Ten Fingers & Toes

To Think

I Was Someone

Who Believed Perfection

Didn't Exist

That Love At First Sight

Was A Myth

Who Thought I Had Loved

Before This

I Carry Your Heart

I carry your heart with me(i carry it in - e. e. cummings

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go, my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

If you learn anything from e. e. cummings be it the beauty in disarray and provocativeness of simplicity.

5 Songza Playlists To Make Everything Better

For those who forgot, I'm a music nerd, loving everything from sodapop rock to old school country, classical jazz to that good soul music, bubblegum pop to boy bands, metal to punk, and right back around to rap and hip-hop. Everything and all. I've yet to find a genre I truly dislike, though I have to say, I'm not a huge hardcore/metalcore/black metal fan.

Now, for those who don't know, Songza is a live streaming website that has a plethora of playlists for all sorts of occasions, including mooning over a sparkly vampire and long sorrowful road trips. After much shuffling and listening, I've come up with five playlists for five moods I find myself in all the time. And here we go:

The Hey, Baby, Sing Me To Sleep Mood

This is when you're so tired, like every last inch of your godforsaken body has surrendered to the battle of life. You are shutting down. The mere thought of getting up to brush your teeth is too much to handle and the idea of going out makes you want to weep into the plushness of your pillow. The only remedy for this sort of weariness is sleep, deep, peaceful, slightly sad sleep, and you can get there by indulging in Mr. Sandman. This beautiful compilation will send you into slumber with the soft gentle coos of the most popular hits and artists from the 50's and 60's. Melancholic and reassuring, this is one of the most comforting mixes I have ever indulged in.

Promise me you will never listen to this playlist when you're at work.

Remember When 

Anyone born around the same time as me will understand the importance of a fabulous mixed tape. We used to record songs off the radio on tape cassettes and listen to them on repeat for weeks. Sure, a lot of us don't want to admit that we loved the pop we grew up with. Not now. Not when people are so quick to turn their nose up to the Backstreet Boys and Rhianna, but it doesn't matter. We all want something to shake are butts to. We all want our guilty pleasures in one epic playlist. Well, lucky for us, it's on Songza and it's called Get Pumped: Pop Anthems. These are the songs from those tapes we made on our bedroom floors. These are the songs that will take you back to the days of slouch socks and snap bracelets. These are the songs you'll sing at the top of your lungs as you're cleaning your house and slip into the waters of nostalgia.

Feeling Eclectic

Good music is all about the past. The past past. Back in your parents' days. When Bowie rocked the air waves and Fleetwood Mac wasn't considered 'classic rock' but simply ROCK. Bands these day emulate those we cherish from our youth, and our parents' youth. You might have heard these as your mother made dinner or sitting in the back of your Daddy's Toyota Tercel. When all you want is a foot-stomping, hand-clapping good time put on Hang Out Rock and prepare to bob your head and remember the days when you thought summer would last forever and all you wanted was to kiss the stars.

Jump Out Of Bed

Some days we need a boost, a pick me up, someone to drag us out of bed and dance us around our living room. A great playlist can be the difference from a meh morning to a magnificent one. Wake Up Smiling will do exactly what it sounds. Sit up.Shake your booty. Shower. And face the day head on. You can do it. You can tackle this. Might as well get in touch with your soul roots while you're at it. Disco out your door. Drum on the wheel. Let the wind whip your hair. Because some days, you need that extra push to get the day underway.

The Rain Is Tapping On My Window

You want moody. You want gloom. You want songs to stroke your disenchantment. Well, you've found it in the stellar list called Brooding Over Biters With Rick Grimes. On any given rainy night, when the storm of melancholy is brewing, you will come here, to this playlist and you will celebrate the fact someone took the time to put together this ruminative mix. I can't sing the praise of this one enough. It soothes my sad, sad soul.

Fancrazies - Are You The Captain?.

I've never been part of a fandom before. Not because I've never been a fan of something. In truth, I've fallen in love with so many books and television series, movies and bands, that I totally know what it is like to be involved with something. To have a relationship with a show. A love affair with a band. A long-term friendship with a book character. But even though I've been obsessive about actors and musicians, harboured secret (and not-so-secret) crushes, I've never really shared those infatuations. For the most part, I've kept my fan girlish ways to myself.

Sure, there are people out there who know of my undying love for Bruce Springsteen, are privy to the greedy way I gobbled up the Harry Potter series, find it amusing I think I'd survive in A Game of Thrones, and understand I would live in Stars Hollow and be BFFs with the Gilmore Girls if at all possible. In truth, there are a fair share of celebrity dreamboats I adore, examples being Ryan Gosling (the man does no wrong), Tom Waits (what can I say, I've always had a thing for older men), Emma Stone (isn't she the cutest ever?) and my new found lust for Chris Hemsworth (the fallout of having one steamy dream of Thor and his mighty hammer). That being said, I totally toe the line of rationality and haven't ever allowed myself to become so preoccupied with these people that I base my entire existence around them. Like, I don't feel it my duty to pass judgement on the choices they make or how they live their lives. In fact, I don't even care what they are up to, who they are dating, and what they are wearing.

Seems weird mentioning that, right? I mean, shouldn't not being a stalker be a given? After all, who possibly has time to follow anyone around, whether it is on the internet or in real life? Why would anyone be so emotionally invested in a particular celebrity that they haven't even met or held a conversation with?

Well, you might not be privy to what fandom can degrade into. I use the word degrade because people can get down right scary and, to be honest, disgusting when they love something so hard. I like to call it having the fancrazies. A terrifying condition wherein people who shouldn't be allowed on the internet become so obsessed they jump off the cliff of insanity and free fall to the jagged rocks of irrational and drown in the waters of creepiness.

Don't get me wrong, there are amazing fans out there, but in the past couple months I've witnessed disturbing behaviour carried out in the name of fandom. If you are concerned you might be experiencing the fancrazies, I have outlined a few surefire signs that you may actually be Captain of the Crazies, and not just playing for the team.

Reality Vs. Fiction

It is one thing to think about the magical world of Harry Potter and silently wish it was real so you could attend Hogwarts, it's another thing to forget it is fiction and buy a ticket to London. It's one thing to crush on a sparkly fictional vampire, it's another to cry yourself to sleep at night because the new guy in school doesn't have amber coloured eyes. It is one thing to wonder what's going to happen in the next Game Of Thrones book, it's another to daydream about what Jon Snow is doing on the wall right this very minute.

If you are having trouble distinguishing reality from fiction, then you might be the Captain of the Crazies

Being Tyra

Celebrities are celebrities, which mean they exist in the public eye. Having a fleeting opinion about an outfit being worn on the red carpet or a new hairstyle is perfectly normal - we all do it. You don't have to like every suit or piece of jewellery your celebrity favourites are wearing. But the truth is, your opinion doesn't matter. These famous people should be able to live their lives and make their own decisions, unswayed by what you think. While you might have a thought on their wardrobe or makeup, you really don't need to share it. In fact, if it isn't nice, how about you don't? You aren't a fan if you are bashing their clothing and hair - or even more horrifying, when you rip them apart physically - from their hairlines to their breast size, from their body types to their teeth. You are not their stylist. Even more, you are not Tyra and they are not here for you to judge them.

If you are overwhelmed with the desire to be catty and critique celebrities, then you could be the Captain of the Crazies.

What Personal Life?

There are fans who think it their business to know every personal detail of a celebrities life. Even worse is the blatant lack of respect for these actors, actresses and musicians lives, there are fans who take it upon themselves to name call and harass not only the people they supposedly love, but the ones they are friends with, or (God forbid) dating. It's one of the most confounding parts of fandom - how these crazy fans (who are so very infatuated with the series, book or actors) think it is their right to not only disapprove of the life decisions these actors and actresses make, but to stalk and bash anyone with any sort of relationship with them.

If for some strange and inexplicable reason you find yourself tweeting your crushes rumoured girlfriend, the person he or she was seen with at a gala or ball or party, and take it upon yourself to bash said person mercilessly, then you have contracted the fancrazies and need to have your intersnacks taken away until you can purge the lunacy from your being.

Unacceptable

Let's say not being able to distinguish fiction from reality, invading someone's personal life, and criticizing someone's every move and decision isn't enough to convince someone that they are in fact treading in the dark waters of fandom, perpetrating the seedy underbelly of obsessive love, then here's one more.

Slut-shaming. Name calling. Body-shaming. Stalking. Bullying. None of these terms are very nice, are they? In fact, most people should get their back up if accused of these behaviours. There is no way any of these horrible things should be associated with being a fan, right? If you love something, then aren't you supposed to celebrate it? Let it blossom. Encourage it. And enjoy it. Yes, but people become obsessive. They stop thinking clearly. Eventually, they start doing things they might not normally do, or they allow the anonymity of the internet go to their head and think what they say means nothing, or they are allowed to be rude and mean because it's the first amendment, right? Freedom of speech and all that jazz.

Except, no.

You can't simply say whatever you damn well please. Or at least you shouldn't. It is unacceptable to spread such hatred, to be cruel and pass judgement. It's ignorance to think your words mean nothing when they are the sword that cuts the deepest. Maybe people feel they have a right to be horrible. That celebrities choose to be famous, put themselves in the limelight, and deserve to be judged and mistreated.

If you find yourself passing judgement, calling someone not classy for the company they keep or a skank because of a costume they wore, then you are being mean and slut shaming. If you are complaining about someone's body, too skinny or too fat, then you are body shaming. If you are tearing apart someone's features, from their crooked teeth to their big forehead, small hands to their large feet, even mocking their clothing, you are bullying. Next time you are going to pass judgement, to be mean or bully, slut shame or ridicule, do everyone a favour and look in the mirror before you send your tweet or post your comment and blog. Before you update your status, take a good long hard look at yourself and make sure you are perfect. And, if on the off chance, you find you are perfect, do me a personal favour and keep your negativity and hatred to yourself.

Just between us, I don't understand any of this. It's frustrating to think this is how people treat the things (and people) they supposedly love. If you want to obsess and be a fan, by all means - do it, but do it with love and a wee bit of respect.

When Bad Things Happen

It's easy to be angry. To throw accusations. Call names. Tear people apart. It's easy to judge. And to want to hurt the people who have caused such pain. It's easy to condemn an entire religion. Race. Sex. Creed. Easy to hate. To hate what we don't understand. To hate what we don't like. Hate what hurts us. What scares us. To hate what is different. And what we cannot control.

It's hard to love in times such as these. In a world such as this. Harder to have understanding in the face of grief. To nod our heads but open our hearts. To show compassion. Be guided by empathy. Sympathy. Have forgiveness for others. To not understand, but not be blinded by that confusion and frustration. To move with love instead of hate.

My thought is that happy, well-adjusted, healthy people don't shoot other people. The unhappy, unhealthy, displaced and broken people do. And those are the ones that need love the most. Even if that leaves a bitter taste in the mouth.

We move forward with love. Backwards with hate.

Be A Good Bra

Support is a tricky business. Most women understand the importance of a good bra, they also know how hard it is to find one. Those of us who do find something that works may by three of the same bra knowing it might be eons before we stumble upon on that actually does its job and isn't too terrible to look at. The issue with bras is they are all different. Sometimes the lace is itchy or it holds your breasts too high, it cuts in around the sides, or when you lean forward you nipple slips out, causing chaffing.

Like the great search for the perfect bra, sometimes you find a serious lack of adequate support in your life as well. It's tough because those people who are supposed to be your emotional or mental bra are completely incompetent when it actually comes to offering the encouragement you need. Instead of being an integral part of your foundation, they end up being the crack in the wall. The bra you've washed too many times and the shoulder straps are shot causing your boobs to sag.

Even worse, they might start off as the most amazing brassiere you've ever owned, but after only a couple of wears the under-wire begins creeping up the side, digging into the most sensitive skin of your under-boob. What once was a cornerstone of comfort swiftly becomes an annoyance, which can prove to be an issue, because you tend to want to hang onto these bras, imagining how one day they will be fixed and give the lush support they once gave so willingly. Maybe you even try to take the under-wire out completely, thus making one breast drop lower than the other and turn it into a more horizontal oval shape. Not very pleasing.

Finding an emotional bra to hold you up and keep you going when you are unsure or scared is hard. Bras (of the fabric kind) are finicky and intricate, much like the people we let into our lives. And bras (the human variety) are sometimes clueless to the type of support needed. Also, there is sensitivity. It's hard trying new things, stepping outside our comfort zones, striving for things we might not feel we even deserve.  Sometimes all we want is for someone to say, "You can totally do that." Even if what we want to do is completely ridiculous, or exceptionally silly.

There is something to be said about offering unconditional support. I know I try to be encouraging and optimistic when it comes to the people I love, offering help wherever I can. In truth, I want my friends and family succeed and be happy.  This is why it's so hard when the help, encouragement, optimism and hope of success isn't reciprocated. Maybe I just don't understand this desire people have to be realistic, especially when it comes to dreams. Someone once said, go big or go home. This world is too scary and cruel and defeating not to reach for the stars.

Life's too short to shake your head and say, "Do you know how hard it's going to be?" to someone else. There's no need for anyone else to be hard on us because we're already doing a bang up ourselves. Adding another person's doubt to our own apprehensions will only guarantee failure, or even worse, complacency.

Even if there isn't any follow-through, of if there is and it results in failure, isn't it better to be the most amazing bra for someone else on the off chance they do follow-through and actually win? I don't know about everyone else, but I want to be a part of that success. Part of the celebration. I don't want to be the person who deters someone away from fulfilling a dream. I want to be a good bra and offer support no matter the day, weather, or impossibility of the goal.

The Addams Family

It's funny how brains work. An example? 

Last night, I was talking to the Sidekick about the items we brought to the Treasure Shack. There's an online login where you can track the things you're trying to sell through them. For some inexplicable reason, this made me think of The Addams Family, the first movie to be exact. I remembered the scene where Morticia is looking for items to donate to the auction for orphans and seniors. So, I tell the Sidekick about it, laughing because I have always found it incredibly funny, and he's listening, but thinking I'm a little crazy. 

Tonight, we've put the film on, and it is brilliant. 

That might seem like a bold statement, but I stand by it. There are too many laughs to count and the brilliancy is in the details and dialogue, like when Morticia is at the employment office and the subject of Gomez comes up. 

The personnel officer says, "What is he - a loafer? A hopeless layabout? A shiftless dreamer?" 

Morticia replies wistfully, "Not anymore." 

It's solid gold. All of it. The whole movie. We could all take a lesson from the Addams family. They love each other unconditionally, not despite their oddities, but because of them. They don't expect each other to change. And they embrace their weird. They let their freak flags fly ... high! Don't we all have a little macabre in us?  

Also, this movie takes me back to when I was a little kid. I used to rent it all the time. It's one of those films that have withstood the test of time. 

What are some films from your youth that you still love to watch? 

Great Expectations

It's been awhile since we've chatted about anything serious, so I'm making a point to put a bit of substance here. This isn't only for you, either. Writing my thoughts out helps order them, thus making them more concise and less confusing to myself. The fun stuff can be entertaining, but aren't most of us here to learn and grow? I certainly am. The last twenty years of my life has involved some serious growth, internally and externally. Yes, there have been missteps, mistakes, and miscalculations, but for the most part, I've been diligent about finding the light and embracing love.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not quite the ray of sunshine or shard of rainbow that I'd love to be. There are some days I am the epitome of grumpy and I get disappointed and sad and angry too. In fact, I probably experience at least one, if not all three, of those emotions every single day of my life. But I have goals. And I am working towards letting my baggage go, because the wheels on one of the bags are shot and the other one's a rucksack and carrying it around on my back all the time is starting to mess with my posture.

I once heard nothing really matters as long as you keep moving forward. So, that's what I'm doing. And I make a point of checking-in with myself and making sure I'm still on the right path. I am trying my best to carry the light within. And I am also trying to love freely, myself and all of you as well, without demanding too much of either of us.

Here is where expectations enter.

In my most humble of opinions, expectations are for the birds. Meaning, they are pointless and, if I'm being honest, counterproductive to the whole happiness thing. Expecting things from someone else seems to unfair, especially since expectations often come without vocalization. Expectations come with an unrealistic amount of expectation. Confusing, right? You betcha. It's so befuddling that we expect people to know what our expectations are. On top of not actually telling people what we want and need, we also overlook the fact that these people also have lives of their own, their own struggles, and their own wants and needs. And, sadly, their own expectations as well.

Are you fulfilling all of the expectations people have of you? An even better question is, are you fulfilling all the expectations you have of yourself? I am guessing the answer is no. At least, not all of them. So, if you can't live up to your own expectations, how can you expect it of others?

I am of the firm belief that people come into our lives for different reasons and will give us what we need if we allow them to. In the grand scheme of things, we are here to help each other out, to lend support, and provide one another mental, physical and emotional stimulation. Sure, there are yahoos and nimrods along the road who try to throw a wrench in the spanner of our journey to find happiness and enlightenment, but they are far and few between. And as we meet on the path of life, we have to understand that not every person is going to fulfill all our needs and wants. One person might pick us up when we fall down and another might deliver the tough love we need when we're being foolish.

Not every relationship is the same and we need to be aware what our friends and family members individually provide us. The key is not to expect of them something they are not capable of giving. It make take awhile to figure out what it is you get from the people in your lives, or what they are there to give you, but once you do puzzle it out, you probably will find the need for expectations diminishes, and eventually you are only holding one person accountable - yourself.

From my experiences, expectations are the leading cause of disappointments. Sure, it seems cynical, but we constantly set ourselves up to be let down because we demand unrealistic things from people we love. What a predicament.  Simply put, people change, relationships change, dynamics change and life is tiring. At any given time, you are not the only one going through a rough patch, or in need of help. I can safely say, someone you know could use a break and a little love right this very minute.

For the most part, we are all exhausted and struggling and broke and dealing with the chaos of living. So, let's take away the added pressure of expectations. After all, isn't it more heartwarming to have someone give a little love unexpectedly? Doesn't it feel more rewarding when it comes with out demands or expectation?

My Friend Rebs

This weekend my friend visited me. She's quite lovely. Inside and out. A slender creature of undeniable beauty with a passion for terrible television shows and Young Adult novels.

I took her adventuring. She found driftwood and sea shells. We saw an owl. This was the first time I'd seen an owl and it was amazing, but because I only had my phone camera the picture came out unexceptional. No, really. This is the picture of the owl I saw:

Like I said, unexceptional. I assure you, the actual bird sighting itself was far more exciting.

Anyhow, it meant a lot for Rebs to come over and visit. As some of you may know, I relocated about a year and a half ago, leaving my friends and family on the mainland. I didn't just move for a boy. I came for a change of scenery and to fulfill the undeniable desire I had to leave the city. Even though I am not far from my friends or family, about four hours including a ferry ride, I sometimes feel a bit alone over here. Not lonely, though. Never really lonely.

It's funny how life can get in the way of what's important, like friendships and road trips and eating nachos for dinner. Sometimes all you need is to invest a few days into someone you love. This was my weekend to do so.

We reminisced about our Ireland trip. How we drove to Montana in one day (1281 KM). And road tripped down to San Francisco on a whim. We gossiped about the people we used to work with and the stories we've thought up. Movies were watched. Television critiqued. Tea sipped. Food devoured. Laughter and tears released. And a serious friendship reboot was given.

It's true friendships can end, but the most important ones are always there. Even if you move away. Or don't speak for awhile. When you reconnect, it's just like it always was: awesome.

For Those Undeserving

At times our love seems so ignorant. Not mine and ours. But all of ours. Human love. It has this naive air to it. A new born baby, so demanding and temperamental, throwing a fit and tossing all its toys from the pram. How terrified are we about love? We fear losing it, worry the people we give it to will not protect it as fiercely as we ourselves do, and we e are terrified over losing it, worried the people we give it to will not protect it as fiercely as we ourselves do, and we expect so much in return. Even when we do give it, we are waiting for a reason to take it back. Take it away.

From my experiences, true love doesn't come with conditions, restrictions, or rules. It comes uninhibited and determined. It comes free and vast. It is the winning ticket where the prize is too valuable to understand. Imagine giving love to someone without wanting or needing it in return is boggling to our tiny brains. It is exhilarating to think about. A simple and novel idea, yet seemingly so complex, difficult to accept let alone execute. Because love doesn't conform to one set of rules, because it is flexible and an emotional chameleon, it is near impossible to imagine being able to spread it to those who are most deserving. And the idea of loving those who are deemed unlovable is baffling.

Why would we do such a thing?

Why would we love those we loathe? The ones we hate, who anger us to the point of violence, the ones who provoke our own bad behaviours, who stoke the fires of our cynicism and have us calling for them to reap what they sow, for karma to pay unto them the misery and hurt they've showered onto others. The anger comes easy. To despise those who do atrocious things, unspeakable things, things we cannot accept or understand.

But aren't these undeserving undesirables the ones who truly need love?

There is a simple fact, one most people don't take into consideration, but it's the only truth I am a hundred percent certain of. Happy, healthy people do not hurt others. Happy, healthy people do not torture, rape or murder. Happy, healthy people do not spread misery and hate. So, are these wounded, broken, unhappy people not those who need love the most? To guide them. To heal them. Or, if nothing else, to be the flickering light in the vast darkness in which they dwell?

This is not easy. Not in a world where we coddle our love and worry over who we give it to. How can we possibly extend compassion and love to the broken, lonely, unhealthy people when we have a hard time giving it to those who are good and nice? The answer is plain, with no flashing lights or bells and whistles. Practice. To be able to love everything, everyone, all things big and small, we must practice unselfish love. We must practice giving it without expectations and demands, without wants and needs, without restrictions.

When you find yourself confronted with an unfathomable deed done by a truly wicked person, remember: happy, healthy people don't hurt others. And even in the most horrific circumstances, selfless love does exist, and compassion can be found for even those who seem lost, broken and unlovable.

With Glittering Eyes

Some choice advice. 

Wordy Wednesday

As soon as you all take your seats today's lesson will begin. 

Alright, this evening we are talking about the word Agathist - derived from the Greek word 'agathos' meaning 'good'. More specifically, an agathist is a person who believes all things in general, the world included, are heading towards ultimate good. Hold on, does this sound familiar? Surely these people must be long lost cousins to our rosy-cheeked friends the optimists, right? 

Well, sort of. Unlike optimists, who see the best in the present, always looking at the positive, agathists are less content with the now. An agathist sees the bad things that happen in the world and confronts tragedies such as earthquakes and wars, while maintaining the belief that all things will inevitably turn towards the good. They also understand the road to goodness may run straight through a lot of trouble. 

For a long time, I didn't know how to categorize myself. I never considered myself an optimist, because I saw the utterly terrible things in this world and felt the weight of them on my heart. So, I thought myself a realist. Practical. Levelheaded. Reasonable. And yet, I've always had this inexplicable feeling that everything will be alright in the end - something a lot of realists don't have. I've always figured that somehow this crazy plot will work itself out. That despite the evilness that resides here, eventually good will triumph. 

Just call me an agathist. 

I Love You

Just over two years ago, I realized I love you. Yes, you. You reading this. Maybe even you sneering at this.

For the longest time, I was a backyard person. Someone who tends to their backyard, never looking beyond their own fence, worrying about my family, my friends, what is going to happen to me and my own. A twist of fate drew me down a dark path, severed me from a few people I thought would always be there for me, and forced me into a solitary journey. This sounds hard and cold and scary, but it was actually a stroke of luck, even though it was in fact hard and cold and scary. It felt crushing and heartbreaking at the time, but the longer I walked, the farther I went, the more time that passed, the less daunting the darkness became.

The denseness of my emotions let up. Finally, I saw a sliver of light. This, of course, is a figurative sort of light. The lightness of my heart, if you will, even though it sounds corny and self-helpish. It's the truth, though. I felt lighter. Freer. And I dismantled the fences around my backyard. Now, they no longer exist. There are no fences here. The world is my backyard. You are my friend. You are my family. And we may not have met, not yet at least, but I do care what happens to you.

And I love you.

I love you in the way I love every single tree and animal. I can't love your personal quirks. I don't know the cute way you say words or the frustrating opinions you have on political matters. We may be miles or countries apart, but not worlds. We are both here. On Earth. Living. Trying to exist. Most of us aren't scheming. The majority aren't bad. A lot of us are struggling. And sometimes we feel alone. But we aren't. We have things in common, even when it seems as if we are so different. We breathe and laugh and cry. There is this thread connecting us. It makes us a part of each other and joins us, not only by our base human instincts and genetic makeup, but our souls. Our hopes, dreams, and wishes. We are chemical and organic and made of the stars.

I understand these thoughts might seem radical, or ridiculous. Ridiculously radical. Radically ridiculous. It is easier to be a backyard person. To love your own. Sometimes it seems a tedious task to love those who seem undeserving, but aren't those the ones who need it most? In the end, I care about you. I want you to be happy and for good things to come to you. Sometimes I think about you. Think about how hard your day might have been, how far you've come from the person you used to be, and where you want to get to. These thoughts give me comfort, especially in my lowest of moments. Because if I am thinking about you, then maybe someone is thinking of me, and that means I'm not really alone. And I never will be.

Just A Tiny Little Message

Lately, I've been doing a lot of walking. One never knows what they are going to find while exploring the Vancouver Island. It's a wondrous place full of mystery and surprises and love and greenery. Once you start adventuring, curiosity is tickled, and you search for the unexpected, unknown and unbelievable. Sometimes you run across mushrooms that are meant to shelter gnomes, or flowers worthy of a pixie's dust.

Most of the time you find little reminders that amazing people exist all around you. Sure, you might not know them, but they are brushing shoulders with you. It's noticeable in the messages they leave behind. A carving on a bench, a drawing on the ground, a knitted heart hanging from the limb of a tree. And the notes. They are everywhere. It's almost as though once you really start looking you are finally able to see.

The truth is simple. You are never alone here. You matter.

A message from the Earth and the people who live here.

Divine Mookies

Last night the Sidekick was feeling peckish, so I adapted a recipe to make him something divine. Peanut butter chocolate chip oatmeal mookies. We are calling them mookies because I don't actually have a baking sheet and I baked the cookies in a muffin tin. Turned out perfect.

Here is the recipe!

Chocolate Chip Peanut Butter Oatmeal Mookies

Makes 18

Preheat oven 425
Ingredients

1/3 Cup - Smooth Peanut Butter
1 Cup - Sugar (white)

1/3 Cup - Coconut Milk (Or other non milky milk, like almond)
2 Tbsp - Canola Oil

1 Tsp - Vanilla Extract

1/8 Tsp - Almond Extract  

1 1/4 Cup - Flour 

3 Tbsp - Golden Flax (ground up)
1 Tsp - Baking Soda
1 Tsp - Salt
1/4 Cup - Chocolate chips 

1 Cup - Oats

1. Mix peanut butter, sugar, coconut milk, oil and extracts together until well combined.

2. Add baking soda, flax, salt, and flour and mix well. 

3. Fold in oats and chocolate chips. If there is too much liquid add a bit more flax.  

4. Lightly grease muffin tins and put a tablespoon of batter in each one, press down a bit. Do not fill past a 1/4 of the tin. 

5. Bake for 8-10 minutes, until the tops have a itsy bitsy bit of browning. 

Take out and transfer to a cooling rack. 

Simply delicious. 

I Turn Myself Off

Straight off the bat, I feel the need to address the misleading factor of the title to this post. While it completely makes sense, and certainly pertains to what I am about to say, the sexual undertones, or anti-sexual undertones, are many. I just wanted you know that I know it is deceptive. And also, I don't care.

Work exhausts me. Not my body. My body can keep going after work, but my brain is completely wiped out. I don't have a very cerebral job, either. So, why am I so tired? 

It's because I am 'on' at work. I am constantly talking, listening, understanding and trying to problem solve. I am aware of my surroundings and the people within it. These greetings and conversations, some small and uneventful, others deeper and more important, are draining for me. Don't be mistaken. I enjoy them. Well, for the most part I do, the particularly querulous bride I dealt with this morning certainly wasn't the highlight of my day. Still, I do love interacting with others. I genuinely am interested in the things they have to say, what is going on in their lives, and I appreciate the small glimpses I get into these people's existences.

But while I do like conversing and teasing and engaging with others, I am not equipped to do it all day, then go out and do it in the evening. Communicating with people doesn't energize me. 

In fact, it does the opposite. It drains me. 

At the beginning of the day, my battery is full and I am ready to tackle the next eight hours. But, as time passes, as I encounter more people, with each smile, greeting, telephone call, I become weaker. My energy gets used up. Until five o'clock comes around and I am mental-weary, dog-tired, and plum exhausted. At this point, I cannot fathom speaking to another living soul (except animals and the Sidekick). The idea alone of going out for dinner with colleagues or meeting up with friends for drinks is enough to send me to the brink of insanity. After a day of work, I am done. So, I toddle off home, where I can recharge myself for another day. 

People often confuse this need to be alone, this desire for solitude and appreciation of quite as antisocial behaviour, or not being friendly. This isn't the case at all. There just needs to be a certain amount of mental preparation for me in order to socialize on my own time. It does happen. I DO go out, from time to time, but it isn't a daily, or even weekly occurrence. Why? A lot of it comes down to being aware of what I need in order to stay happy and healthy. Because I have to engage at work every single day, I know I must keep my evenings and most of my weekends to myself (and the Sidekick, who thankfully understands how I work-sorta, kinda, maybe). 

On my own time, I turn myself off. 

This is where it might get baffling for some people. I don't need to be at home to turn myself off. I can be many different places  like the theatre, beach, or out in the forest. Anywhere I can be where I don't have to engage with others. Sometimes people walk by my yard when I am gardening and stop to chat. I have to turn myself on for these wandering souls, but it's okay, because I know they are going to go away eventually. For those five minutes I talk to them, I enjoy their company, but I relish the sight of them walking away. 

For a long time, I thought there was something wrong with me because of these behaviours. There isn't, though. I'm just introverted. It's hard for people to understand. How can someone who vlogs and blogs be an introvert? How can someone who is a receptionist be introverted? How can I go out and enjoy people's company and still call myself an introvert? Well, because I am one, and a lot people haven't a clue what being an introvert actually means. 

What I am grateful for is friends and family who understand my ways and my need for downtime. I am lucky I don't have to be turned on with the Sidekick. He doesn't require me to engage with him. We have our life. Our routine. We chat and laugh and act stupid, but I can be 'off' while doing so. This is probably because he himself has introverted tendencies. I am happy I don't have to worry about what I say around him. Well, okay, I kind of do, because he is a Cancer, but for the most part, he doesn't mind the way I am. 

And I don't mind the way I am either. 

And this made me laugh. 

Learning To Love My Thighs

I don't know when my hatred of my thighs started. As far back as I remember, I took notice of how big they are, especially compared to other people's. I remember being a little girl, sitting cross legged during gym class and feeling ashamed at the pudginess of them, their sheer thickness. And that was back when they were smooth and cute. The years haven't treated them kind and I have only been worse on them.

Let me make this clear, I don't obsess over my thighs, I don't lose sleep over them, but they are there and I have yet to warm up to them. Pocked with cellulite dimples, chunky, jiggly, forever kissing each other, these tree trunks have never been my favourite part of my body. I keep them hidden. Swimsuit season makes me cringe. I worry if my shorts are too short, or my skirts for that matter, and have avoided buying adorable clothes for fear my thighs will be on display to the world. Sometimes I wonder if they are as horrid to look at for everyone else as they are to me.

These are my secrets. The ones I hate to admit. It isn't easy talking about the body part I am most self-conscious of. But this is also the truth, and as I sit here, alone with my thighs, looking down at them with uncertainty and guilt, I realize this is utterly unfair. To them. Because these jiggly hammies have done so much for me. They have always gotten me where I needed to go - from point A to point B and beyond.

We have explored many lands - like New York, Ireland, California, Montana and Georgia - and never once did they refuse to do what I wanted. They have allowed me to wander streets and mountain trails and taken me down alleyways I never should have never entered in the first place. Together we have swam in the ocean, walked dogs, jumped on trampolines, and rode many bicycles. We have danced until dawn, drove hundreds of miles, gone up countless stairs, and back down them too. Every time I've gotten up, they've done it without complaint - well, unless it was squat day.  

More importantly, they have kept my hands warm on far too many occasions for me to keep track of.  

My thighs work hard. Harder than most of my other body parts - probably trumped only by my heart. They might not be the prettiest thighs ever to exist in this world, but they are strong. They never get tired. And, more than anything else, they have never let me down. They are reliable, determined, and unstoppable. They are the reason I  go for a four hour hikes without getting tired. They allow me to get up, walk around, go for a run, dance like an idiot in my living room, pretend I can kick box, tread water for hours and sleep in my favourite position at night.

This hatred I have for them is uncalled for. It's mean. They don't deserve it. In fact, they deserve better than what I've been giving them. I should be proud of them. They might be scarred and chubby and dimply, but they are my scarred, chubby, dimply thighs, and they are always functioning on a level the rest of my body should be ashamed of. I shouldn't be embarrassed of my thighs - I should be embracing them. 

So, from this day forth, I am going to show my thighs off, give them the attention they deserve. And they need a pat on the back. A little recognition. Some respect. And, even more so, love. It's time to stop hating and start appreciating. Because these are the only thighs I have and life is a hell of a lot easier with them. 

 

And here is a rare photo of my thighs. 

Love Songs

I love them. 

What's your favourite love song? 

This one is mine currently. Just because. Well, you know. 

Dropped The Ball

I totally meant to write a post earlier. Unfortunately, I didn't and it is now 11 at night. Oops.

So, because I dropped the ball, I have decided to share with you pictures from my walk/hike/run/jog today.

What can I say? I live in a beautiful place.

It Means Something To me

Not all my tattoos mean something. Sure, in the beginning, I dreamed of having all these meaningful pieces of art on my body. Images with stories behind them. Now, I just want some really badass tattoos. Colourful. Bold. Eye-catching. Beautiful. That's what I am looking for.

Still, it's nice to sneak a bit if meaning into a tattoo. 

For instance, my cabbage. When I first broached the subject to my Sidekick he was a little resistant. He'd never tattooed one before and there weren't a lot of examples out there. In the end, it worked well for the cover-up, turned out beautiful, and makes me smile. Who could ask for anything more? 

But how the hell does it mean something to me? Am I that obsessed with green leafy vegetables? Well, no. Not really. The thing is, it's for my father. Let me explain. My dad has a rose tattooed on his forearm. Over the years, the colour has all but faded, leaving behind black lines and shading. When I was younger than I am now, I used to call it a cabbage. Sure, he probably wasn't all that stoked about me calling it such, but over time, he started referring to it as a cabbage as well. 

So, when I decided to cover up my bunny, I thought to myself ... I need a cabbage. It pays homage to my father and reminds me of those moments. You know the ones. The good times. 

Growing up, I spent a lot of time with my dad. He worked afternoon shifts and I remember waking up when he got home and sitting with him as he ate his supper. We used to watch David Letterman. Then I would toddle back to bed. I used to get up on the weekends and go to garage sales with him. Flea Markets too. He used to always try to get me to haggle for things. I hated doing it. To this day, I refuse to haggle. I spent a lot of time with my dad. Fixing things. Working in the yard. Driving around in his Tercel or Mazda, listening to the Good Morning Vietnam soundtrack and eating licorice allsorts (which I don't think I ever really even liked). One birthday, he took me to Value Village and bought me like twenty different coloured polo-shirts, and I loved it.  

I am my father's daughter. Yeah, my teenage years were harder between us, but I think that's expected, right? I love my dad. He makes me laugh. And sometimes I just wish I knew him better as a person, you know? 

Anyhow, I have a cabbage and I will never forget why it's there. 

 Papa Smurf