“I am weak willed when I want to be” by Julia on her couch

Monday September 23, 2019
9:30pm
5 minutes
The Doctor and the Soul
Dr. Victor E. Frankl

Some days are hard, darlin’, and you with your feet up
on the coffee table tell us all, us all in the room
exactly how you feel.

The headaches are worse this year than ever before and every
time I speak to my mother on the phone she tells me she’s
looking into it. A sufferer of migraines her whole life,
my mother is now worried about my liver.

I don’t drink much and when I do I curse the bottle and
the ice, and the cup, and the loud bar, and the quiet
will too weak to say no.

What am I supposed to do when the headaches come without
the liquid, and when they are here all I can do is feel
cold inside.

I am angry that a boy coughed in my face when I was trying
to rock him to sleep. I am recovering from the stress of
getting it wrong, and living like a backyard animal.

There is so much to do some days and when they come it
is easy to find a bad movie and watch the whole thing
even if you tell yourself you will shut it off after
30 minutes, get your stuff sorted, then go back to it
if it’s worth it.

Darlin’, on the couch, in the quiet, it can all feel
hopeless and when the rain bounces off the pot holes
in the alley behind my apartment it can really paint
the whole room a certain shade.

“preceded by chaos” by Julia at her dining table


Monday November 7, 2016
10:51pm
5 minutes
from a tweet

It’s a scary place to be in when it’s not pretty. Not pretty aka not functioning aka not safe. That’s it, it is not safe inside my head right now. There are a lot of spelling errors and stress about deadlines. Things are in full swing: there’s scheduling and penciling things in, magnifying glasses and red pens everywhere, everyone is at their desk taking calls, all hands on deck. And then you look over to the self-care desk and for some reason she’s not there? Like she slipped out to have a smoke or something and nobody else is equipped to step in. Everyone is panicking that they won’t get their thing done on time so they don’t want to abandon their post for even a second to go figure out if self-care is coming back at any time soon? Or if she has DIED SOMEWHERE? No, of course not. They’re all eating chips for breakfast lunch and dinner and throwing candy corn at the walls because obviously it’s so stupid, but it’s inexplicably appealing. Some of them haven’t even washed. Some of them are looking at old photo albums from high school and are just fucking WEEPING.

“Looking for a therapist?” by Julia on the subway going south


Sunday, April 26, 2015
1:49pm
5 minutes
From a PRS subway ad

There are feelings
Woah like the waves of the sea
And they’re big
Whoosh like the world shifting
Tectonic plates moving
And I have them
They’re in me
Whoosh waving through me
Around my bones
Keeping them cold
Keeping me far away from settling in
That’s the best way to describe
Whoosh
Wave
Whooshing
Is there a cure?
For the feelings that slosh around beneath my skin
Boom begging me to hold on tight
To wrap up my insides
So they stay good and out of contact
With all my major organs?
Does the doctor know this brand of illness?
Oh the waving
Whooshing
Sloshing sick-feelings landslide
Tsunami
and
Evolutionary jolting
Rocking my core
And shaking me from my roots?

“the volcanoes of Central Africa” by Julia at Coffee Company, Amsterdam


Monday November 17, 2014 at Coffee Company
4:35pm
5 minutes
Genesis
Sebastiao Salgado


The volcanoes of Central Africa,
The skies of a tiny nameless mountain town in Italy,
The hot springs of Iceland,
The pancakes of Amsterdam.
I can’t live long enough to feel all the feels,
See all the views,
Dance all the out of body experiences.
I am pocketing tiny pieces of it all.
I will tie a bow to their tails and wish them off into the wind when I have enough to tell a story.
When I’m content enough with the new shape my heart has taken, the new form my mind now lives in, the new size my compassion has grown to. There is something magical about it here. Here in the new jar of my human understanding.

“I don’t remember if he told me to look at the stars, but I did.” By Julia at Urban Post


Friday, September 5, 2014 at http://urbanpost.ca/
5:33pm
5 minutes
How To Make Love In America
Sarah Nicole Prickett



I don’t remember if he told me to look at the stars because I was too busy looking at him. He might have. That would have been nice in that moment if I wasn’t already overwhelmed by a beauty that I could name. That I could touch. That I could hold. I don’t remember if he told me to look up at the sky because I was too busy looking into the moment we created. He might have. That would have been nice if I didn’t already have plans to congratulate us on getting this far in the cold. Or in the rain. Or in the both. I do remember saying that I wanted my forever person to look just like him. I remember that part because it came from a place that I didn’t force. Or create. Or fix. I wanted my forever person to have his eyes. His smile. His eyebrow scar. I wanted my forever person to have the same mix of beard colours: brown, orange, white.