it's my party

the party keeps interfering with my tiny attempts at having a life. last night, i gave up having long-overdue drinks with a precious carry-over from my carleton days in order that i may participate in a painful exec meeting by holding the grape phone to my ear for two excruciating hours. i had been "strongly encouraged" to join the call. much in the same manner as i am being "strongly encouraged" to attend this weekend's conseil in montreal, when i really should be attending the pancake brunch tomorrow to meet patti's new fiance and engage in conversation that actually has nothing to do with bylaws or ballots.

anyways, my party is pissing me off. i'm back in one of those recurring reflective phases about what the fuck i'm doing with it. not only because of my questions about the viability of the ndp project in quebec. but lately, it's more about the viability of my mental health therein. i'm not sure i'm staying involved for the right reasons ... not that i know what those would be. i'm thinking about relationships that would be less strained and less challenging were the shared ndp obsession removed. but is it an obsession? i'm thinking about whether there is some sort of sense of obligation here. and to who or what do i feel it. how was i able to walk away so cleanly from the party ten years ago in a fit of rage after that now legendary leadership convention when svend blew it and wrongly handed alexa victory for all the wrong reasons? for the next eight years, i didn't look back. i lived an existence outside that incestuous organization and i didn't implode. the world didn't collapse and life was ok. then along came jack with his cheesy moustache and seduction and suddenly i was carrying a membership card again - eight years after destroying my last one with a flaming match and a bit of dramatic flair in front of tommy douglas house.

so now i'm cussing colleagues and meetings and the whole damn thing. maybe it's because the internal bullshit is so disheartening. maybe it's because the ongoing lack of understanding and respect towards effective communications is so fucking frustrating. maybe it's because i still haven't claimed my well-deserved coma after last sunday's sickening loss. maybe it's because my vacuum is broken and therefore hardly helpful (when i'm stressed out, i'm like the nic cage character in matchstick men - just a-cleaning 'n smoking, cleaning 'n smoking).

maybe i'm definition #3 of a masochist. oh alright, a bit of #2 too.