As the evening approaches...

Geez, I'm so out of practice on blogging, I forgot to title my last post! In my defence, I'm not accustomed to the new layout of blogger, so I didn't even notice I hadn't included a title. I'll try to be careful in the future...

So I had a nice ride out to the Leslie Spit. I'm almost ashamed to admit this, but I've been living in Toronto now for half my life, and that's actually the first time I've ever visited the Spit. But it fits in nicely with what I hope will be the theme of the summer: venturing to different parts of the city that have gone largely unexplored by myself (there are way too many to name, but places like the Scarborough Bluffs come to mind, along with various city neighbourhoods like the Junction, etc.), along with events that I've long meant to do but never seem to get around to (like the many outdoor films this city offers during the warm months of summer).

The Spit was interesting, and it certainly was a nice ride out there. The waterfront trail was busy, but thankfully not too crazily packed with cyclists and rollerbladers. (One negative observation: they really need to do something about that stretch of Queen's Quay near and around Harbourfront. What a disaster that is for everybody alike: pedestrians, transit users, drivers and especially cyclists.) Along the way I stopped first at the Sherbourne Common, which I've meaning to visit since it opened last year. I'll admit, I wasn't totally blown away by it, but that might have more to do with the time of day, when it was under the mid-day sun. My guess is that the park is more picturesque when the sun isn't so high in the sky - but that's a total guess. I've included a couple of photos (as I packed my camera for my journey).

(Hmm, sorry, they seem to be sticking together.)

And then it was on to the Spit, after riding past Cherry Beach (another landmark I had never visited, although I had been close a number of times since I've been to that awful The Docks venue to see a copule of concerts). I actually wasn't sure what to expect, but I brought a book and my journal (and a sandwich) with me in case there was a natural place to sit and relax for a while. Well, there wasn't, but that's ok since it was still a great place to cycle around. I ventured to the very tip (where the lighthouse is), and stopped a couple of times along the way to take a few photos. I've included two below.

(Ok, I'm getting the hang of adding photos...)

For those that have never visited the Spit, it's definitely worth a cycle out. I doubt I'll spend too much time there - I like a little more trees and shade to sit under - but I'm glad I finally made it there.

Sadly, when I got home, I seemed to lapse into this incredibly profound, and somewhat debilitating, case of the blues. (I don't like using the word "depression," but it did feel like that.) I think the varioud events of the past week or so finally caught up with me and told hold of my emotions in a very negative way. I wasn't quite sure what to do, so I lay on the bed until I fell asleep. That seemed to work. I'm still feeling a little "raw" emotionally, but not near as bad as earlier. I'm going to settle into my evening with a G&T out on the back deck and the Franzen novel Freedom, which I picked up a few weeks back.

A two post day. Impressive! (Pity I probably don't have any readers to impress.)

Is it possible to return to blogging after taking such an extended break? Well I suppose I can really do whatever the hell I want! Thus, here I am, back writing again after basically ignoring the blogging world for the past year. My motivation(s)? None, really, except for realizing early this morning (during yet-another restless evening of slumber; I'm suffering through a rare bout of insomnia) that I've sort-of got away from the things that I enjoy doing. Writing is certainly one of them. Photography is another. I haven't been doing much fiction reading either this past year. I can easily put the blame on my work schedule, particularly the extra-curricular activities (namely one big one: writing an academic paper to be delivered at the Humanities Congress) that I had committed to, but in all honesty it was largely just apathy and disinterest that kept me away from indulging in my interests. Now that I'm going through a bit of a "down" period - emotionally, for one, but also where I have less work commitments (although I do have to finish up a newsletter for the society I'm a council member of - I've been quite lax on putting that together) - I figure this is a good time to see if I can get my writing mojo back. Of course will I recover any readers?!

What will I write about? Whatever comes to mind, I suppose. Hopefully about reviving some of those above-mentioned interests! (I'm planning on riding my bike out to the Leslie Spit in a couple of hours with my camera in tow, although I'm not that much of a nature photographer...) Maybe I'll write about my dating, although after my last experience which ended on Friday I might be a little gun-shy about putting myself out there again. I'm just in a state where I need to occupy my mind and maybe even challenge myself a little bit. I need to beat back the boredom too.

So please come and read me!

The procrastinator returns!

Well well, look who's back! It's been over a year since I posted, so naturally I don't expect anybody to actually visit and read this. But perhaps in time, as I begin to rebuild my presence here. Why the hiatus? I don't have one clear answer - events conspired against me, but I was also just kinda lazy. I haven't really done a very good job of chronicling my year in my personal journal either, although that's another area where I'm trying my best to keep up to date. Especially as I go through this particularly trying emotional period.

On the plus side, I have been busy with both my work and my reading. I've still been reading, and some wonderful stuff too, especially over the last few months. James Salter, Peter Stamm, Tessa Headley, Philip Roth (some re-reading of him, which is a project I'm continuing) - all have made appearances on my reading nightstand. I'll start to write more about some of these books over the next couple of months.

I'm also engaging in another intellectual exercise: I'm preparing a proposal to deliver a paper at next year's Humanities Congress in Waterloo. Let's face facts: I'm no academic, and the paper I'm pitching is certainly not breaking new academic or intellectual ground. That said, I do think I have a decent idea for a presentation. Part of it is giving myself a project to work on through the winter. (I'm also doing some book reviewing, although that's more my speed than an academic paper.) I need to challenge myself, to get outside my comfort zone. Wish me luck.

In the meantime, since I'm sure not to have anybody say it to me, I'll say it to myself: welcome back! Watch this space.

Yes, I am a procrastinator!

Not that we need additional proof of how wonderful of a procrastinator I am, but the fact I haven't written on my blog in over a month is a clear indication of how lazy I can get with respect to my writing. It's probably why being a journalist for the first part of my career actually suited me: I needed that looming deadline to really buckle down and concentrate. I'm discovering this deadline need with respect to a newsletter I'm supposed to be putting together for a literary society. I had hoped to finish it up by the last week of June, but here we are, entering the first week of July, and it's still in an embryonic state. It's partly procrastination, but also fear: that perhaps I'm just not cut out to put this thing together, that I'm not really qualified. The job was thrust upon me by my current boss, and didn't feel I could really say no (particularly since it was presented under the guise as "resume building). Anyway I know I shouldn't fret much, especially since I get the impression that the membership of this society doesn't really read the newsletter anyway! Crank it out, and do better on the next one (in the fall) - that should be my immediate goal.

I'm also suffering under general restlessness of late. I'm struggling to concentrate on my reading. Should I chalk it up to the summer heat? Maybe what I need is something light and fun, perhaps a mystery. Yes! See, this is why I need to write more often (even if I don't have an audience): it does help to clarify my own  thinking.

Back home

I'm back from la belle province. The trip turned out mostly ok, particularly yesterday when I started to feel more comfortable with the society I'm a part of (I haven't been a member for too long, nor am I an academic like the majority of members). I've got a ways to go before feeling like I truly "belong" - but of course I need to remind myself that I rarely feel like I belong anywhere. I was also reflecting yesterday morning on the difference between people that are high achievers and are seemingly supremely confident in their abilities and intelligence (ie., pretty much almost everybody that presented a paper, including a 28 year-old librarian who does a similar job to mine but will far exceed my career achievements - she probably already has!) and middling achievers like myself. So much of it seems to come down to focus and discipline. I seem to have little of either: my mind is constantly wandering (I'm an inveterate day dreamer), and my work habits can best be described as "he gets work done in those ever-rare intervals when he's not procrastinating." I'm actually determined to work on these nasty habits, to improve my self-discipline, to add rigour to my work and thinking life. My big fear is that it's already too late: the proverbial dumb horse is already out of the barn.

Although, in a nice touch, I did have someone - a PhD candidate whose research area (around a private library and what it reveals about the collector) is totally fascinating - come up to me while I was in line waiting to grab a sandwich prior to the association's AGM yesterday afternoon. "I wanted to compliment you on your paper," she said. "You made some excellent observations." I thanked her, of course, but then added, "but I think you might be confusing me with someone else as I didn't deliver a paper." I guess all us men look alike. (Actually I did take it as a compliment because the guy she was confusing me with was quite good looking!)

A homecoming (of sorts)

So I'm in Montreal as I write this, here since Saturday late afternoon (after enduring a three-hour delay courtesy of Porter Airlines), and leaving tomorrow evening. I'm attending the Congress of the Humanities and Social Sciences (still remembered by many as the Learneds) at Concordia, primarily under the guise of some extra-curricular work I do for a humanities-based association (I edit its newsletter, and thus attend both the council meetings and events it sponsors). While I was somewhat looking forward to getting out of town for a few days, not to mention coming to Montreal (the city of my wonderful youth), my heart and mind isn't truly involved here. It's not that I'm having a bad time - a friend of mine delivering a paper is also here, so I've been hanging out with her, and some of the sessions I'm attending look interesting - but I'm not all that keen on venturing too far outside of Concordia's campus (ie., heading out to the east end to hang out along St. Denis, etc.). Which is odd, since I usually tend to take advantage of these increasingly fewer business-related ventures to engage in some fun and frolic activities and to help decompress. I think it's a lingering hangover from the malaise I've been feeling of late, that I'm not much motivated to do anything that gets me out of my comfort zone. I still feel like I'm in minor recovery mode, if that makes any sense.

These conferences, and the council meeting of this humanities association in particular, also tend to be tough for me, largely because they make me feel terribly inadequate. I tend to feel like I'm on such a steep learning curve with my supposed area of expertise, and forever fearful I'm going to be caught out as an intellectual fraud! So I'm always more on edge as I truly feel outside my comfort zone. (That's been the phrase of the week, actually, "comfort zone," beginning with a long conservation this past weekend with the lovely A.) But onward I go. And I have some "real" work to do, so I feel I can justify my non-presence at some of the less-than-interesting sessions scheduled.

A partial return

For those few of you that read this blog: no, I haven't died. (You probably figured that out, since the few that do visit here actually know me.) I haven't been much in the mood to write on this thing, however. I went through a fairly difficult melancholic stretch a few weeks back, which I still feel like I'm recovering from. Just your garden variety existential angst, nothing to be overly concerned about. I was in a bit of a reading slump too - still am, sort of, although I'm on the cusp of finishing Richard Ford's Independence Day, his 1995 follow-up to The Sportswriter, both of which are narrated by the protagonist Frank Bascombe. These novels, The Sportswriter in particular, have been eerily prescient in terms of shadowing my current mood and state of mind. At times, I feel a little like Frank: self reflective, mostly happy, but also seemingly in search of something - a connection, a sense of fulfillment, all the while knowing that it's not necessarily attainable. But yet we continue to search.