with an h

the production of sleeping beauty had come to town, or more accurately, to yonge and sheppard. we arrived a little early at the theatre, if you can call it a theatre. once there she took up her usual seat at the front of the room, on a huge white pillow, immediately adjacent to the aisle. i, on the other hand, retreated to my humble viewing post at the rear of the modest hall. and when the houselights were finally dimmed, i once again began to worry that this time she might finally be called up onto the stage, as is the custom at events such as these. only this time my worst fears were actually realized. about midway through the show the young ingenue playing the title character called for a volunteer to join her at the front of the auditorium. "keep your hand down, keep your hand down," i murmured under my breath. but my whispers must have fallen on deaf ears. for the first hand that shot up was the one sticking out from the purple pullover i had placed on the back of my youngest not two hours prior. "what about you, honey?" came the request from the voice under the unconvincing blonde wig. she jumped to her feet and sprinted onto the podium. the princess proceeded to ask for my daughter's name. silence. followed by even more silence. followed by an uncomfortable groan from one of the more tactless members of the assembled masses. within seconds the spotlight began to take its toll. her hands rolled up in front of her eyes. she began to squint. she winced and she shrugged. she didn't want to be on that stage any longer. "just say your name and get off the stage," i murmured under my breath. but this time, thankfully, the g-ds must have been listening. she must have been listening. because just as she was about to be hustled off the stage by the impatient aurora, she picked up her chin and uttered the response to the query she had responded to hundreds of times before. "hannah."

if you don't eat your meat you can't have any pudding

it happened the other day. i was standing at the head of the room. and i was doing what i normally do. i was jotting something down on the board. and then it happened. suddenly i was no longer inside my body. suddenly i found myself outside my body. suddenly i was on the outside looking in. and how bizarre i must have looked. just standing there. just standing there with a piece of chalk in my right hand. attempting to explain some esoteric principle or another. attempting to shed light on that which defies lightness. attempting to justify my presence at the head of the room. yet this was not the first time i had escaped my own body. not the first time i had found myself grappling with my own presence. not the first time i had experienced a momentary bout of other-worldliness. but this was the first time i had ever caught myself with a piece of chalk in my right hand. and so for a brief interlude in time, i was able to glimpse myself in the act. in the act of actually doing something. not something particularly noble necessarily. nor particularly profound for that matter. but something.

so this is what i do.