God Is Dead And We're Alone

I was a very sensitive kid. Some if it was and is just part of my personality, other parts of it were learned (we’ll get to that blog post a little further along). Things that others would find “emotionally innocuous” tended to affect me in a deep way. When I was about 7 or so, my parents took the family to the CNE. If you’re a kid who grew up in southern Ontario, you went there many times and if you’re young enough you even saw the Blue Jays play there at the Exhibition Stadium before the SkyDome was built.  This particular day we did it all. We saw the Jays play, we went to “The EX” and rode all the rides. Both the hot dog and popsicle stands saw good business from the five of us that day. It must have been one of the cooler summer days because my mum wore a sweater. It was this amazing butter yellow colour and it was my favourite on her. At some point she had taken it off when it got warmer and was carrying it with her. Inevitably, she left it on the seat of one of the ride...

PHASE 1: I QUIT MUSIC I can’t really pinpoint when mine officially started, but I remember when I quit music. Something my late Gen-X self swore she would never do. My dream was the one constant in my life. My over-arcing identifier. It was the box everyone (including myself) knew they could always keep me in, even if they couldn’t figure the rest of me out. And it became my excuse for everything as well. My empty bank account, the holes in my shoes, the 3 year old broken tooth in the back of my mouth. It was my answer to every probing question about my marital status and why I didn’t want kids. When I quit, I began to float aimlessly like an ill-fated astronaut cut loose from the space station. The earth looming in the background behind me as I tumbled in slow motion towards the cosmos. It didn’t feel good or free. It felt dark, and empty. And I hadn’t even been sucked into the black hole yet. That came later. Now there was no excuse for my failed finances and my suspiciousl...