I ran away from home when I was ten. I stayed away for a day and a half. My folks were plenty worried. I had unpleasant and frightening experiences which, in today's world, would have had very serious consequences, death being not an unlikely one of them. When I went home, because I could not imagine a way that staying away could work for me, at that time, my folks treated me well for a while, but then it was back to the way it was. The next time I ran away, years later, I had a better plan, and I never went home again.

They just faded away. For awhile there the city was so romantic. Walk along here something in the distance then come across someone playing beautiful music. Its a shame they're gone now.

You spend the whole relationship you have with someone making sure that they always know how replaceable they are. You take extra pains to let them know that they’re not special, and you criticize them constantly. You refuse to make a commitment of any kind. So eventually they just give up and accept that it’s never going to be what they want and need, and they leave you. If you’re genuinely surprised by their decision, I think you need to wake the hell up.

I’ve run out of patience and just don’t care anymore. Honest to God, I’m too old change. So people shouldn’t bother trying to coax me or complain to me because everything they say will go through one ear and out the other. I just have no patience anymore. I really do not care. That’s it.

Being around my good, long time friends with toddlers is exhausting. They try to arrange hangouts centred around having all of the kids together but I’d rather just be their friend.

To piss me off: You've had a cigarette in the last 10 to 15 minutes. You board the bus/train or come into my office, and breathe your cancer smoke in my face. I fucking hate that. I. FUCKING. HATE. THAT.

There's a single male who sits outside a coffee shop on Robson every weekend, for a half an hour each time, having a coffee & eating a baked good...just sitting there, doing nothing, not reading, not looking at his phone, just looking out at the street, that's all....it's so creepy I try to walk fast by that coffee shop.

I used to think that every memory I had about my childhood was “the truth”. For a long time after I reached adulthood I believed that my perception told the story of my family. It did, but the story it told was only my own. It took me a long time to understand how perception is completely different for each person so no two people in any family will remember things the same way. As a parent myself hearing some of the things my own kids believe happened in their childhood, I also realize that children can’t possibly know what’s really going on with their parents, and that helped me see my own parents in a different light. I was just a child so I only remembered my child’s view of life, which was obviously missing so much context that would explain a lot. So now I see my parents more as the complex human beings that they were rather than just the people who created me and provided my reality as a kid. It’s helped me forgive them for the mistakes they made, and it’s replaced some of the anger and resentment I carried with humility as I accept my own humanity too.

Opportunity doesn’t knock, You need to get out the door and then there’s opportunity !

The other day, I had my other selves in parallel universes gaze into my own and it was humbling, I'm not gonna lie. One of me was married and happy - a good person - while the other was also single but wildly successful. And he was absolutely FURIOUS that I was not. That I was still living with my parents. WTF?!? He's both ruthless and unforgiving. Scary. But I took solace knowing that God has positioned me where I am for good reason.