there are songs that move me to tears.

many of them reflect what i believe about myself to be romantic and tragic and courageous and heroic and doomed. i view myself as a tragically misunderstood genius. i cry at a part in a song that says: "yeah there's an undertow, but it ain't got me" because i feel that's me—precariously, dangerously dancing on the edge of my demise. bouyed by nothing but courage and destiny and lies and tears.

and when others don't agree, don't see this truth, it just makes me believe even more in my tragic genius-trapped-in-a-world-that-doesn't-understand persona. it's a win-win situation for me. i get to feel like a genius, no matter what is thrown my way. no matter how many times i prove my stupidity, i fumble for words, i don't remember the root of a word, or the name of a play, or the line from a film, or what 12 plus 89 is, i will always know that it is simply that i am misunderstood.

today, when talking to a guy at work, basically begging him to get his boss to open his door to sign an edited ready-to-go piece, i said "help us obi-wan-kenobi, you're our only hope". there were two ladies in the room at the time, my office mate, and my boss. they both laughed outrageously. later, my boss commented on how funny it was that obi-wan's name is ben, and the guy i was asking for the favour's name was ben. they had assumed i did this on purpose. i had no idea. but i shortly realized that, of course, it was my inner secret genius operating through my often stupid outer-facing consciousness. that sneaky genius in there! slipping out when i least expect it.

i'm not this way all the time. i'm not smug. i can be arrogant. i'm generally not. i would rather laugh than insult. would rather laugh than many things. am not generally concerned with genius. am more concerned with eating. with playing basketball and not smoking and not blowing up like a blimp, and finding a place to call home, to call my own, to have a family or a dog or a beer. wine works better, but is harder to drink on patios in the summer.

courage.

is it courageous to do what must be done?
to sing out loud on your bike on the way to work?
to have a tube seeking cancer shoved up your rectum until you want to throw up?
to have a tube seeking cancer shoved down your throat until you throw up?

i have considered these things.
it's courageous to do what must be done. to not admit that survival is an act of courage is to discredit all those who fight so hard to stay alive, so that others might be blessed with their presence, comforted by their voices, made happy by their laughter.

life is fleeting, and we don't sing enough, but we sing when we can, where we're comfortable. we sing to make ourselves happy, to make the world a better place, to make our friends giggle, our lovers love, our fighters fight.

i sing on my way to work because i'm happy to be biking, to see the CN tower, to have the wind in my face, to not smoke, to have love at home sleeping, to make a little money to survive another day, to make my friends proud, my family, to see my mom, to go to newfoundland again, to eat delicious food.

i sing because i'm a cheeky little misunderstood genius whose greatest gift is that i can't stop smiling.

yes, i'm impetuous and a nuisance, and arrogant and immature. and so are we all! this big rambling ball of shit is our playground. let's play. by brave. sing.