April 2000

I like to dream for hours
Go somewhere no one knows about
(they can't remember)
I see all the wonders
Telling me that I can't live without this healthy fever

And I'm allowed to fly, fly very high
Get over this heavy sky
No fall will let me die

Catherine Durand - Dreams


I hope that text doesn't look depressing. I don't think Mlle. Durand intended it to be; she is francophone, and Dreams is one of only two English tracks on her beautiful album Flou. I just thought that her dreamy, childlike perspective was truly fascinating, whether she wanted it to come out that way or not. Seriously, if you see her album in a store somewhere, don't hesitate to try it. She has a petite voice and an overall sound reminiscent of Chantal Kreviazuk or Natalie Imbruglia.

I have started to become really interested in French-language music, partly because I am in the process of doing a project in French class on that topic, and partly because it really is beautiful, in the sense of the language, and the flow of words. Rap flows especially well in that language.

I've had an odd month. Last month was the month of breakdowns; well this one is a month of trying to figure out where pieces fit back together. First of all, in early March, we had gorgeous weather in Toronto, reaching up to 20 degrees Celsius (68 Frankenheit for all of you American freaks!) in the dead winter. That was a real mood booster . . . until it dove back down to -9 later on. Yes, I know that the word is Fahrenheit, so sue me for trying to make a joke.

I went to another "Homo Hop". I think I was marginally happier at this one. On one hand, my university-age friend Angie, whom I haven't even seen in a year or so, promised to meet up and come with me - and didn't show. The story goes, that she got all dolled up and everything to get out the door, and fell asleep on her way out. Yeah, I forgive her, she was sick anyway, but man was I disgruntled when I finally got to the dance.

Then came the pleasant surprise. My straight friend Jenn, from choir, rocks. The previous rehearsal I had taken the subway back with her, and we realized that we had a common acquaintance in the gay community. I told her about the Hop and she was really excited, but never got back to me. Well, here I am talking with our common friend at the dance, and who shows up but Jenn? I was so shocked that I actually shrieked out in delight.

The only other comment I have about that night, is that someone sent me a message. Someone actually took the time to write me an anonymous note and post it up on a board. The thing is, it wasn't a very nice one. It said, and I quote:

Suck my tit bitch

What a way to spoil an evening. I ran around for almost an hour trying to figure out who wrote it before I gave up and dismissed it as a fluke. Still, I was a little shattered.

Now, I don't want this to turn into the "Charles yaks for a while about the Homo Hop and leaves you depressed" column. So that's why I stopped after three paragraphs. Cause a lot of other things happened. You see, that general feeling of blah that I had been having, never totally went away. But I still had a rather pleasant chat with someone that has lifted me somewhat. His name is Truman, and he is the first guy I have ever dated. It was two years ago that we went out, and it lasted two and a half months.

Truman and I always had a lot of bitterness after the breakup. That's probably because I did it. I won't tell the whole protracted story, but it happened on the eve of Valentine's Day 1998, in front of his parents too. I was really frustrated and I dumped him on the spot. I also refused to talk to him for a long time after, and kept telling mean stories about him for a long time. Well, certain other damaging experiences happened this summer that made me realize how much of a jerk I had been to Truman. I got to wondering if I had some guilt complex built up or such.

So I spent over two hours in an ICQ chat with him (oh yes, you will say, how quaint), and I just poured everything out. I told him how I had been afraid to admit that I regretted hurting him, and how I felt unworthy of a future relationship. He then admitted to me that he felt guilty for unloading a problem on my life, in the form of a person who dated me following a breakup with Truman. We both apologized to each other and made up. It's great, because it's one less thing I have hurting my conscience, and I also have the comfort of knowing that his life will never be hurt on my account again.

A lot of other things happened this month that might merit mentioning, for after all, it was March Break. But I've taken up enough of your time, and I'm sure this is plenty of food for thought. Reconciliation is always a wonderful feeling.

Until next month,

Your friend, Charles.

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