“I married Dave” by Julia at her desk

Monday October 8, 2018
8:30pm
5 minutes
Plants Don’t Have Birthdays
Andrea Gregor

I married Dave
He is the one I wanted to marry
He is the one I wanted to marry
He is the one I wanted
I am happy with Dave
He is the one who makes me happy
He is the one who
He is the one who makes me
I am in love with Dave
He is the one I wanted to love
He is the one I loved to want
He is the love I wanted
I settled for Dave
He is the one I wanted to leave me
He is the one I wanted to leave
He is the one I wanted then didn’t
I am still with Dave
He is the one I regret
He is the one I didn’t expect
He is the one I was too afraid to question
He is the one I can’t see myself in
He is the one who was there
He is the one who had a car
He is the one who had a temper
He is the one who had a problem
He is the one who had a temper
He is the one who lied
He is the one who kept me small
He is the one who I let keep me small
He is the one I married

“I was not able to hold high notes that long” By Julia at her desk


Tuesday May 23, 2017
10:05pm
5 minutes
from a YouTube comment on a Mariah Carey music video

Heaven help me–if Larry ever offered to do the groceries I would know that something was terribly wrong at the centre of things. I don’t know who’s in control, if it’s NASA, if it’s Horoscope writers, or what not, but we’d be in trouble that’s for sure. Larry has a groove print the size of his ass on the sofa and it is notcibly sat in but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t think about that kind of thing. No, he can’t think about teaching his body to even find a different part of the room to eat chips in, let alone offer to help me out in anyway.
Not on his own, at least. Larry’s the kind of man who requires a lot of prompting and I’m not saying that’s his mother’s fault or what not, I’m sure she’s a real ham-sweetheart. But his father? If I’m going to go blaming anyone for the permanent Larry-groove in my sofa, I’m going to go ahead and blame him: the iceberg lettuce who didn’t think responsability applied to him.

“I am a taffy snob” by Julia in the stairwell of the Artscape Youngplace building


Saturday May 30, 2015 at the Artscape Youngplace Building
4:01pm
5 minutes
From a text to Julia

I was in Halifax when I tried my first piece. Salt water. Perfect Melting New Religion. I bought 6 lbs of the stuff and threw out a pair of running shoes and a flask so I could fit it into my suitcase.
Emmy said, “I would have taken those shoes!”
Taryn said, “you know you can buy that stuff in Ontario too, right?”
But I knew it wouldn’t have been the same. It was like entering a childhood backwards, and experiencing something that was never mine but felt like it was meant to be. Now I don’t go for any old taffy. And why would I? I don’t hate myself for Christ’s sake! Why would I walk if I could run? No scratch that–FLY.

“That’s very interesting” by Julia on her couch


Monday, July 21, 2014
11:18pm
5 minutes
Overheard at ideal coffee


She was a mad hatter
her feelings didn’t matter
she was a mad a mad a
and when she danced
the world was romanced
but she didn’t believe it yet
her feelings didn’t matter
she was a mad hatter
a mad, a mad was, a mad was
He always did stray
When she looked the other way
His mask a good looking one
And they would talk
But not have much to say
their costume a convincing one
She was a batter
her feelings didn’t matter
she was a bat a bat a
And when she sang
The whole world came
but she didn’t know how to believe it yet
He always did lie
It was his alibi:
He really just enjoyed telling it.

“sorrow for the lost” By Julia on her couch


Tuesday, September 3, 2013
12:20am
5 minutes
The Raven
Edgar Allan poe


if you thought you couldn’t find your way, you might have convinced yourself to never look, to never learn to read a compass.
you instead know two things about yourself: one, the only time you ever cry is when you have been made to feel embarrassed, and two, the first thing that pops into your head always makes you laugh. you don’t necessarily feel like you’re capable of being anything but those two things, and even when you can sense the self-deprecation in your own inadequacy, you somehow can’t quite get over that it’s absolutely true. now someone told you once that you were fine just the way you were and if people didn’t see that then it was their problem. but one of them had someone tell them that they were fine just the way they were, and then shitty just becomes relative. good becomes relative. and you are lower than your potential because you believed it when you heard it, and you didn’t know how to change it.

“Turn your passion into” by Julia on the subway going south


Saturday, July 20, 2013
8:55pm
5 minutes
A sign for Bow Valley College at The Calgary Airport

turn your passion into french fries. greasy and burnt, or crispy, or undercooked. you can do it. trust me. it’s easy. you just plunge them in hot oil and then forget about them, or forget you had them in the first place. might be better. then serve them up with some spicy kind of aioli like a roasted red pepper thing, or maybe use dill, i don’t know. it’s up to you: they’re your dreams. or they were, i guess. i don’t know, i’m no expert. you could put them in a nice bowl so they still hold the illusion of being worth something, or just throw them on a piece of “fancy” wax paper so everyone knows how cheap you really are. how much you’ve settled. how many bad choices you’ve made and are now either dealing with slowly, but surely, or completely denying. maybe they’re reminding you of who you really are and you don’t know if you like what you see, or if you’re even wrong about this stuff anymore. You don’t need to stick around to see if anyone’s enjoying them, all squishy, or broken, or sopping wet. nobody cares, because nobody is going to have to eat them but you. or not eat them. just let them go cold sitting out on the counter all night and hope that an under the sink rat doesn’t become and on top of the sink rat and devour every single last one.

“For residential customers,” by Julia at her kitchen table


Saturday February 16, 2013
1:44pm
5 minutes
The back of the Toronto Hydro bill

I haven’t wanted to live in an apartment building since 2012. It was a stupid incident, really, not even a big deal. It was just sort of haunted, I’m not going to get into it, but it really was, so I left my complex. I’m not saying that houses or condos are not haunted. They for sure can be. But they’re the kind of place that ghosts like to hang out. Again, I don’t know why because I’m not a ghost buster or anything like that. I’m not really even the kind of person who believes in stuff like that. I just sort of know what I know and that’s enough to decide whether I want a new place or some rickety old apartment building with blood stains in the bathroom…I didn’t, for the record, find any blood stains in my apartment. That wasn’t the kind of haunted I mean. The kind I mean is the kind that makes you want to stay up all night without sleeping, and only eating corn chips and Mike and Ikes. Together. Like mixing them so they tasted like fruit loops cereal. The kind that makes you forget to bring your second pair of running shoes to the gym even though the ones you always remember are the ones that smell like Krispy Kremes and vomit. It’s just the kind of place that has ghosts of productivity past. The ghosts of almost but not quite because YOU’RE JUST SO BUSY SETTLING FOR NOT GREAT STUFF.