Couple of things hit my brain.

1) I haven’t been here in a year. Wow.

2) I’ve let some people that I thought were actually truly close go. it hurt, it took a very long time for me to be ok with doing it, but the final severing came with me unfriending them on facebook. 3 so far.

Not gonna lie — it hurt. Giving up on them felt like giving up on something bigger, something … more. Something that seemingly, only I felt. I left friends whom I thought were people who were as connected to me as I was to them. People I’d known both for no time at all and also for 13+ years.

I gave up on the one who called me a whore, and the one who screamed at me to get my shit together before leaving the province i’d lived in all my life.

I know this sounds like “oh poor me” but that’s not it. I know I had some fault in these situations. That said, being told I was “just being a toy [he] can drag out to the woods” wasn’t what I signed up for.

Getting yelled at because I was struggling with divesting myself of my possessions in order to move 1400 km+ away was not what I signed up for.

I understand being frustrated with a person. Being frustrated with a close friend. I GROK THAT. Calling me a whore; yelling at me… yeah, not what I signed up for.

Leaving the people I thought were my bestests was so hard. Letting go, even after I’d been told, repeatedly to go, was hard. “It’s not you, it’s me” has run it’s term. I realized that as much as I know how to get ahold of them, THEY know how to get ahold of ME. They will, if they want. They won’t, I can almost guarantee it. I’m not someone they want to be associated with anymore.

It still (clearly) bothers me. I’m working on it. Removing them from facebook was the first step.


yay for steps.

Why I Chose to be Honest

I asked to be terminated from my job today. Not exactly what one expects to hear, but it’s the truth.

You see, I needed a day off on Friday and I could not get anyone to take that day. Not a soul would step up. That’s not entirely true. Several said “I wish I could help, but I work that day.” I also had several people talk about trading away OTHER shifts so they could then trade with this other person who would then trade their shift with me… it was getting to be 3-4 people deep and very complicated. We needed a diagram. Regardless, this did not work out.

I came into work this morning knowing that something was going to happen. I did not know what however, and the not knowing was emotionally exhausting. So, I gathered my courage, went on lunch and went into my boss’ boss’ office and asked if she had a minute. We talked, I explained what had happened and what I had tried to do and how hard I had tried to work to get this taken care of. She said she understood and wanted a moment to think about things. I said, before you think too hard, here’s the other part of the puzzle you need to know so that you may be able to make a solid business decision.

And then I told her I would be giving my notice before the end of the week and that I would be leaving the province. I explained that while I wanted to do what was right for the business at the moment, what I really wanted was to also do what was right for me, and that did not include staying in a job I dreaded going to. I’d stay through to the 25th if that were better for the business for her, but really, I was leaving either way. She gave it a moment and asked if she could be honest. I said that was the only way I wanted to handle things.

She asked if I would be ok moving to a termination today because then, while she would need to backfill the remainder of my shifts, it was actually better for the business to do that than it was to wait. And really, it’s better for me too. It gives me 3 weeks to deal with my stuff here, clean, sell things, get rid of things. It means money is going to be tight, but I’m working on that here as well. I’ve also got a friend with a potential 3 week gig for me. Maybe. And another iron in my fire to be fanned later today.

So, yeah. I’m unemployed at the moment. I’m going to figure out what has to happen around EI and see about getting that rolling.  I’ve got faith everything will work out — I just have to allow that faith to work through the world and let it do it’s thing….

My History is History

I’m on a mission. I am working on essentially wiping out the majority of my past and move onto a new world, a new place, a new life. I have my memories of the good times, and even those of the bad. I have my experiences, my rememberings of it all and I would not change those for the world, but I am not sentimental and I don’t need stuff to remind me that I loved that man, or that I went to that place.

I had a revelation the other day when I was thinking about the things that I own from my grandmother, whom I never knew. I have a table and I have a set of silver. I asked for my mother’s blessing to sell both of these things because I do not have any attachment to them. The table is currently holding my tv, which I will be keeping only because I agreed with telus to stick it out for three years with them in order to get it. Contracts speak louder than family ties, obviously.

That was not my revelation however. The revelation came when I was thinking about WHY it is I don’t have any attachment to these pieces. They are essentially a part of my history, and yet, I’m much more future-focussed. Looking ahead, planning, making changes rather than holding dear to the parts of my family tree that are no longer. I realized that I was not nostalgic, at all. I have a few pieces of memorabilia from my marriage and those I will keep. I have a few things from my current relationship — a t-shirt which I should be a good girl and give back, but haven’t yet, and a champagne cork from our delicious morning brunch.  I have the Tigger from when I was a baby, and I have a few pictures from my life — my grandfather holding me when I was a new. Curled up under a blanket with my favourite dog. A menu from The Shady Rest when it was ours. All things that could fit in the bottom of a small carry on suitcase, easily.

What came to me as I was working through this all was that my mom and I were on our own. Her sister did not make an effort to spend time with me, tho she was my aunt. If I was there, ok, but she didn’t go out of her way to spend any time with me. My uncle was the same way, tho he’s working a bit harder now. It was mom and me against the world; my dad had left the picture and is only around now off and on. Mom was working so damn hard to make ends meet, to do what she needed to do for me, to make my life a good one, that we didn’t have the time or energy to instill a sense of nostalgia into my life.

The end result is, I’m ridiculously happy erasing my past. Selling my furniture, offering the family pieces to the family. Giving them first right of refusal before selling, moving on.

I will be leaving the province where I grew up, where I have lived my entire life,  on April 29th, 2014. I am so looking forward to that move. I’m changing careers, changing my life. Giving up practically all of my material possessions and turning my back on the past.

it’s never felt so good, or so right.

2014 Challenge

Every year, at this time, like everyone, I get a little…. I need to be better than I was last year. I need to do something better, smarter, something. This year, I’ve decided to make some conscious choices about how I spend my money and for the most part, shop at stores that provide me a financial incentive to do so.

So, for example, This year, I’m only going to buy gas from the Co-Op because they provide me with 4% back on every purchase at the end of the year. They send a cheque. I’ll spend all my booze-buying dollars at the indie store by my work because they provide me a membership program. I have 300 and some points at the moment collected, and that’s $6 something. I don’t know the math on their plan, but whatever it is, it works for me.

Shopper’s Drug Mart gives me Optimum points, which other drug stores don’t. Canadian Tire gives me their dollars, where other stores don’t. Thrifty Foods gives me coupons for points and other points that they then offer $ off on the bill for.

It may be a small thing, and not even really worth commenting on, but it’s something I’m trying, something I’m consciously doing. There will be a few places this won’t work — my butcher, the baker’s (tho, even they have a “loaf card”. I’ll need to look into that). Clothes.

I’ll work on a few “workarounds” for those things. Cobb’s Bread has that card; Value Village has a membership thing I can join, and I have two friends who are experts in the thrift store shopping realm, both of whom are willing to help teach me. I need clothes that fit already, dammit. (I’ve lost probably close to 35 lbs in the past few months, maybe a year. I don’t know HOW, or why, but I’m healthy and none of my clothes are fitting, so whatever. Next weekend, Lauren and I are hitting the thrift stores and tackling my closet full of stuff that doesn’t fit. I’m really looking forward to redoing the whole damn thing, frankly.)

Regardless, 2014 is the year of making money, saving money and getting smarter.

Deep, if scattered, thoughts

A lot of thoughts crowding around in my brain at the moment, some deep and introspective, some flighty and semi-useless. It’s frustrating to an extent — being a writer who is not writing (much) at the moment and having all of these clamourous thoughts. I just run out of words by the end of the day, what with all the talk, talk, talking for 8 hours at work. It’s also funny that I should feel as though I am out of words, when I tend to use the same ones over and over on every call. “I can definitely understand your frustration, for sure…” “Bear with me two seconds here while I…”

I’m thinking about relationships — both romantic and platonic — and I’m thinking about writing. I’m thinking about the “god, if you only knew” moments I have frequently, and the secret lives of people. How everyone has a secret life. Some choose to live that secret life more fully than others, to wallow in it’s pleasures and successes. To come to terms with what those do and simultaneously cannot ever contain.

I’m feeling bad about not writing as much as I’d like. That I’m not making one single move towards filling page after page of witty, flirty, fun chick lit. That instead, I am writing navel-gazing blog posts about vague thoughts I’m entertaining in whatever has become of my mind.

So yes, clamorous, indeed. Soon the din will become so chaotic that the only way to still it is to get back to putting the voices on paper and keeping them out of my head.

Never Not Broken….

I submitted this to the Writer’s Digest Short Story competition…. 

“Faith is taking the first step, even when you don’t see the whole staircase.” – Martin Luther King Jr.

“Life is either a daring adventure or nothing.” – Helen Keller

It’s 3:30 in the morning, and I’m still awake, trying to surrender and open myself up, chanting and putting myself into the universe’s care. I don’t know what is keeping my brain so active – I’ve tried almost everything I know to still it, and yet I lie here thinking, knowing I have to be up in just over two hours.

I know I’m on a journey to make my life better, to find the happiness and all-consuming love I deserve, but right now, in the middle of the night, this whole thing feels very ‘Eat, Pray, Love’. My journey began four years ago when I began to spiral into depression. I felt “off registration”—when the newspaper prints one colour out of sync so it looks blurry and wrong. The very first time I voiced the idea that things might not all be sunshine & light was crossing Robson Street with my yoga teacher. She asked me if I was ok, and the most top-of-mind answer was “not really”. I tried to explain then how I was feeling and had real trouble articulating it.

It’s hard to explain the complete lack of feeling, the nothingness someone facing depression experiences. It’s not a matter of feeling a certain way, because it’s just not there. There’s no switch that gets turned off or on, but instead a bleak absence of anything. It permeates every inch of your being, including relationships, friendships, work, fitness and even eating. I just … stopped living.

I started referring to how I was feeling as “The Nothingness”. It’s blacker than the blackest thing you know and deeper than the deepest crevice you can imagine.

The Nothingness doesn’t have a voice, yet it mutters to you, and to you alone, under it’s breath. Nasty, mean things no one should have to listen to. The Nothingness has opinions about everything you do or say, and tells you how everyone you know laughs at you behind your back. Sometimes, its right. Mostly, it’s not.

It digs into your subconscious and finds all the things you’ve tried to push away, all the things you hate about yourself, all the things that you were teased about when you were a kid. It brings every single flaw out and magnifies them. It relishes in this version of show and tell.

The Nothingness follows you wherever you go. It’s in every room with you. Just when you think you’ve managed to out run it, it appears from around a corner, ready to dog your every step.

It’s worse than even horror writers can dream up. It steals your breath, traps your mind and takes over your body. Inertia is one of The Nothingness’ best friends and motivation is its sworn enemy. The only way to escape The Nothingness is to sleep. Sweet unconscious surrender.

One of the worst parts about The Nothingness is that no one can pull you away from it. The only way to get away from The Nothingness is to banish it from your life and the only person who can do that is you. The Nothingness can hold on for years, driving some to commit terrible acts to escape it.

Sometimes, confidence can overbalance The Nothingness and scare it into hiding. Sometimes, attention can drive it away. Other times, that same attention brings it closer.

In short, The Nothingness is a jerk. It’s the school yard bully you can’t escape until you stand up to him and knock him right out. Those guys can take a punch, so you’ve got to pummel them until your fists bleed and then hit them again.

The Nothingness had taken up residence in my brain, wrapping itself around my life and finding all the little cracks in my psyche. Just like the cracks in a sidewalk, as soon as something invasive like The Nothingness gets in there, they spread. Those cracks get bigger as The Nothingness grows, destroying everything around it.


I endured The Nothingness in silence for months. The blank spot in my brain hadn’t gone away, but it hadn’t gotten any worse either.

I was starting to let things slide at work. I missed a deadline here, didn’t send some copy to the client there… I didn’t have the motivation to care about it, let alone do anything. I was increasingly annoyed with almost everything my husband did and the frustration was starting to boil over. I was telling him off practically every day.

I did have to give him some credit. He wasn’t pushing me to do anything, wasn’t asking why I was staying in bed mornings when I normally went to the gym. He cooked and cleaned, and he was keeping the house stocked with beer. He wasn’t harping on me to take the dog out, do the dishes and deal with the recycling. He just did it all.

I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me and so, in order to feel better, or at least not feel The Nothingness, I drank. Some nights, I went through a 12 pack of beer on my own. Easily. I had started to black out too, and there were nights when I didn’t remember going to bed, or falling down, unless I woke up there or had the bruises to tell the tale. I gained weight. I got more piercings and tattoos and inked on myself what I couldn’t find within.

I can’t remember who it was that finally convinced me it was time to go see a doctor. I finally made an appointment in the early spring. It was a morning appointment (well, for me it was morning; I think it was around 2 pm), and the city was socked in with rain. Everything was grey and foreboding and people rushed down the sidewalks with their giant umbrellas, on the verge of taking out someone’s eye at any moment. I went out in a hoodie, yoga pants and flip flops. I was too lazy to actually get dressed. I didn’t care who saw me.

I made the appointment with Dr. Marr because he was closest to home. It was easy.

I sat in the waiting room, looking at my hands and occasionally at the people coming and going. The office was on the second floor above a Lululemon Store and beside an ESL college. People thumped up and down the stairs, phones rang and Dr Marr kept up a steady stream of patients. It’s like he was in a race or something—if he didn’t get through three patients every fifteen minutes, he lost.

Finally, I was called into his office.

Flipping open my file, he asked, “So, what can I do for you today?”

“Well, I’m feeling like something isn’t right. I’m not sleeping well at night, my patterns are all off so when I do sleep, it’s happening mid-day, sometimes for fifteen or sixteen hours a day. I’m not eating and I just don’t care. I don’t have an appetite, I’m not interested in anything at all. I don’t know why I’m feeling like this, I just know something’s not….”

“How’s your sleep?” Dr Marr cut me off.

“Um, well, as I said, not great… I’m sleeping either way too mu… “

“Ok, how about your appetite? Are you eating?”

“No, … not really.”

“Right,” he made a quick note on his computer as he checked through symptoms. He was filling out a checklist. That didn’t seem quite right but I was desperate.

“OK, well, I think you’re just bored. You need to go do something exciting. Try skydiving, maybe go on a trip, get some sun.”

“Uh, skydiving? Really?”

“Yep,” he stood up, closed the file he was holding and walked towards the door. “You just need to put some excitement back into your life. You’re fine.”

“Oh. Well, ok. So, there’s nothing wrong with me? There’s nothing that I should be changing or a prescription I should have or something?”

“Nope, you’re fine,” Dr Marr repeated. “You just need to go out and find things that excite you again. You’re bored.”

It didn’t make a ton of sense, but he was a doctor. You were supposed to trust them, weren’t you? I gave my head a bit of a mental shake and tried to clear it. Tried to give myself a fresh slate to look at this. Maybe he was right. Maybe this was all in my head and there wasn’t anything wrong. I’d heard that the very idea of depression wasn’t real anyway; people who claimed they were depressed just needed to shake it off and get over themselves. Right?


The cold, bleak fall light shone through my balcony windows, the sun still high enough in the sky to cast shadows. I sat cross-legged in front of the coffee table, my chin resting on my forearms. I was playing a game of chicken with a bottle of Zopiclone and a 26’er of bourbon.

The pills played with the light, glinting in their plastic bottle, looking innocent and helpful, beautiful and inviting. They were careful not to show their sinister side—their siren song. I played with the bottle, turning it over in my hands and rolling it across my palm, listening to the chatter as they rolled around.

Did you know you can’t reuse prescription bottles, even if they’re yours and from the same prescription? You can’t. Something I read on one of those local live-without-plastic-for-a-year blogs. Seems like such a waste to me, all these bottles ending up in a landfill. The irony of the fact that this bottle had the potential to turn me into waste wasn’t lost on me. It was morbidly amusing.

Today was Thursday. As usual, I had no plans for the weekend, and it was unlikely anyone would notice I was gone until at least Monday. That was plenty of time to make this decision, write or say my goodbyes, arrange for a place for the kitties to go. It would be so easy to take the pills, one after another, chased with bourbon and then curl up and go to sleep. That beautiful surrender; the place I went when I couldn’t handle life anymore. Seemed like the easiest, most direct route to check out of life. No messy blood, little pain, practically no anticipation. Just drifting off as though I were going to bed.

I poured the pills into my palm and counted them again. That need to count was The Nothingness’ idea. It crowded in close, as uncomfortable as a big hairy man pushing up against you at the bar thinking you can’t feel his hard on. An undercurrent of murmuring seeped through my mind like tendrils of fog. Doubt clouded my thoughts. Would this work? Could I go through with it?

The shadows were growing longer. Soon it would be time to turn on a light. I could hear the sounds of people coming into the building after work. My lower back was screaming at me to move, stretch, anything.

Tonight wasn’t the night. I didn’t have all the pieces in place. This was an all or nothing decision, there was no halfway. Putting the pills back into the kitchen, I poured a generous glass of bourbon. I wasn’t going to need all of it anyway; I may as well get to enjoy some of it. I sank onto the couch and flicked on the TV.

The thoughts of committing suicide weren’t far from my mind. Soon, they were pushed further and further back as I moved aimlessly through my days. There was something in me that wouldn’t let me pick up the pills just yet. I didn’t know what it was, but it was the second time that I’d considered it and couldn’t find the strength to go through with it. Drinking made me forget that staring contest for a little while. It wasn’t that I had a specific survival instinct; I just didn’t have the energy to make the decision either way.

The Nothingness haunted me through the winter. It wasn’t until early March that things began to turn around.

I got a free pass to a yoga workshop. Class was at seven in the morning, and for some

reason, this did not bother me in the least. In order to get there on time, I had to be up at 5:40 am. I set my alarm and was awake before it went off. I caught the bus, headed over to Kits and settled into my comfortable seated position.

The workshop was called Blissology—the science and study of becoming blissful. I so needed this. I needed to find something to care about, something that I could focus on. For five days, I was up before dawn and on a bus and headed to a yoga class. I almost couldn’t believe it.

There are five pillars of blissology—yoga, meditation, nature appreciation, gratitude and living food. Every morning for that one week, we sat as a huge group—there had to be more than 100 of us in the room—and were guided through meditation, discussed our gratitude commitments, and eased into yoga poses that realigned my spine and refreshed my mind.

I remembered my classes with Annie and was beating myself up about skipping my yoga practice. I’d gone without it for so long I could no longer claim I even had a practice, let alone call myself a yogi. I talked to the instructor one day after class.

“Just breathe. Relax. Listen to your body. The resources you were spending on yoga in the past were needed for other concerns, but now you’ve come back to it. Embrace it, be grateful, be thankful for your food and nature and start meditating again. You’ll find your muscle memory is stronger than you might think.”

Yoga pushed The Nothingness to the side and managed to wrangle it into a box. With every day I practiced, that box got smaller and smaller. The problem was, I couldn’t maintain it. Yoga became not enough. I stopped caring again. I couldn’t get myself to the mat no matter how much I beat myself up about it. The Nothingness had pushed its way out of the box and just stood there, leaning nonchalantly against a corner, nodding. This was nothing new.

I was on the bus on the way home from class one morning and decided I was going to make myself better. I was going to find my thing, no matter which direction it took me, or how outside the norm it was. The ‘mind over matter’ people were still nattering in my ear about getting over myself, finding a job and making something of myself. I was convinced that there was more to life than this constant state of ennui. There had to be. People didn’t, couldn’t, live like this. The discontent alone would mean that no one would accomplish anything, ever. It was obvious I was missing something.

The ambition didn’t last long. My mat gathered dust. I drifted through life. The thought did stay on my mind, however. Maybe I needed to reinvent myself. Maybe it was time to shed my skin, drop the shit and move on? Maybe I could change my name, move somewhere new and start over.

Could it really be that easy?
I’d always been mocking and derisive of what I called the Members of the Woo Woo

Society, with their belief in a higher power, their meditation and chanting, their cleanses, colonics, silent retreats that made you drink your own urine…. I was sure it wasn’t for me; but maybe some of these things made sense. Maybe there was a higher power and something to the idea of chanting and meditation.

I was resistant to the idea of a singular almighty, but I felt like there was a force greater than me out there. The idea that this one dude was responsible for everything seemed unlikely to me. I realized that this higher power whatever had been trying to get noticed for the past three years at least. I’d been looking for this higher power as I tried to find my path through buddhism, chanting, feng shui and yoga. I have several books on various subjects, many of which I hadn’t even opened. I dabbled, but I hadn’t stuck with anything.

Finally, here I was, shattered and broken, with nowhere to go, no money with which to get there and an as yet unfinished game of chicken. I didn’t want to struggle so much any more. I didn’t want to force everything and I couldn’t continue this way. Pushing the rock uphill seemed like too much work. I didn’t want to do my old job anymore—something that was hard to accept. I’d been trying to force my now round self into a PR shaped square hole for a few years, not understanding when it fell apart. Instead, I just pushed harder.

I saw myself living unfulfilled. I watched myself talking to people about my tattoos, joking about being a walking motivational poster; inking onto my body permanently the things I couldn’t find. If I couldn’t find them within me, I’d inscribe them on myself so I carried them with me.

I had been so busy chasing what I thought I wanted, running so hard that I hadn’t noticed that all I had to do was stand still. What I needed would come to me. I wasn’t getting ahead, I was just running hard to stay in place. I didn’t need to know what was next. That wasn’t my knowledge to have. There was no reason to know either—the unknown was just that: unknown. Not scary or terrifying and certainly not the treacherous place I had made it out to be.

I was taking my first cautious steps forward for the first time in years. This was new for me and then it came to me. It is all new to me. And that was ok. After a minute or two, I decided to embrace everything. What was stopping me? Fear, probably. So, what was fear? Nothing but the unknown. What if ‘what next’ wasn’t so bad? What if the what next was amazing and I was stopping myself by being so unsure?

That did it for me. That one thought. The idea that the unknown wasn’t truly scary, just unknown. Maybe I’d actually uncovered a singular joy in life—the anticipation of what’s next. There were so many possibilities. I could end up moving to Vienna tomorrow. Who knew?? What if I ended up traveling Europe or South America with a crew from Cirque? There wasn’t anything or anyone to say I couldn’t do that.

The entire world opened up in front of me like a kaleidoscope. I saw the colours that had been greyed out in my world for so long. It was like the scene in What Dreams May Come when the black and white and shade of grey depression peel back to show their vibrant selves. I saw colours I’d never believed in before. I found life where I’d never bothered to look. I had finally found one of the tools I needed to begin pushing back The Nothingness.

I’d found a reason to live, a reason to move ahead. The colours were my reason to get moving.


Cooking by Feel

I haven’t felt like cooking at all lately. It’s been bugging me, because that’s not like me. I love to cook. I like trying interesting things and making the foods, even the ones I make for the very first time ever, taste good.


I made yet another resolution to be more respectful of my body and meals and food and so forth and went grocery shopping on my one day off last week. Tried to make an effort to pay more attention to the foods I was actually getting — things I wouldn’t let rot, like that zucchini I tossed out the other day. I had some ground beef that I had planned on making Thai Basil with Beef with and then decided I was just far too worn out to bother, so the ground beef sat in the fridge.

Tonight, I decided it was time to find something to do with it, lest it go bad, so I did that –>. (The rice is just off to the right.) I even made enough for lunch tomorrow. (gasp.)

This whole episode made me remember that I like to cook, that I’m good at it and that also, I really don’t need as many recipes as I seem to think I do. You see, I started with this, which led me to this, (which was annoying) and then to this, which led me to remember, duh. I know how to do this. I know how to make things taste good. Why am I so stressed over the whole recipe thing? I make food taste good. Food tastes good around me, I know flavours, so why am I so … caught up in the “rules”?

Answer? Dunno. I cooked by feel tonight. It’s delicious. it could be a little more…. moist. note to self for next time/tomorrow’s lunch.


Ping the Duck

I dont know when, but there was a time, early on in my ten year relationship with my husband in which we discussed childhood books. We found that Ping the Duck was a shared connection, despite our age gap.

Ross bought me a copy of Ping, and mean spirited or not, i took it with me when I left. You see, I treasure this copy of Ping the Duck, and I love the story.

I’m wondering what books you were read as children, what stuck with you. I have some kids in my life I would like to instill books and reading into and I try every chance I get, but maybe books would help. More and more and more books. And Ping.


Saint-esque in fact.

Initiated contact with, and offered various (ok, 2, but two big ones)  helpful things to a person who is essentially a rival today.

Growth, no?

Listening to the Gathering Storm

It’s brewing outside my walls. Hurling rain and tree branches with force at the outside wall, pelting the bathroom window with shards of rain, never allowing the wind chime a moment of respite.

I love storms. I particularly love storms with thunder and lightning strikes; big grandiose show-off ones Great big fuck off storms as Eddie would call them.

I’m trying to figure my world out. I’m working a lot – OT and trying to get stats to where bonus kicks in (tho I think with one day this month, it’s not going to happen. Too bad.) trying to get enough sleep and still the the one friend that I have in this city (well, and one that i see and who has stuck thus far despite my insanity and hermiting). She’s in the middle of final rehearsals for her play that starts the day I go away for a week.

I’m struggling with Nanaimo not being home. (this is probably repeating myself, but I do that when it’s deep on my mind.) I don’t know where home is. For a long time I tied the concept of home to a person (where you are is home) and now my person is more complicated and not here and i don’t know if that’s why i don’t know if this is home or because my god really nanaimo??

I can make anywhere home if i have a few necessary things (rules perhaps):

  • toilet paper comes over the top.
  • a bathtub that has some depth
  • Lush bubble bars
  • a person who can wrap me into an embrace upon coming home and make whatever happened that day melt away
  • wifi
  • space (brain and physical) to write
  • quality food, unless we eat out and then the quality can be offset somewhat by the cost and the location and the fact that we don’t have to cook it.
  • sex. lots.
  • certain TV shows

I don’t ask for much. I don’t have many rules…. in fact there was one of thought of the other day when this came up that slipped my mind about 4 seconds after thinking about it, so clearly it was important and not just a rule, but a Rule.

Whatever. I just want to be happy in the moment. Long term is being worked on and that’ll be good (primarily from a taking care of ME perspective, no one else) but my happiness in the moment is more important to me than the potential for something down the road, because that something down the road may happen ANYWAYS, and in the meantime, things were awesome.

Lots of thinking and sorting to do.