After a brief and hasty perusal of blogs that I follow, I don't feel so bad about not writing in my blog for the last month and a half. Like everyone else, my life seems to have taken a busy turn. Hectically so.
I've moved out on my own. I live with a fabulous roommate. We have a wonderful apartment. The biggest adjustment has been getting used to having to do stuff for myself. For example, grocery shopping. I did that today. I also carried my four grocery bags on the subway and then the bus. It's my new method of weight lifting.
I will be stronger by the end of the year.
Monday, October 05, 2009
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
And then the insomnia set in...
Highly personal, read at your own risk.
I hate writing at 2 in the morning. It's usually indicative of some highly distraught state of mind (how's that for vocabulary?). It's also usually something that I regret by the cold, hard, logical light of day. I thought showering would unwind me enough to go back to bed and sleep. I can't sleep. My blanket smells of male cologne and brings memories of a certain male who, at this moment, I think would rather I NOT think of him. I think, I would rather not think of him. Even Teddy can't banish those thoughts.
What a mess all of this is.
It's sad because I've just spent a rather utopian month. I was beginning to hope that something was being resuscitated that I had buried. There was lots of hand-holding, gazing into each others' eyes, watching sunrises and sunsets, daydreaming, phone calling, going to the zoo and planning of roadtrips.
We are both in rather unique positions to hurt the other. Unfortunately, we both use those positions for "leverage" on a regular basis. The problem is, I don't know how to stop. It is very easy, when mad to simply say what will hit hardest. Fighting is ugly. I've developed a rather thick skin to it lately and simply lash back harder when I feel that first blood has been drawn. Part of me recognizes that this is not healthy. The other part of me needs to hurt as I feel I hurt. Which, I also recognize as unhealthy.
I wonder at the consequences of this, to each other and as the whole "us". Are we making each other worse people? Once in a pattern of behaviour, as a couple, once that dynamic has been put into play, how do we change it? Will it be, ultimately, better if we simply walk away from this, from us, and at least leave behind some form of the human beings we were before this got messy?
I have written and deleted the same paragraph 3 times. Even if I don't sleep, I believe that is a sign that I should no longer be writing. Hopefully the sunrise brings new moods, good moods.
I hate writing at 2 in the morning. It's usually indicative of some highly distraught state of mind (how's that for vocabulary?). It's also usually something that I regret by the cold, hard, logical light of day. I thought showering would unwind me enough to go back to bed and sleep. I can't sleep. My blanket smells of male cologne and brings memories of a certain male who, at this moment, I think would rather I NOT think of him. I think, I would rather not think of him. Even Teddy can't banish those thoughts.
I'm trying rather desperately to hold onto my sense of self at the moment. I think I'm quite liable of being that girl in a bad Nicholas Sparks' Hollywood movie, driving over to her love's home in the rain and pounding on the door to fall down on her knees and beg. I will not beg. Nor do I have access to a car to drive in the rain. Good, I'm safe.
What a mess all of this is.
It's sad because I've just spent a rather utopian month. I was beginning to hope that something was being resuscitated that I had buried. There was lots of hand-holding, gazing into each others' eyes, watching sunrises and sunsets, daydreaming, phone calling, going to the zoo and planning of roadtrips.
We are both in rather unique positions to hurt the other. Unfortunately, we both use those positions for "leverage" on a regular basis. The problem is, I don't know how to stop. It is very easy, when mad to simply say what will hit hardest. Fighting is ugly. I've developed a rather thick skin to it lately and simply lash back harder when I feel that first blood has been drawn. Part of me recognizes that this is not healthy. The other part of me needs to hurt as I feel I hurt. Which, I also recognize as unhealthy.
I wonder at the consequences of this, to each other and as the whole "us". Are we making each other worse people? Once in a pattern of behaviour, as a couple, once that dynamic has been put into play, how do we change it? Will it be, ultimately, better if we simply walk away from this, from us, and at least leave behind some form of the human beings we were before this got messy?
I have written and deleted the same paragraph 3 times. Even if I don't sleep, I believe that is a sign that I should no longer be writing. Hopefully the sunrise brings new moods, good moods.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Sex
How important is sex in a relationship? On a scale of 1 to 10. I don't mean those lusty, just-beginning relationships, but rather then ones that are slowly plodding along and have been for some time. Does passion really dissipate after a given period of time? Is it impossible to expect eager groping and excitement simply because time has passed and partners know what to expect from each other now? OR is lack of excitment merely the symptom of the disease, where the "disease" is an ending relationship?
Tuesday, July 07, 2009
Lasagna
"You got me running around in circles, I just can't keep up with your love..."
Bum bouncing, hips shaking, head swaying, I read the instructions for making lasagna...about 3 hours ago. If someone had told me that making lasagna takes 3 hours I probably wouldn't have tried it at the tail-end of an already full day.
Then I realized I had no ricotta cheese. No worries, I breeze, I'm going to use parmesan and cheddar cheese.
I don't have enough tomatoes. No worries, I'm going to use left over salsa and red soup from Knorr.
And I'm cooking the meat, and I'm cooking the sauce...and...I'm still cooking. The combination of two recipes that I'm using (because just one didn't have the steps that I wanted) say that I should be done in approximately 40 minutes...and I'm still cooking 1 hour into it.
I realized an hour and a half into it that I'd forgotten to boil the lasagna pasta bit.
Oh dear...
Although my father and sister say it was really good.
Bum bouncing, hips shaking, head swaying, I read the instructions for making lasagna...about 3 hours ago. If someone had told me that making lasagna takes 3 hours I probably wouldn't have tried it at the tail-end of an already full day.
Then I realized I had no ricotta cheese. No worries, I breeze, I'm going to use parmesan and cheddar cheese.
I don't have enough tomatoes. No worries, I'm going to use left over salsa and red soup from Knorr.
And I'm cooking the meat, and I'm cooking the sauce...and...I'm still cooking. The combination of two recipes that I'm using (because just one didn't have the steps that I wanted) say that I should be done in approximately 40 minutes...and I'm still cooking 1 hour into it.
I realized an hour and a half into it that I'd forgotten to boil the lasagna pasta bit.
Oh dear...
Although my father and sister say it was really good.
Sunday, July 05, 2009
Whimsy
A secret, a secret, a secret. How desperately we all want a secret, one that is precious and all our own. Something beautiful and tender and sweet. I have two secrets that I've always wanted, and hope to have one day. One is my own secret garden, one where "though the lovely wild place was not likely to become a 'gardener's garden', it would be a wilderness of growing things before the springtime was over." (The Secret Garden)
I used to pretend that I'd found one at Paroma's house when we were little. The vines had so overgrown the little walkway to the backyard, and buttercups grew in profusion in the grass. The idea that simple gardening can make new friends, restore health, bring a family together...was just the romance that I loved. I'm a sap and I know it. I like happy endings, the sappier, the better. I want my secret garden, something with walls and a key and vines covering the entrance. It will have a low seated swing, and a tree house.
I've never overcome my childhood wanting for a treehouse, and now that I'm an adult (more or less) the treehouse has only grown in proportion. In my mind's-eye it is high up in a tree, without walls, but nets that can be pulled down to keep mosquitoes out. A mattress for reclining and reading. A lantern to ready by. A bug-proof, animal-proof, snack container. A pull-up ladder. I'm not entirely sure where the tree-house daydream came from, somewhere between The Swiss Family Robinson and the Elves of Laureloin (Tolkien) I dreamt up this little refuge.
Some day...
I used to pretend that I'd found one at Paroma's house when we were little. The vines had so overgrown the little walkway to the backyard, and buttercups grew in profusion in the grass. The idea that simple gardening can make new friends, restore health, bring a family together...was just the romance that I loved. I'm a sap and I know it. I like happy endings, the sappier, the better. I want my secret garden, something with walls and a key and vines covering the entrance. It will have a low seated swing, and a tree house.
I've never overcome my childhood wanting for a treehouse, and now that I'm an adult (more or less) the treehouse has only grown in proportion. In my mind's-eye it is high up in a tree, without walls, but nets that can be pulled down to keep mosquitoes out. A mattress for reclining and reading. A lantern to ready by. A bug-proof, animal-proof, snack container. A pull-up ladder. I'm not entirely sure where the tree-house daydream came from, somewhere between The Swiss Family Robinson and the Elves of Laureloin (Tolkien) I dreamt up this little refuge.
Some day...
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Solitude
I look forward to solitude. To drinking a cup of tea with a book in my lap and music in the background. To not "needing" to socialize.
It is absolutely amazing to me how people are always connected to each other in this era. We're never alone. With our BlackBerry's and our MSN and Facebook and Twitter and portable computers and portable phones, we never ever miss a beat. We are never unavailable, for gossip, for emergencies, for minor meltdowns that snowball into major meltdowns as we agonize over them.
Lately, I've started only turning on my laptop every 2-3 days, checking my phone (a CrackBerry by the way) only before bedtime, and being "tuned in" only at specific times.
My solitude is precious to me. My tea is more savoury with quiet unbroken by typing on keys, my book more enticing without the "ping"ing of my phone.
Maybe it's just me, but isn't the human condition essentially to be alone? Is that why our modern society fights against the state of "alone" so persistently? And is our generation less developed because we simply fall in line with the assault on our human boundaries? Does it, somehow take away from an individual's sense of self, because he or she is always connected to a humming, busy, droning collective mind?
It is absolutely amazing to me how people are always connected to each other in this era. We're never alone. With our BlackBerry's and our MSN and Facebook and Twitter and portable computers and portable phones, we never ever miss a beat. We are never unavailable, for gossip, for emergencies, for minor meltdowns that snowball into major meltdowns as we agonize over them.
Lately, I've started only turning on my laptop every 2-3 days, checking my phone (a CrackBerry by the way) only before bedtime, and being "tuned in" only at specific times.
My solitude is precious to me. My tea is more savoury with quiet unbroken by typing on keys, my book more enticing without the "ping"ing of my phone.
Maybe it's just me, but isn't the human condition essentially to be alone? Is that why our modern society fights against the state of "alone" so persistently? And is our generation less developed because we simply fall in line with the assault on our human boundaries? Does it, somehow take away from an individual's sense of self, because he or she is always connected to a humming, busy, droning collective mind?
Monday, June 01, 2009
One of those days...
Today's been one of those days. You know the one. By the end of it all you want is a warm shoulder to cry on. No speaking, please and thank you. Just someone who will hold your hand while you cry. It's only crying of sheer exhaustion. Therefore, speaking only makes you more exhausted.
I work with 8 other people. We're supposed to be 1:1 with our kids; 8 kids, 8 people. How many people showed up today? Four. Including, yours truly. Increase said ratio to 2:1, factor in the aggression, and the supervision needs, the individual programs and the balancing act between keeping kids occuppied but hitting all targets all the time. By the end of the day, not only were we exhausted, I had lost the ability to speak coherently.
Then, I show up to my second job. I sign in at 4:52. My shift begins at 5. I run to the booth, drop off my things, then I run to the bathroom (we don't have changerooms) to change into my uniform. I end up at our booth by 5:08. I get a call from my supervisor with a "verbal warning" because I arrived at the booth late. Ummmm...wha??
I'm frustrated, I'm annoyed, I can't speak in full sentences, and my supervisor for a measly part-time job is telling me I'm getting a verbal warning for being early and changing into my uniform?
Then a man comes up to the booth and starts telling my friend that she's beautiful and therefore she deserves an amazing life. Don't get me wrong. She's an amazing human being, gorgeous inside and out. But what about us girls who aren't beautiful? We don't deserve to be happy and have an amazing life?
By the end of the night, I sat in front of the movie theatres, put my face in my hands and sobbed for a brief 20 seconds. Sometimes, it's good to cry.
I work with 8 other people. We're supposed to be 1:1 with our kids; 8 kids, 8 people. How many people showed up today? Four. Including, yours truly. Increase said ratio to 2:1, factor in the aggression, and the supervision needs, the individual programs and the balancing act between keeping kids occuppied but hitting all targets all the time. By the end of the day, not only were we exhausted, I had lost the ability to speak coherently.
Then, I show up to my second job. I sign in at 4:52. My shift begins at 5. I run to the booth, drop off my things, then I run to the bathroom (we don't have changerooms) to change into my uniform. I end up at our booth by 5:08. I get a call from my supervisor with a "verbal warning" because I arrived at the booth late. Ummmm...wha??
I'm frustrated, I'm annoyed, I can't speak in full sentences, and my supervisor for a measly part-time job is telling me I'm getting a verbal warning for being early and changing into my uniform?
Then a man comes up to the booth and starts telling my friend that she's beautiful and therefore she deserves an amazing life. Don't get me wrong. She's an amazing human being, gorgeous inside and out. But what about us girls who aren't beautiful? We don't deserve to be happy and have an amazing life?
By the end of the night, I sat in front of the movie theatres, put my face in my hands and sobbed for a brief 20 seconds. Sometimes, it's good to cry.
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