"I'd rather regret the things I've done than regret the things I haven't done." ~ Lucille Ball (American Comedian, film, stage, radio, television actress, "Lucy").
These are a few of my favorite things.......
Led Zeppelin.
Smoking cigarettes. Damnit.
The Atlantic ocean back home. Getting in when it's too cold to get in.
Body Surfing in the waves. This is my very favorite thing; it boils down to the root of what happiness is to me at my core.
Reading a novel you can't put down.
My sister drunk, particularly while on a cruise ship.
A good cup of tea or coffee, preferably coffee.
Florence and the Machine.
Mom's cooking.
The smell of fresh cut grass and sawdust.
Driving with the windows down.
Clean bed sheets.
My bestie.
Closing my eyes and dancing, barefoot.
Acupuncture.
Fiddles.
Men in kilts.
Men with Irish accents.
Listening to friends play acoustic guitar.
The leaves turning color in the fall.
My Dad.
Bonfires and fireplaces.
Grey's Anatomy.
Elephants.
My tattoos.
Ridiculous songs like The Humpty Dance.
Car dancing. I really enjoy car dancing.
Jammy red wine.
The word fuck.
Being drunk on a beach in the Caribbean.
Bub.
Dancing in the office with my co-worker and office mate.
That's me.
That's what I have gratitude for today.
The Bestest of Friends
"A real friend will clean up the messes you make out of life for you. Even if they shouldn't have to."
~ Author Unknown.
In this lifetime, not all of us are so fortunate to have the experience and love that comes with having a true best friend. I have been blessed to have the most wonderful best friend imaginable who I honestly feel I could not live nor breathe without. Here's to you, my darling.....you've made the last twelve years of my life more manageable than they should have been.
What is a best friend?
~ Author Unknown.
In this lifetime, not all of us are so fortunate to have the experience and love that comes with having a true best friend. I have been blessed to have the most wonderful best friend imaginable who I honestly feel I could not live nor breathe without. Here's to you, my darling.....you've made the last twelve years of my life more manageable than they should have been.
What is a best friend?
The person
you can purchase a breathalyzer and pregnancy test with to use on the same night from
the Dollarstore, while laughing hysterically about it in the line up to the
cash register.
` The person you can drop your
pants in front of while standing in your living room to show them your ass
while exclaiming, “dude, what the fuck is this all about?”
The person you can get drunk with
on the phone after experiencing a fucked up life event that they should have
been there for.
The person you can stuff a cat
into a box with to “dispose” of it for the greater good of the household because, "that fucking cat is nuts."
The person you can call out as a
“fucking asshole” without fear of rejection.
The person you can pee with in
parking lots outside of bars in well lit areas.
The person you can sneak into a
province with to have uninterrupted quality time.
The person you can trust to
intervene on your behalf when you are making out with an idiot in a bar because you’re so drunk you can’t see straight.
The person who will drag your
retarded ass out of that same bar to pour you into a cab because you’re too
drunk to be at the bar and are making a scene.
The person who gives you pep
talks when you are feeling like you don’t even know yourself anymore.
The person who you tell, “I’m
not gonna do that again,” just before you do it again and they don’t pass
judgement.
The person who you can look at
and say, “dude, what the fuck are you wearing” and it’s all okay.
The person who you talk to on
the phone while having a shit.
The person you can call in the
middle of the night because you’re drunk and “just want to say hello” and they
don’t get mad.
The person who is normal when
everything else in the world is fucked up.
The person who you can watch an
hour long TV program with over the phone.
The person who knows what you
need to feel better and does what they can to give it to you.
The person who you can describe
to, in detail, fucked up sexual encounters, including when “the asshole’s
fucking dick didn't even work.”
The person who you tell when you've bought an awesome new sex toy, including descriptions of exactly how it works.
The person who saves you from
having to spend too much time with your family.
The person who will come up with
awesome, well thought through lies and excuses to get your sorry ass out of a
mess you've created.
The person you can tell, “I
slept with a married guy/guy who was half my age” and their only response is, “fuck
it, was it fun?”
The person you can ask, “do I
look terrible in this” and they will answer with an honest, “yes, take that
shit off."
Holy Hell
"Memory is a way of holding on to the things you love, the things you are, the things you never want to lose." ~ "Kevin Arnold" (The Wonder Years)
To attempt to sum up the past two months of my life in Africa would be an exercise of futility, an impossibility; I couldn't possibly capture what I have done, what I have seen and what I have grown to love with a fondness I knew nothing of a couple months ago. Being back in Canada for the past ten days has been a mind-fuck, that's for sure and I have grown to love the phrase "I have a head full of fuck" because it's the only thing I can say that even comes close to describing my experience of transitioning back into "real life." Real life - what a joke.
I wouldn't say I'm bitter about being back but I'm not happy either. I'm lonely - that would be accurate - but, it's a loneliness that makes me want to isolate myself from others because being around them doesn't make me feel any less lonely. I think it's because I am lonely for a place, for a feeling and an experience that was brought about by the life I was living. Everything here seems so obnoxious, so fast, so absurd.
This will be a process, I'm aware of this fact. And, when my head is less full of fuck, I will write more and talk all about the beauty of what I experienced. But for now, I'll be "fuckity headspace magoo," a title recently given to me by a friend who gets where I'm at. It's fitting.
To attempt to sum up the past two months of my life in Africa would be an exercise of futility, an impossibility; I couldn't possibly capture what I have done, what I have seen and what I have grown to love with a fondness I knew nothing of a couple months ago. Being back in Canada for the past ten days has been a mind-fuck, that's for sure and I have grown to love the phrase "I have a head full of fuck" because it's the only thing I can say that even comes close to describing my experience of transitioning back into "real life." Real life - what a joke.
I wouldn't say I'm bitter about being back but I'm not happy either. I'm lonely - that would be accurate - but, it's a loneliness that makes me want to isolate myself from others because being around them doesn't make me feel any less lonely. I think it's because I am lonely for a place, for a feeling and an experience that was brought about by the life I was living. Everything here seems so obnoxious, so fast, so absurd.
This will be a process, I'm aware of this fact. And, when my head is less full of fuck, I will write more and talk all about the beauty of what I experienced. But for now, I'll be "fuckity headspace magoo," a title recently given to me by a friend who gets where I'm at. It's fitting.
Hakuna Matata
Time is now being measured in "sleeps" as opposed to days. Two more sleeps until the great, long awaited journey begins. My first leg begins on Saturday night and involves the flight between Canada and London, which will take approximately six and a half hours. I land in London on Sunday morning, the day of the Olympics closing ceremony. I can't imagine anyone will be at London's Heathrow Airport on that particular day. After a ten hour layover at Heathrow I embark on my second leg of the trip, flying from London to Nairobi, which will take just over eight hours. I land in Nairobi early Monday morning. As I sit here and contemplate what my state of mind will be like upon landing in Nairobi after 36 hours of travelling, I laugh hysterically knowing that I will most certainly be a complete basket case. Thank goodness for Lorazepam. From Nairobi, I travel approximately 45 minutes to an hour West of the city by cab until I reach my final destination. And just like that, the seven weeks begin.
Today, someone asked me what I am looking forward to the most. Elephants. Hearing African children sing. Acacia trees. Snuggling babies. The Masai Mara. Being anonymous. A shift in perspective and understanding of many, many things. Notice that Heathrow Airport is not included on this short list.
Two sleeps. I'm sure it will be interesting to see just how much actual sleep occurs.
Prone to Fits of Insanity
"Insane people are always sure that they are fine. It is only the sane people who are willing to admit they are crazy." ~Nora Ephron (American Writer, Screenwriter, Producer, Director)
Quit smoking.
Broke up with boyfriend, who has lost his damn mind as a result and is freaking the fuck out all the time through various means such as phone calls and irate emails.
Leaving in 9 days.
On-call for work until next Tuesday, which equates to basically working 24-hours/day for seven days straight.
Can't sleep.
I'm on the verge....and not of something brilliant.
Leaving now would be nice.
Fuck it.
Quit smoking.
Broke up with boyfriend, who has lost his damn mind as a result and is freaking the fuck out all the time through various means such as phone calls and irate emails.
Leaving in 9 days.
On-call for work until next Tuesday, which equates to basically working 24-hours/day for seven days straight.
Can't sleep.
I'm on the verge....and not of something brilliant.
Leaving now would be nice.
Fuck it.
Fast Forward
"You have to go on and be crazy. Craziness is like heaven." ~ Jimi Hendrix (Musician, Best Guitar Player Ever)
I am operating at no less than 100 miles per hour at any given time of the day. 9am, 5pm, 3am....there is no differentiation or discepancy. I highly suspect that this is what people who experience manic states at least kinda feel like. I am not finding it overly enjoyable. Since quitting smoking, I've been experiencing absolute insomnia, which is adding to the ringing noise that rattles through my brain like I've just taken a hit off a crack pipe.
16 days from now, I will be flying to Africa.
Every day between this very moment and that 16th day is packed with things to do, people to see, paperwork to catch up on, planning, on-call for work (which is a fate worse than death), last minute purchases, phone calls, and so on and so forth.
All I want to do is lay around and get drunk in quiet solitude as I imagine that won't be easy to come by for the seven weeks I'm working in Africa surrounded by 70 children.
I am operating at no less than 100 miles per hour at any given time of the day. 9am, 5pm, 3am....there is no differentiation or discepancy. I highly suspect that this is what people who experience manic states at least kinda feel like. I am not finding it overly enjoyable. Since quitting smoking, I've been experiencing absolute insomnia, which is adding to the ringing noise that rattles through my brain like I've just taken a hit off a crack pipe.
16 days from now, I will be flying to Africa.
Every day between this very moment and that 16th day is packed with things to do, people to see, paperwork to catch up on, planning, on-call for work (which is a fate worse than death), last minute purchases, phone calls, and so on and so forth.
All I want to do is lay around and get drunk in quiet solitude as I imagine that won't be easy to come by for the seven weeks I'm working in Africa surrounded by 70 children.
The First 144-Hours
"As an example to others, and not that I care for moderation myself, it has always been my rule to never smoke when asleep, and never refrain from smoking while awake." ~ Mark Twain (American Author).
No one likes a quitter, yet I have quit doing a lot of stuff over the past 16 months. One of the last items on the "things to figure out prior to going to Africa" list was to give up my love affair with my bestie, cigarettes. Given the very short length of time before my departure date (21 days, holy fuck), I had almost succumb to the fact that this goal would not be reached and started figuring out how many packs of cigarettes I would need to bring with me for my two month trip. Then I thought, well, I guess I could actually try or something instead of just hoping to wake up one morning a non-smoker.
I have always smoked. My older sister has frequently commented that I was likely born with a cigarette hanging out of my mouth. I quit once for four years - between 2000-2004 - which was a major accomplishment that sucked almost every single day. I did not drink any alcohol for three of those four years, knowing it would completely derail my non-smoking super powers. That sucked even more because I quite enjoy drunkenness. I have smoked with vigor since reigniting my love affair in 2004 and have spent all of my days since basking in the warm glow of cigarette embers. Until now.
Many months ago, my naturopath suggested I try hypnosis and acupuncture to quit smoking, so I put those suggestions on the "when I'm ready" shelf to become dusty and forgotten. Very spontaneously, I recently yanked them off the shelf for inspection and made an appointment at the clinic for hypnosis. Hypnosis is something I have never totally understood despite my best efforts in researching it and talking to a variety of therapists that use it as part of their practice. It's a mystery to me. I have a few friends who have successfully quit smoking using hypnosis and I've listen to them describe their experience with the whole thing and this has not proven to clear up any of my questions. What I've learned since being hypnotized last Monday is, I don't have to understand everything so I should get the fuck over it and just let it be.
Over the past 144 smokeless hours, I have not freaked out or wanted to kill anyone. I have not been cranky, irritable, anxiety ridden or certifiably insane. I have felt strangely at peace with myself and the world. It's not like the hypnosis erased my memory nor did it eliminate all cravings for cigarettes. Rather, it's like it made being smokeless okay. I think to myself, oh yeah, smoking, that's what I'd like to do right now and then I think, hmmmm, I don't do that anymore so I should go do something else instead. I've been on approximately 20 zillion walks since I quit and listening to loud music (and car dancing) has become an integral part of my non-smoking success. I've had one acupuncture session and that made me feel light and calm. Ridiculous, eh?
My worldview tells me that nothing can be this easy but, here I am, not smoking after being hypnotized for 40 minutes. Go fucking figure. I have no idea how long the hypnosis spell will last but, as of right now, I am no longer calculating how many packs of cigarettes I need to bring to Africa. Weird.
No one likes a quitter, yet I have quit doing a lot of stuff over the past 16 months. One of the last items on the "things to figure out prior to going to Africa" list was to give up my love affair with my bestie, cigarettes. Given the very short length of time before my departure date (21 days, holy fuck), I had almost succumb to the fact that this goal would not be reached and started figuring out how many packs of cigarettes I would need to bring with me for my two month trip. Then I thought, well, I guess I could actually try or something instead of just hoping to wake up one morning a non-smoker.
I have always smoked. My older sister has frequently commented that I was likely born with a cigarette hanging out of my mouth. I quit once for four years - between 2000-2004 - which was a major accomplishment that sucked almost every single day. I did not drink any alcohol for three of those four years, knowing it would completely derail my non-smoking super powers. That sucked even more because I quite enjoy drunkenness. I have smoked with vigor since reigniting my love affair in 2004 and have spent all of my days since basking in the warm glow of cigarette embers. Until now.
Many months ago, my naturopath suggested I try hypnosis and acupuncture to quit smoking, so I put those suggestions on the "when I'm ready" shelf to become dusty and forgotten. Very spontaneously, I recently yanked them off the shelf for inspection and made an appointment at the clinic for hypnosis. Hypnosis is something I have never totally understood despite my best efforts in researching it and talking to a variety of therapists that use it as part of their practice. It's a mystery to me. I have a few friends who have successfully quit smoking using hypnosis and I've listen to them describe their experience with the whole thing and this has not proven to clear up any of my questions. What I've learned since being hypnotized last Monday is, I don't have to understand everything so I should get the fuck over it and just let it be.
Over the past 144 smokeless hours, I have not freaked out or wanted to kill anyone. I have not been cranky, irritable, anxiety ridden or certifiably insane. I have felt strangely at peace with myself and the world. It's not like the hypnosis erased my memory nor did it eliminate all cravings for cigarettes. Rather, it's like it made being smokeless okay. I think to myself, oh yeah, smoking, that's what I'd like to do right now and then I think, hmmmm, I don't do that anymore so I should go do something else instead. I've been on approximately 20 zillion walks since I quit and listening to loud music (and car dancing) has become an integral part of my non-smoking success. I've had one acupuncture session and that made me feel light and calm. Ridiculous, eh?
My worldview tells me that nothing can be this easy but, here I am, not smoking after being hypnotized for 40 minutes. Go fucking figure. I have no idea how long the hypnosis spell will last but, as of right now, I am no longer calculating how many packs of cigarettes I need to bring to Africa. Weird.
Asshole, Part Deux
You go away for the weekend and your Asshole squirrel moves right in and parties his ass off. This morning, as I was once again pulled out of my slumber (albeit a little later than the usual 5am wake up call) to Asshole tap dancing on the air conditioner, I discovered this little nest-delight fully formed in my window. Oh wait....he's back! Yes, at this exact moment, Asshole just crawled back into his snuggley little home and he brought a MacDonald's bag with him. Every good home needs a MacDonald's bag as part of it's integral structure.As I fully realized Asshole's intent of becoming a tenant, a room mate, an obnoxious pal....I thought to myself: I'm not living with an Asshole. This thought was followed by thinking: my good friend Donna needs to come over here and deal with this because I certainly can't. I don't know why I have this irrational fear of Asshole, but I do. I'm not afraid of other squirrels; however, in my defense, they are not trying to shack up with me. Upon more reflection, I thought to myself: if you cannot manage evicting an Asshole, how the fuck are you going to deal with pretty much anything in Africa? You know, like lions, tigers and bears. So, I mustered up my courage and a broom and evicted the Asshole. All of this occurred before 6:30am; his timing is impeccable, I'll give him that.
He'll be back.
It's 5 O'Clock in the Morning....
I am being mocked by a fucking rodent. A rodent that looks exactly like the fucker in the adjacent picture. In my home town (in a different part of Canada) squirrels are small, cute woodland creatures that look like something from the movie Bambi. Where I presently live, they are huge black rats with bushy tails who apparently enjoy mocking humans. I remember when I first moved up here and saw one of these things, I almost had a heart attack. I was like, what the fuck is that? A squirrel. Yeah right.
I live in a ghetto apartment with no central air conditioning. To keep with the overall ghetto ambiance of the place, I have ghetto window beaters that do little to cool it down in the +40 summer heat. Because I am a ghetto tenant, my window beaters are not securely and properly fastened in the window and are merely hanging on by a tread by the cheap, plastic accordion like things that protrude from either side. For the past couple weeks one of these black squirrels, who I've unaffectionately named Asshole, has been attempting to break into my apartment via my bedroom air conditioner. And not only is Asshole trying to break in, he's doing it at the ungodly hour of 5:00am. Here's how the scenario plays out:
I am asleep.
I wake up due to hearing a disturbing scratching noise.
I wonder what the hell the noise is because, while I slumber, I seemingly forget that this occurs every morning.
I realize it's Asshole.
I get out of bed and try to shoo Asshole away from the cheap, plastic accordion things that he is eventually and undoubtedly going to get through.
He looks at me, totally unafraid, and continues to tap dance all over the air conditioner while laughing. Yes, he is laughing.
I start to freak out, thinking of the meltdown I will have should Asshole successfully make it into my apartment.
I continue to make noise via hitting the window, turning the air conditioner on and off (which, by the way, sounds like a fucking diesel truck blaring through my bedroom), and yelling like a lunatic.
He continues to laugh while staring into my eyes. He is mocking me and enjoys this little interaction we have every morning.
I finally succumb to the fact that he is not afraid of my antics (and not only is he not afraid, he is amused) and get back into bed. I cannot, however, fall back asleep because I am too busy thinking through the scene that will happen when Asshole gets into my apartment.
I fucking hate that squirrel.
Fuck you Asshole.
Being Dumb is Fun Sometimes
"Life is tough, but it's tougher when you're stupid." ~ John Wayne (American Film Actor)
Sometimes, I like to do dumb things....particularly during the over consumption of alcohol. I don't know how to consume alcohol in any other way then what falls into the overly excessive category. It's not that I drink frequently but when I do, it can get messy - or rowdy, which is the adjective I prefer to use.
This past weekend, which also happened to be Canada Day, I traveled home for four days to see the man I am dating. I have briefly met his family once....and I mean brief, as it was a ten minute introduction. This weekend we decided to spend our Canada Day at his Dad's annual party, which involves a lot of alcohol and BBQ. Given that I don't eat meat, it only involved a lot of alcohol for me (dumb decision #1). After arriving and feeling out my environment for about five to six seconds, I started pounding what my boyfriend calls "Bloody Jamie's" (his name is Jamie) into me at a pace that would make most Olympic runners envious. After about seven of those, I was "dragged" into a shed full of women I did not know (which was weird but funny) where I was "forced" into doing numerous shots of some delicious but unknown liquor. As I stumbled out of the shed I noticed some people wandering off to a different part of the property and felt the need to investigate, only to stumble upon some peaceful potheads smoking a joint (something I gave up eight months ago). In a flash of brilliant decision making, I decided that smoking a joint was a fabulous idea (dumb decision #2) so I indulged. The drinks continued, a merry time ensued.
At some point, I found myself laying on the lawn. I'm not quite sure how this happened or what came right before laying on the lawn, but, that's where I was. My boyfriend's Dad came to join me on the lawn for what I'm sure he expected to be genius conversation and to be completely honest, I have absolutely zero idea what we talked about. None. I'm going to tell myself it was witty but we all know that's inaccurate. It was approximately 9pm when the lawn-laying debacle occurred. And between the merry time ensuing and the lawn-laying debacle, there was at least two more joints (dumb decision #3 & 4).
I then made the decision that my boyfriend and I should venture out to another party around 10pm. After three liquor runs back to his place to get more "Bloody Jamie" ingredients, it was time to go. I have absolutely no recollection of how we got from his Dad's place to his best friend's place (who I've also only met once) but I know neither of us was driving...so, that's a good thing. I brought a bottle of wine with me because wine is awesome to start drinking when you are already plowed from drinking vodka drinks all evening on a totally empty stomach. I believe it took me about an hour to drink 3/4 of the bottle of wine (dumb decision #5), which is when the idea of food popped into my hazy, liquor saturated, bad decision making brain. On the menu: hot dogs. Now, I don't eat meat and I don't eat bread (gluten) but the combination of these two things suddenly seemed very appealing to me. "I'll have two" (dumb decision #6 & 7). For some reason, I clearly recall not being able to get the ketchup from the bottle onto the hot dogs but rather got the ketchup over the entire bun of the hot dog instead (it's a mystery that shall never be solved). This did not stop me, although it should have served as a clear indication that hot dog eating was not in my best interests.
I have no idea how much time passed between the hot dog eating and the behind-a-hedge-barfing but I am guesstimating it was about 30 minutes. Was it the Blood Jamie's, the joints, the wine, the hot dogs....who the fuck knows? All I know is that I felt much better after it happened. And then my man had to drag my drunk ass home and put me to bed, which he did without complaining.
I woke up the next morning feeling like a hot dog truck had run me over and yet I thought to myself, I don't think I'm ever going to grow out of this "stage." Like, you know...mature past the point of doing these things. And I realized, I'm okay with that. Fuck it.
Sometimes, I like to do dumb things....particularly during the over consumption of alcohol. I don't know how to consume alcohol in any other way then what falls into the overly excessive category. It's not that I drink frequently but when I do, it can get messy - or rowdy, which is the adjective I prefer to use.
This past weekend, which also happened to be Canada Day, I traveled home for four days to see the man I am dating. I have briefly met his family once....and I mean brief, as it was a ten minute introduction. This weekend we decided to spend our Canada Day at his Dad's annual party, which involves a lot of alcohol and BBQ. Given that I don't eat meat, it only involved a lot of alcohol for me (dumb decision #1). After arriving and feeling out my environment for about five to six seconds, I started pounding what my boyfriend calls "Bloody Jamie's" (his name is Jamie) into me at a pace that would make most Olympic runners envious. After about seven of those, I was "dragged" into a shed full of women I did not know (which was weird but funny) where I was "forced" into doing numerous shots of some delicious but unknown liquor. As I stumbled out of the shed I noticed some people wandering off to a different part of the property and felt the need to investigate, only to stumble upon some peaceful potheads smoking a joint (something I gave up eight months ago). In a flash of brilliant decision making, I decided that smoking a joint was a fabulous idea (dumb decision #2) so I indulged. The drinks continued, a merry time ensued.
At some point, I found myself laying on the lawn. I'm not quite sure how this happened or what came right before laying on the lawn, but, that's where I was. My boyfriend's Dad came to join me on the lawn for what I'm sure he expected to be genius conversation and to be completely honest, I have absolutely zero idea what we talked about. None. I'm going to tell myself it was witty but we all know that's inaccurate. It was approximately 9pm when the lawn-laying debacle occurred. And between the merry time ensuing and the lawn-laying debacle, there was at least two more joints (dumb decision #3 & 4).
I then made the decision that my boyfriend and I should venture out to another party around 10pm. After three liquor runs back to his place to get more "Bloody Jamie" ingredients, it was time to go. I have absolutely no recollection of how we got from his Dad's place to his best friend's place (who I've also only met once) but I know neither of us was driving...so, that's a good thing. I brought a bottle of wine with me because wine is awesome to start drinking when you are already plowed from drinking vodka drinks all evening on a totally empty stomach. I believe it took me about an hour to drink 3/4 of the bottle of wine (dumb decision #5), which is when the idea of food popped into my hazy, liquor saturated, bad decision making brain. On the menu: hot dogs. Now, I don't eat meat and I don't eat bread (gluten) but the combination of these two things suddenly seemed very appealing to me. "I'll have two" (dumb decision #6 & 7). For some reason, I clearly recall not being able to get the ketchup from the bottle onto the hot dogs but rather got the ketchup over the entire bun of the hot dog instead (it's a mystery that shall never be solved). This did not stop me, although it should have served as a clear indication that hot dog eating was not in my best interests.
I have no idea how much time passed between the hot dog eating and the behind-a-hedge-barfing but I am guesstimating it was about 30 minutes. Was it the Blood Jamie's, the joints, the wine, the hot dogs....who the fuck knows? All I know is that I felt much better after it happened. And then my man had to drag my drunk ass home and put me to bed, which he did without complaining.
I woke up the next morning feeling like a hot dog truck had run me over and yet I thought to myself, I don't think I'm ever going to grow out of this "stage." Like, you know...mature past the point of doing these things. And I realized, I'm okay with that. Fuck it.
Thanks, Beautiful Gay Man
"The belly rules the mind." ~ Spanish Proverb
As I visited my local Second Cup Coffee shop this evening to purchase my gourmet organic coffee beans, a tasty treat in the display case caught my eye. A lemon meringue tart that looked divine but definitely was not gluten nor calorie/fat free. As I eyed it up carefully, thinking of both the consequences to my belly (gluten aspect) and my ass (calorie/fat aspect), I thought to myself....I should buy that...no, no I shouldn't...yes, yes, I should. I decided that the beautiful gay man who often works behind the counter should help me out in making this life or death decision; therefore, I asked him, is that tart ass-getting-bigger worth it or just okay? He responded saying, I had one earlier and it was pretty fantastic - besides guys like big asses. Hmm, I thought...it would have to be damn terrific for me to justify eating that...and I told him this. He contemplated this quickly and replied...you should definitely buy it.
Sold.
And as I sit here having just finished eating that fantastic, totally worth it lemon meringue tart, I think to myself....thanks beautiful gay man; you were right.
As I visited my local Second Cup Coffee shop this evening to purchase my gourmet organic coffee beans, a tasty treat in the display case caught my eye. A lemon meringue tart that looked divine but definitely was not gluten nor calorie/fat free. As I eyed it up carefully, thinking of both the consequences to my belly (gluten aspect) and my ass (calorie/fat aspect), I thought to myself....I should buy that...no, no I shouldn't...yes, yes, I should. I decided that the beautiful gay man who often works behind the counter should help me out in making this life or death decision; therefore, I asked him, is that tart ass-getting-bigger worth it or just okay? He responded saying, I had one earlier and it was pretty fantastic - besides guys like big asses. Hmm, I thought...it would have to be damn terrific for me to justify eating that...and I told him this. He contemplated this quickly and replied...you should definitely buy it.
Sold.
And as I sit here having just finished eating that fantastic, totally worth it lemon meringue tart, I think to myself....thanks beautiful gay man; you were right.
Fifty Shades of I Don't Give a Fuck
"The 'not-giving-a-fuck' meter is as far into the red-zone as ever before." ~ Lars Ulrich (Drummer for Metallica)
I'd apologize now for my overuse of the word 'fuck' in this post (one of my favorite words ever), but I don't really care about that at the present moment either.
I returned to work this week after the tragic loss of one of my clients (kids). It's my first week back in the office and resuming my normal work duties, including providing therapy to the kids. I'm noticing some startling and anxiety provoking reactions to my being back at work that are disturbing to me on many levels. Most prominent is my profound lack of caring (or, better said, giving a fuck). As a clinician, I have (of course) analyzed my reactions to re-engaging with the kids and my colleagues and have developed some preliminary hypotheses:
I'd apologize now for my overuse of the word 'fuck' in this post (one of my favorite words ever), but I don't really care about that at the present moment either.
I returned to work this week after the tragic loss of one of my clients (kids). It's my first week back in the office and resuming my normal work duties, including providing therapy to the kids. I'm noticing some startling and anxiety provoking reactions to my being back at work that are disturbing to me on many levels. Most prominent is my profound lack of caring (or, better said, giving a fuck). As a clinician, I have (of course) analyzed my reactions to re-engaging with the kids and my colleagues and have developed some preliminary hypotheses:
- I don't give a fuck because I cannot sleep since returning to work and am therefore far too tired.
- I don't give a fuck because it has become too scary to give a fuck.
- I don't give a fuck because Africa is so close and I am totally bought out of work.
- I don't give a fuck because the kids I am currently working with are pretty irritating, even on a good day.
- I don't give a fuck because I feel like I cannot elicit any positive change or shifts within my current client load.
I think there is merit behind each and every one of these thoughts and assume that my present state of not giving a fuck is likely a combination of all of these things. My concern: regardless of how burnt out I've felt doing this extremely difficult job over the past five years, I've never not given a fuck about what the kids have to say. Have I returned to work too early? Have a run my course at this particular job with this particular agency? Have I become ineffective, jaded, insensitive, detached? I have no fucking clue. What I do know is that this feeling is uncomfortable and I hope it passes quickly.
That said, 59 days.
Crossing Stuff off the Extremely Long List
"Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover." ~ Mark Twain (American Author & Humorist)
65 days. Unbelievable. Basically, that's tomorrow with a few days in between now and then.
340 bucks later, I have been inoculated against all that might ail me while away in Africa for seven weeks. Today was 'visit the travel clinic day' and I succumbed to yellow fever, typhoid, and hep A and B shots. I declined some others, such as polio, as it is against my nature to get vaccinated for anything. I don't even get the flu shot as some odd place in my brain has me almost convinced that there might be a government conspiracy driving these large inoculation movements. No, I am not schizophrenic. Paranoid, probably. I was also prescribed anti-malaria medication (to the tune of 400 smackaroos) and a wide spectrum antibiotic for extreme poops. In the fairly likely event of extreme poops, I also bought re-hydration salts because if you are extreme pooping, you really want to hydrate yourself. I'm less concerned about the hydration aspect and more concerned about extreme pooping into a hole in the ground. Not to be crude or anything but that sounds messy.
Now, my arm hurts...only one out of two, so there's a daily positive. I think it's funny that I should complain about this given that my largest piece of body art took about eight hours to complete and I did not complain about that during or afterwards.
Hi-ho, hi-ho, it's off to Africa I go.
Accepting Her Decision
"When you are in doubt, be still, and wait; when doubt no longer exists for you, then go forward with courage. So long as mists envelop you, be still; be still until the sunlight pours through and dispels the mists - as it surely will. Then act with courage." ~ Ponca Chief White Eagle (1800's to 1914).
Something beautiful has left this world behind and entered into a different place, the spirit world. She is now walking beside her ancestors on her journey home. Her journey will take one full year as she passes through the four seasons and during this time we cannot say her name aloud, as it keeps her tethered to our world, the world she so desperately wanted to escape.
The loss of a child, someone as young as her fifteen years, has been difficult for me to grasp. An Aboriginal leader from my community has communicated to me that, despite the pain that has resulted from her decision, it is one that I have to accept. She has encouraged me to sit with my pain, resulting from the loss of one of "my" kids, and to simply let it be. Suffering is part of life, regardless of how much we want to avoid and suffocate it.
She taught me how to throw a baseball. She laughed at me when I attempted to play catch with her while wearing high heels. She thought it was funny to show me the chewed up food in her mouth. She could make a sound that sounded exactly like a Canadian goose. She liked to listen to Johnny Cash. She was quiet, shy, and sensitive. She loved hockey and her family, despite how dysfunctional they can be. She trusted few.
I will miss you little one.
I will painfully accept your decision.
I won't forget.
Something beautiful has left this world behind and entered into a different place, the spirit world. She is now walking beside her ancestors on her journey home. Her journey will take one full year as she passes through the four seasons and during this time we cannot say her name aloud, as it keeps her tethered to our world, the world she so desperately wanted to escape.
The loss of a child, someone as young as her fifteen years, has been difficult for me to grasp. An Aboriginal leader from my community has communicated to me that, despite the pain that has resulted from her decision, it is one that I have to accept. She has encouraged me to sit with my pain, resulting from the loss of one of "my" kids, and to simply let it be. Suffering is part of life, regardless of how much we want to avoid and suffocate it.
She taught me how to throw a baseball. She laughed at me when I attempted to play catch with her while wearing high heels. She thought it was funny to show me the chewed up food in her mouth. She could make a sound that sounded exactly like a Canadian goose. She liked to listen to Johnny Cash. She was quiet, shy, and sensitive. She loved hockey and her family, despite how dysfunctional they can be. She trusted few.
I will miss you little one.
I will painfully accept your decision.
I won't forget.
Days Pass Quickly
"Time is what prevents everything from happening at once." ~John Archibald Wheeler (American Theoretical Physicist)
Today's count sits at 82 days until I leave for Africa. I have to start getting my shots in about three weeks. There are crucial items I need to purchase, such as luggage, which would be good to start with so I can pack the other items I also need to buy to fill the luggage. A sleeping bag, a warm one, because it gets cold where I'm going. The travel warnings continue to be fairly serious and the people who care about me are becoming unnerved because of my non-unnerved-ness about the situation. Oddly enough, my mother appears to be handling things really well but, at the same time, it's not likely that she's caught the international news on these particular events. My attitude: it is what it is. I can't wait to get there.
Time snuck up on me and yelled YOU'RE LEAVING REALLY SOON, then recommended that I start getting my ass in gear.
82 days. So excited.
Today's count sits at 82 days until I leave for Africa. I have to start getting my shots in about three weeks. There are crucial items I need to purchase, such as luggage, which would be good to start with so I can pack the other items I also need to buy to fill the luggage. A sleeping bag, a warm one, because it gets cold where I'm going. The travel warnings continue to be fairly serious and the people who care about me are becoming unnerved because of my non-unnerved-ness about the situation. Oddly enough, my mother appears to be handling things really well but, at the same time, it's not likely that she's caught the international news on these particular events. My attitude: it is what it is. I can't wait to get there.
Time snuck up on me and yelled YOU'RE LEAVING REALLY SOON, then recommended that I start getting my ass in gear.
82 days. So excited.
Adult Summer Camp
"Sometimes too much drink is barely enough." ~ Mark Twain (American Author & Humorist)
On this long weekend in May, I celebrated the third anniversary date of my good friend Sue's passing. The previous two anniversaries I mourned her loss and felt sad; therefore, I decided to switch it up this year and pay tribute to her in a manner she would have actually appreciated. I got piss ass drunk for two days in a row on margarita's and wine, sitting in sunny 30 degree weather in a lawn chair, while intermittently "throwing" around a football and cooking delicious food. I'm using the word "throwing" fairly liberally here, as in reality it was closer to "hucking" or "bifting" the football due to my level of intoxication on the two occasions I engaged in this activity.
I spent this weekend with a friend who gets me on a fundamental level. We share a lot of silence very comfortably; we do not need to fill the air with bullshit. We laugh when it's funny. I adore her and our friendship. Despite not feeling as enthusiastic about "throwing" the football around with me as I was her (as she was the one running her ass off, chasing the football that was zinging by too far to the left and/or right), she still played with me. And it was hot and there was mosquito's. That's a good friend.
This weekend felt like an adult, drunken version of summer camp. Good times.
Here's to good friends of the past and present.
Cheers.
On this long weekend in May, I celebrated the third anniversary date of my good friend Sue's passing. The previous two anniversaries I mourned her loss and felt sad; therefore, I decided to switch it up this year and pay tribute to her in a manner she would have actually appreciated. I got piss ass drunk for two days in a row on margarita's and wine, sitting in sunny 30 degree weather in a lawn chair, while intermittently "throwing" around a football and cooking delicious food. I'm using the word "throwing" fairly liberally here, as in reality it was closer to "hucking" or "bifting" the football due to my level of intoxication on the two occasions I engaged in this activity.
I spent this weekend with a friend who gets me on a fundamental level. We share a lot of silence very comfortably; we do not need to fill the air with bullshit. We laugh when it's funny. I adore her and our friendship. Despite not feeling as enthusiastic about "throwing" the football around with me as I was her (as she was the one running her ass off, chasing the football that was zinging by too far to the left and/or right), she still played with me. And it was hot and there was mosquito's. That's a good friend.
This weekend felt like an adult, drunken version of summer camp. Good times.
Here's to good friends of the past and present.
Cheers.
Daily Positives, May 17th
Despite wanting to go on a shooting rampage at my place of employment today, I managed to simply internalize it all and just hate my life at work more. Yeah me!
I did not get hit by a train today.
I only smoked 100 cigarettes today instead of a million.
I did not drown in a fishbowl today, or a puddle for that matter.
Today, as the children in the apartment below me screamed their heads off for approximately 2 hours straight, I did not puncture my own ear drums.
Even though my soon to be ex-boyfriend lost his mind because I didn't answer the phone when he called last night (one of the reasons he's slotted for the ex-category), I didn't even get angry when he put this stupid fucking post on facebook about just how mad he is. I am officially too tired to be angry. I think this might be a good thing.
Grey's Anatomy season finale is tonight.
I did not get hit by a train today.
I only smoked 100 cigarettes today instead of a million.
I did not drown in a fishbowl today, or a puddle for that matter.
Today, as the children in the apartment below me screamed their heads off for approximately 2 hours straight, I did not puncture my own ear drums.
Even though my soon to be ex-boyfriend lost his mind because I didn't answer the phone when he called last night (one of the reasons he's slotted for the ex-category), I didn't even get angry when he put this stupid fucking post on facebook about just how mad he is. I am officially too tired to be angry. I think this might be a good thing.
Grey's Anatomy season finale is tonight.
Shit Show with the Shit Rats
"I believe that always, or almost always, in all childhoods and in all the lives that follow them, the mother represents madness. Our mothers always remain the strangest, craziest people we've ever met." ~ Marguerite Duras (French Writer & Film Maker)
To put it mildly, my mother and I have not always had the best relationship. I am not unique in this, as family dysfunction is woven into the fabric of every family that has ever existed, in one form or another. It is also abundantly clear to me - this mother/daughter malfunction - because I work as a therapist. Likewise, I have sat on the other side of the therapist's office, for hours, discussing the relationship I have with my mother. Some time ago, my therapist and I had a long discussion about how the relationship with my mother was unlikely to change and yet, over the past many months as I have made considerable shifts, the relationship with my mother has also transitioned into an unexpected place. Apparently, Bowen's Family Systems Theory does have some merit. The two events that I have been able to identify as contributing to this shift were when I stopped smoking pot (my mother's dream) and started dating a good/normal/nice man from my home province (my mother's other dream). Since these dreams have come to fruition, her new dream is having her non-pothead daughter move back to Nova Scotia to start a "family" with said good/normal/nice man. Now, luckily for me, her ideas around me having a "family" do not involve producing grandchildren, because that ain't happening.
Despite my lifelong goal of "never being like my mother," we do share some undeniable commonalities. Recently, some of these similar personality traits have struck me as hysterical, as they fall under the category of "acceptable" or "livable likenesses." How we express ourselves, particularly when under duress, would be one of them. Over the past two months, I have been experiencing some fairly unbearable bullshit at my place of employment and if it weren't for my upcoming trip to Africa (which they are being supportive of and allowing me to take leave, most of which is paid), my ass would have quit by now. In the past, my mother's support around these issues would have looked like this: "buck up." But, more recently her support has taken a turn to the hilarious, of which I greatly appreciate. I have received these wicked emails from her that involve the type of colorful language I usually get shit for from her, including the use of the descriptive term "shit rats," which she is using in reference to some of the people I work with. Here are some direct examples:
To put it mildly, my mother and I have not always had the best relationship. I am not unique in this, as family dysfunction is woven into the fabric of every family that has ever existed, in one form or another. It is also abundantly clear to me - this mother/daughter malfunction - because I work as a therapist. Likewise, I have sat on the other side of the therapist's office, for hours, discussing the relationship I have with my mother. Some time ago, my therapist and I had a long discussion about how the relationship with my mother was unlikely to change and yet, over the past many months as I have made considerable shifts, the relationship with my mother has also transitioned into an unexpected place. Apparently, Bowen's Family Systems Theory does have some merit. The two events that I have been able to identify as contributing to this shift were when I stopped smoking pot (my mother's dream) and started dating a good/normal/nice man from my home province (my mother's other dream). Since these dreams have come to fruition, her new dream is having her non-pothead daughter move back to Nova Scotia to start a "family" with said good/normal/nice man. Now, luckily for me, her ideas around me having a "family" do not involve producing grandchildren, because that ain't happening.
Despite my lifelong goal of "never being like my mother," we do share some undeniable commonalities. Recently, some of these similar personality traits have struck me as hysterical, as they fall under the category of "acceptable" or "livable likenesses." How we express ourselves, particularly when under duress, would be one of them. Over the past two months, I have been experiencing some fairly unbearable bullshit at my place of employment and if it weren't for my upcoming trip to Africa (which they are being supportive of and allowing me to take leave, most of which is paid), my ass would have quit by now. In the past, my mother's support around these issues would have looked like this: "buck up." But, more recently her support has taken a turn to the hilarious, of which I greatly appreciate. I have received these wicked emails from her that involve the type of colorful language I usually get shit for from her, including the use of the descriptive term "shit rats," which she is using in reference to some of the people I work with. Here are some direct examples:
- "How's the fucking shit show with the shit rats going?"
- "I would kick that shit rats ass the length of the fucking highway."
- "You are surrounded by uneducated morons who define the term shit rat."
This is the mother I love...one that I can relate to. Now, if I could only get her on the sauce more regularly.....
Daily Positives
Life's been sucking a little bit lately and, as a result, my mom recommended that I write down some positives every day to remind myself that life doesn't actually suck. Here's my list for May 3rd.
I did not get drunk at work today.
Although my neighbor almost rear ended me and then proceeded to swear and scream at me, I did not get out of my car and beat him senseless.
I did not fall down any stairs today or contract a venereal disease.
No one told me to fuck off today, at least not directly.
I ate some chocolate mini-eggs and they were delicious.
I got paid today.
A dog did not eat my homework today.
I did not fall into a sinkhole today.
An airplane did not crash into my apartment today.
I do not have pink eye.
I did not get drunk at work today.
Although my neighbor almost rear ended me and then proceeded to swear and scream at me, I did not get out of my car and beat him senseless.
I did not fall down any stairs today or contract a venereal disease.
No one told me to fuck off today, at least not directly.
I ate some chocolate mini-eggs and they were delicious.
I got paid today.
A dog did not eat my homework today.
I did not fall into a sinkhole today.
An airplane did not crash into my apartment today.
I do not have pink eye.
Misguided Nostalgia
"It's never safe to be nostalgic about something until you're absolutely certain there's no chance of it coming back." ~ Bill Vaughn (American Columnist & Author).
Once in an extremely blue moon I miss the irresponsibility of my youth. This is a seldom occurrence that only happens after a night out drinking (which happens may be once a year) when I have experienced the loud tribal beats of an excellent DJ that have reverberated through my chest. I don't know that the average person experiences music the way I do; may be everyone does, I have no idea. I do know that the experiences I had in my young 20's, which included a lot of pill popping and electronic beats, changed my experience with music drastically and, apparently, forever.
In the year 2000, the electronic music scene in Halifax exploded; perhaps it happened prior to then, but it happened to me and everyone I associated with during that particular year. It was the birth of a new scene that lead to the death of more than a few young people who danced a little too hard with a variety of chemicals coursing through their young bodies. We were ignorant and immature; therefore, people dropping dead had very little impact on our behavior. Everyone thought they "had it under control" regardless of the fact that none of us did, which was heavily evidenced by the obvious lack of any sort of normal human functioning. Little to no sleep, food, and profoundly entrenched in chaos, it was an experience to remember but never to be replayed or revisited.
I clearly remember dancing to anything and everything....even sounds coming from a dishwasher or laundry machine could catch my otherwise depleted attention span. Music appeared in everything. Don't get me wrong, this was heavily influenced by drugs and a lack of connection to reality, but, it seemed fun at the time. The aftermath of these experiences, when everything was said and done, were anything but fun and I know of many people today that never quite fully recovered. They are still talking in riddles or trying to recapture what was then, which wasn't even real at the time it was happening.
I don't miss dancing to dishwashers, or the drugs, or the scene, or the people. I just miss, once in an extremely blue moon, the youthfulness of total and absolute abandon. So today, as my lazy 34 year old ass lays around doing nothing, I find my thoughts drifting towards me standing in a field with the sun coming up, covered in dirt (for any number of totally ridiculous reasons), dancing my ass off as the DJ spins a perfect set.
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