I worked at the Bell Centre. Now I work downtown (centre-ville) in a call centre attached to the Eaton Centre. Thanks to some friends, via another friend, I noticed this. I am very very centred.

At lunch break I read in the Eaton Centre, and for proper reading focus I place small plastic buds into my ears and play instrumental and classical music, so the words of the page are not compromised by the words in the ears. I sometimes try to read without electronic music, and focus on the noon-hour hum of the food court masses four floors below, but I am distracted by the imagination creating conversations between coworkers enjoying a plastic plate of Kojax, or the lonely screen touching by a Nintendo DS addict and his RPG. So to properly catch the wit of Fyodor Pavlovitch I centre myself around Brahms. I centre myself on being a pompous ass, as you may have noticed with that previous sentence.

I am centred on a vision of the now. Sometimes my centre is warped and a vision of the future occurs, and my actual centre is compromised, and things get dizzy. I sometimes think that I moved here to be the centre of attention. So people at home, or people living regular lives would think,
‘That Nic is a real wanderer.’ or,
‘Nic, really needs to find his way (his centre).’
So that I could look at these people and either think to myself,
‘That is right, I’m living the dream.’ or,
‘My centre is perfectly found, thank you.’ Craving to be the centre of something is natural, but needy. And I don’t think that being the temporary centre of people’s minds was the centre of my plan.

When the centre cannot hold. I don’t know what my centre is, so I don’t know if it is holding or not. But I am learning more about who I am, so maybe my centre is not holding so well. Now to find exactly what is not holding, then I’ll know what my centre is, and what is causing me to be here in this way.

Centre. Center. Damn.