing is happening in my head when I try to imagine the internet. And all the people who read write online. Our society changes and evolves and it becomes quite a new creature every few decades. It grew what are vascular system - roads, and railways, and highways. Now it's growing its nervous system. And that system is being improved with amazing speed. Now information is able to go from individual to individual bypassing central power institutions. And weblogs are next improvement in that process. You do not have to be html savvy. Not many people are. All you need to do is have internet access, write, push a button and post. And let them read, and let them think for themselves if they can. What I know from reading weblogs some of them can.

Oh Dear,
So it happen. I is proven. I is official. It is public. Finally.
I failed yet again. I can not be consistent and post regularly. Although it is so easy to post.
I can not be persistent in anything. Not if my honour and well-being depended on it. Or prosperity and happiness of somebody else. Not if world peace could spread or Aral See could fill up with water again.
I failed and I keep failing. What to do? What to do?
Will world make do without my everyday webloging?
The world does not have a choice.
Not yet.

Easter Monday.
Just a regular work day. Not like in old country. Going wild with cups, cans, spray bottles with perfumed water or old fashioned buckets of well water, trying to spray every soul at least symbolically and soaking wet everybody but frail old people and very small children. For good luck. To honor ancient pagan tradition. To assure fertility in new growing season. But who cares what is the reason? It is so much fun!

It is Tuesday. I feel just a bit panicky today.
It was about 25ºC on Sunday, but now the crisp and sunny spring weather is back.
What would happen if I just walked away?
Away.
To be a hobo at least through the summer.
And then I would come back to my cozy apartment and to my cat. He could take care of everything. He is in control of all Galactic Spy Enterprises - he could take care of himself for a couple of months. I am sure.

Testing, testing ...

Do you know that feeling right after waking up from deep and sound sleep, often next day after heavy physical exercise, when for fraction of a second you do not remember what day it is, and everything what goes with it: what needs to be done, what is urgent, what should be done yesterday. Split second of warm and cozy bliss, moment of perfect existence that can be otherwise reached probably by hours of intense meditation - and then you remember - taxes!
My awakenings lately were not so good.
Now is the time for confession. I have given up. I am the most hopeless and sorry procrastinator I know. I stopped to be angry at myself. Now i am just sad. It completely preoccupies me, but I do not talk to my friends about it any more. It’s too boring, to frustrating, too sad. Instead I watch that procrastinating being in my head. I notice its ingenuity and stubbornness. I try to discover its logic, and find out what it feeds on. I try not to hate it. May be I will outsmart it one day. May be one day I will tame it. One day...

Oh, I know now why, I did not hit publish first time - silly me!
Thank you Blogger!
Now I have to go to work. See you later!

Trying ot post first time - second try
It looks like a title showed up, but my first historical post did not. Trying again...