Today, I am tired of myself.
Tired of my thoughts. They keep coming.
Tired of turning over the same feelings. The ones I don't even want to feel, but they surface anyhow.
Tired of hearing my own commentary. My own logic.
I am bored of my hopes and dreams.
Tired of my struggle.
It matters not what I think. How I feel. What I want.
None of the things I am hoping for will ever truly be mine.
And I am tired of letting go to have the same heroes and villains show up.
Tired of unpacking the traumas. It is exhausting to keep confronting and facing and trying too hard to let it just be. Because there's nothing I can do.
I know that.
Nothing.
All of this is nothing.
A blanket of nothing laid over a body of nothing that holds a nothing heart and nothing thoughts in a nothing head.
I am tired of myself today.
Tired of trying to be better.
Tired of trying to do better.
Tired of trying.
Today, I am tired.
Wednesday, April 22, 2020
Tuesday, January 1, 2019
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
Tuesday, October 3, 2017
Practice Makes Perfect
If I keep drawing I'll get better? That's what they say.
Prompt #2: Divide
Witches divide their potions up, right?
Prompt #2: Divide
Witches divide their potions up, right?
Monday, October 2, 2017
What The Fuck, October?
So, October is my favourite of all the months. It's the best time of year with indisputably the best holiday that isn't even a holiday, Halloween. I wait all year for October because I know, deep my bones, just the fact that it is October will make me feel better. About myself. About life. About the world. But let's just put the brakes on because it's the second today and things are pretty shit. Let me ignore the lower back pain I'm hobbling through and the fact my sweet demon toddler was up until five in the morning absolutely irrationally inconsolable.
A mass shooting in Vegas?
Tom Petty dying?
The shit show that is American politics which has become a norm to the point that people just aren't talking about it.
Seriously. No ... seriously?
We are supposed to be frolicking through leaves and hand-making costumes for parties where we will gorge on candy and watch horror movies.
Instead the horror movie is the world we live. I don't know. Maybe it's because my DivaCup is over-flowering or the fact I haven't had sugar or caffeine for four days, but fuck.
Yeah, I said it. Fuck.
Am I really contemplating sitting October out?
In other news, I am trying to do Inktober, even though I don't know how to draw.
Day 1
Prompt: Swift
A mass shooting in Vegas?
Tom Petty dying?
The shit show that is American politics which has become a norm to the point that people just aren't talking about it.
Seriously. No ... seriously?
We are supposed to be frolicking through leaves and hand-making costumes for parties where we will gorge on candy and watch horror movies.
Instead the horror movie is the world we live. I don't know. Maybe it's because my DivaCup is over-flowering or the fact I haven't had sugar or caffeine for four days, but fuck.
Yeah, I said it. Fuck.
Am I really contemplating sitting October out?
In other news, I am trying to do Inktober, even though I don't know how to draw.
Day 1
Prompt: Swift
Friday, June 16, 2017
Tonight
Tonight, I am lonely.
There is this colossal emptiness in my heart and in my home. The shadow that followed me through my day is gone. One minute he was here, and now ... he's not.
I thought I had longer. I thought we had longer. But we didn't. He didn't.
It's clichéd, but he was my best friend. I spent more time with him than most everyone. He loved me with a love that was greater than any I've known. Maybe any that I ever will know. He was loyal and kind and silly and such a dummy. But he was good ... even when he was bad.
All he wanted was love.
I hope he knew how truely cherished he was.
My days were built around him. His walks. His food. His health. His happiness. And his days were built around me. Where I was. When I'd be home. How long I'd be gone for. When I was with him, I was never alone because his eyes watched me. He followed me from room to room. And when I stepped outside he waited for me ... and often not very patiently.
Now there is no one watching me. No one hoping to steal a pat. A kiss. A hug. No one at my feet. No one by my bath. And I'm lonely without my shadow.
Dixon was part of me. A part of my identity. A massive part of my heart. A sizable chunk of my life. And now he's gone. Everything is a miss.
I am trying to think of all the good times. All the funny times. The frustratingly ridiculous times but my mind keeps turning to what's missing. What is no more.
No more puppy dreams. Water slurping. Droplets on the floor. Dew claw scratches. Cold nose kisses. Bath breath panting. Terrible flatulance. Paws dragging on the floor. Whipping tail. Soft ears. Big sighs. Leash pulling. Sporadic barking. Barrel chested hugs. Oversized lap dog. Couch rearranging. Garbage diving. Food stealing. Groaning. Visitor leg humping. Spooning. Banana sharing. Zoomies. Nail biting. Velveteen neck flaps. Wobbly lips. White tipped hairs on his tail. Excessive allergy scratching. Nobel air sniffs. Side-saddle sitting. Coffee table standing. Passenger seat navigation. Playtime dress up.
No more adventures.
He really was the best worst dog. And six years wasn't enough. Not for him. Not for me.
I'm lost and I don't know how to find my way without my trusty companion by my side.
Last night, I took him for his last walk. As we came dowm the train tracks, the sun broke the clouds and a rainbow appeared. Maybe it didn't mean anything but it seemed so fitting.
Goodbye, Dixon. My dummy. My doofus. My gentle nugget of love. My tank. My clumsy oaf. My trouble.
Goodbye, my shadow. Sleep peacefully and take my love wherever you go.
Goodbye, Dixon. My dummy. My doofus. My gentle nugget of love. My tank. My clumsy oaf. My trouble.
Goodbye, my shadow. Sleep peacefully and take my love wherever you go.
Thursday, March 23, 2017
The Dummy
I fell in love with Dixon first.
From the moment I saw him. It was love at first sight. I like to think on both our parts.
July 1st, 2012. It was swelteringly hot.
It was the first time the Sidekick and I met. He was driving up to Kelowna to pick up his newly adopted dog and I decided to go along for the ride because ... well, I love a good adventure and apparently had disregarded all those 'stranger danger' lessons I sat through in elementary school.
The road trip was awkward. Uncomfortable. The conversation oddly one-sided. At least on the ride back I had someone to talk to, Dixon. The dog. By the time I was dropped off at my house, I was sure I'd never hear from the Sidekick again, which was really sad, because I loved his dog. I even covertly snapped a blurry picture when our driver stopped for gas.
Now, for anyone who knows me, they might say I love all dogs. This is true. I do. I am a dog lover. But the affection I had for Dixon ran deeper than blanket dog-love. He reminded me of my first pup Patches - his big meaty head and stinky farts - and it was a miserable thought thinking I'd never see him again. Thankfully, that wasn't the case. And, as the story goes, I ended up falling in love with his Dad too. But this isn't about the Sidekick. It's about the big dummy.
Dixon.
So, yesterday was a terrible day. Dixon's diagnosis was confirmed. Cancer. Lymphoma. It's not a curable cancer. He's dying. And that sucks. Big time. Because Dixon is not only a big dummy. He's not just our family dog. He's my best buddy. He's my friend. My shadow. He fills every room he is in. And he isn't just a big presence because he's doofy and clumsy and snores like a fright train coming down the tracks. He's a big presence because he takes up every inch of my heart.
We spend a lot of time together, Dixon and I.
Over the years, we have adventured and explored a vast majority of the island together. If you see me out walking, it's a guarantee it's probably with Dixon in tow. I can't say for certain how many miles we've gone but suffice to say it's far. And the things we've seen and done - you wouldn't even believe it if I told you. He's rolled in rotting fish and deer, he's stood on a dead sea lion, and he's fetched a dildo out of a creek bed. He's been afraid of bridges, benches, and birds. We've found many buried treasures and witnessed breathtaking sunsets. We've climbed mountains, waded through rivers, swam in the ocean, slept on the ground, rolled in the grass, been drenched in the rain, clomped through snow, slipped on ice, and been spooked by random noises in the woods.
As much fun as Dixon has been, he's also been a world of heartache. From allergies to hematomas and everything in between, this guy has had me worrying from the word go. There was the inexplicable head tremors he experienced a couple years ago that had me laying awake at night just holding him tight. And let's not forget the ruptured ligament from six months ago that had him limping for half a year. There was the swollen mouth from a bee sting, a bug bite on his tail that made it swell up like a balloon, the chewing of the paws so the pads came off, and the constant scratching from allergies. Every time I turned around he was wounded somehow. It was almost as if he didn't know how to be healthy. When he was doing good, something inevitably would go wrong. He honestly is like an accident waiting to happen.
Even worse, he's destroyed so much. He literally chewed his way out of his crate! A metal crate! He's chewed Ray Bans, hats, doorknobs, shoes, Tupperware, and anything else he can get his mouth on. He chewed through doors people. Two of them. Right through two doors! Let's also factor in all the things he's eaten, like a tub of margarine, which he promptly puked up ... not in one go, of course, but in seventeen uniquely greasy piles. He's devoured loaves of bread and cookies and a bowl full of chocolate one Christmas. Just tonight he tried to sneak one of the Sidekick's cookies off the coffee table. He is a vacuum. A very sweet and lovely vacuum.
The memories are aplenty. I find myself reminiscing these days and my heart is so very heavy because I just can't even imagine what life will be like without his paws dragging on the floor, without his puppy dreams, without his whining at the door, without his zooming around after a poop, without his cold wet nose, without his tongue lapping up my bath, without his mooching, without his pulling on the leash, without his stepping on my feet, without him laying behind me while I cook, without his cleaning food off the floor, without his nose prints on the glass. Without his everything.
It's hard to focus on now and not dread what's to come. But I am determined and dedicated to making the rest of his life absolutely wonderful. I want him to have fun. Each and every day, I want to do something nice for him.More than anything, I want him to know he's loved. To feel loved.
Today is National Puppy Day. I never knew Dixon as a puppy. Sure, he's my puppers, but I never knew him as a little wee one because he was over a year old when we rescued him. Still, I celebrate him today. I celebrate the life we've lived and the life we are going to continue to lead. Above all, I celebrate the fact that we have time. Time to snuggle and kiss and walk and play. Time for me to bury my face in the meaty folds of his neck and weep. I don't know how much time, but if it's a day, I am thankful. If it's a week, I am grateful. And maybe we will get lucky and it will be months. Or even a year.
So, I have wrote out Dixon's To-Do List and each day we will tackle a couple things he loves to do. If you'd like to follow along and get to know this amazing guy a little better, you can do so on Dixon's Super Awesome Instagram Account. And if you don't have a dog and you are thinking about getting one. Don't. They are just heartbreak covered in fur.
From the moment I saw him. It was love at first sight. I like to think on both our parts.
July 1st, 2012. It was swelteringly hot.
It was the first time the Sidekick and I met. He was driving up to Kelowna to pick up his newly adopted dog and I decided to go along for the ride because ... well, I love a good adventure and apparently had disregarded all those 'stranger danger' lessons I sat through in elementary school.
The road trip was awkward. Uncomfortable. The conversation oddly one-sided. At least on the ride back I had someone to talk to, Dixon. The dog. By the time I was dropped off at my house, I was sure I'd never hear from the Sidekick again, which was really sad, because I loved his dog. I even covertly snapped a blurry picture when our driver stopped for gas.
 |
Dixon.
So, yesterday was a terrible day. Dixon's diagnosis was confirmed. Cancer. Lymphoma. It's not a curable cancer. He's dying. And that sucks. Big time. Because Dixon is not only a big dummy. He's not just our family dog. He's my best buddy. He's my friend. My shadow. He fills every room he is in. And he isn't just a big presence because he's doofy and clumsy and snores like a fright train coming down the tracks. He's a big presence because he takes up every inch of my heart.
We spend a lot of time together, Dixon and I.
Over the years, we have adventured and explored a vast majority of the island together. If you see me out walking, it's a guarantee it's probably with Dixon in tow. I can't say for certain how many miles we've gone but suffice to say it's far. And the things we've seen and done - you wouldn't even believe it if I told you. He's rolled in rotting fish and deer, he's stood on a dead sea lion, and he's fetched a dildo out of a creek bed. He's been afraid of bridges, benches, and birds. We've found many buried treasures and witnessed breathtaking sunsets. We've climbed mountains, waded through rivers, swam in the ocean, slept on the ground, rolled in the grass, been drenched in the rain, clomped through snow, slipped on ice, and been spooked by random noises in the woods.
As much fun as Dixon has been, he's also been a world of heartache. From allergies to hematomas and everything in between, this guy has had me worrying from the word go. There was the inexplicable head tremors he experienced a couple years ago that had me laying awake at night just holding him tight. And let's not forget the ruptured ligament from six months ago that had him limping for half a year. There was the swollen mouth from a bee sting, a bug bite on his tail that made it swell up like a balloon, the chewing of the paws so the pads came off, and the constant scratching from allergies. Every time I turned around he was wounded somehow. It was almost as if he didn't know how to be healthy. When he was doing good, something inevitably would go wrong. He honestly is like an accident waiting to happen.
Even worse, he's destroyed so much. He literally chewed his way out of his crate! A metal crate! He's chewed Ray Bans, hats, doorknobs, shoes, Tupperware, and anything else he can get his mouth on. He chewed through doors people. Two of them. Right through two doors! Let's also factor in all the things he's eaten, like a tub of margarine, which he promptly puked up ... not in one go, of course, but in seventeen uniquely greasy piles. He's devoured loaves of bread and cookies and a bowl full of chocolate one Christmas. Just tonight he tried to sneak one of the Sidekick's cookies off the coffee table. He is a vacuum. A very sweet and lovely vacuum.
The memories are aplenty. I find myself reminiscing these days and my heart is so very heavy because I just can't even imagine what life will be like without his paws dragging on the floor, without his puppy dreams, without his whining at the door, without his zooming around after a poop, without his cold wet nose, without his tongue lapping up my bath, without his mooching, without his pulling on the leash, without his stepping on my feet, without him laying behind me while I cook, without his cleaning food off the floor, without his nose prints on the glass. Without his everything.
It's hard to focus on now and not dread what's to come. But I am determined and dedicated to making the rest of his life absolutely wonderful. I want him to have fun. Each and every day, I want to do something nice for him.More than anything, I want him to know he's loved. To feel loved.
Today is National Puppy Day. I never knew Dixon as a puppy. Sure, he's my puppers, but I never knew him as a little wee one because he was over a year old when we rescued him. Still, I celebrate him today. I celebrate the life we've lived and the life we are going to continue to lead. Above all, I celebrate the fact that we have time. Time to snuggle and kiss and walk and play. Time for me to bury my face in the meaty folds of his neck and weep. I don't know how much time, but if it's a day, I am thankful. If it's a week, I am grateful. And maybe we will get lucky and it will be months. Or even a year.
So, I have wrote out Dixon's To-Do List and each day we will tackle a couple things he loves to do. If you'd like to follow along and get to know this amazing guy a little better, you can do so on Dixon's Super Awesome Instagram Account. And if you don't have a dog and you are thinking about getting one. Don't. They are just heartbreak covered in fur.
Obviously, you shouldn't listen to me and you should go adopt and rescue a puppers ASAP.
Saturday, December 31, 2016
Dear 2017
Dear 2017,
I know you're only just arriving and have barely had time to unpack your bags, but I want to head you off at the pass just in case you don't receive the hospitality you may be expecting. The truth is, you might need a little extra time to accustom yourself to the state of the world. Honestly, 2017, I fear you don't know what you're in store for, so I'm here to debrief you.
Right about now you may be noticing that 2016 hasn't been a great year for everyone. In fact, this is the most negative New Year's Eve I've ever been a witness to. Yes, there are a few unique individuals who had amazing years but the vast majority feel as though they've been thrown in a burlap sack and tied to the back of a bumper of a truck that happens to be off-roading on the most brutal terrain known to man.
It's been a rollercoaster ride. And not a new shiny rollercoaster but one of those rickety old wooden ones, the kind you truly think may fly off the rails at any given moment. So, 2017, I sincerely hope your not too discouraged and that you understand why so many people are eager to see 2016 laid to rest. The pressure is great and there is a lot resting on your shoulders.
For myself, it has been an incredible year of highs and lows. While I have watched in stunned silence as Britain voted to leave the European Union and America voted in Donald Trump, I have also been heartbroken over the Syrian war, the pipeline protests, horrific mass casualty attacks, and the water crisis in Michigan. More than anything, I am devastated by the fear and helplessness so many of my friends are experiencing and those emotions are truly reflected all over the globe.
On the other hand, I have my son. My beautiful, warm, charming, utterly hilarious son. This year has seen his first birthday, his first steps, his first solid foods, and first real words. He has brought me immeasurable love and joy which made this year better than so many of my previous ones. He is wickedly smart and so damn sweet. But he is also the reason why I am afraid.
You see, 2017, I am frightened of you. While people want to be rid of 2016 I'm scared that I will miss it by the end of next year. Of course, I want to be an optimist but the very real truth is we don't know what's coming down the pipe and what's to come might just be worse than what has been. And I look at my son and I worry about the world I've brought him into. I want him to know love and kindness. I want him to know understanding and compassion. I long for him to grow up in a world where he can be who he wants and love who he wants. I desperately want to believe we are good and that the good will stand up and defeat the bad but 2016 left me feeling that the bad guys won. That is unacceptable.
It's unacceptable not just for my son but for all of us. Don't we all want to live in a world where good wins?
Here's the thing. I can't change the world. I can't stop wars. I can't eradicate racism and homophobia. I can't wipe out poverty. Not on my own at least. Together we might be able to. It starts with our own backyard. And it starts with kindness.
Under normal circumstances, I don't do New Year's resolutions. But nothing about this last year has been normal. In the wake of 2016 and having witnessed so much unhappiness for others this year, maybe it's time. Here it goes...
My resolution is simple and not very unique.
I resolve to be kind.
First, I will be kind to myself. Because people who are kind to themselves are more likely to be kind to others. I will treat myself better and stop tearing myself down. Not only for myself but for my son. I don't want him growing up witnessing his mother being mean to herself. I want to show him how to love and respect himself and that can't be done when I'm appalled at my gargantuan thighs or calling my writing gutter trash.
Next, I will be kind to my friends and family. To the people who love me and never ask me to change or be someone I'm not. I will work to engage with them and give my love, understanding, compassion, and humor. I will not judge them or criticize because I know they have already judged and criticized themselves enough.
I will be kind to the Earth and all the creatures on it. I will be kind to the trees and the animals and the bees and the spiders.
And lastly, I will be kind to the people I encounter throughout my day. I will hold doors and smile. I will offer kind words. I will strive to connect and have genuine moments with strangers and acquaintances alike. I will offer friendship to people from all walks of life in hopes of teaching my son the value of each person. My kindness will not be subjective and it will not be complacent. It will be strong and determined. It will be formidable. In kindness, I will stand up for what's right and strive to provide a safe place for anyone who needs it.
So, 2017, I may not be able to change the world or the outcome you have in store but I can change my backyard. I can change every interaction I have. And I can change how I move through life. From today and onwards, even in the face of grief and anger and frustration, I will work to be kind. For myself. For my son. For the earth. For everyone.
I know you're only just arriving and have barely had time to unpack your bags, but I want to head you off at the pass just in case you don't receive the hospitality you may be expecting. The truth is, you might need a little extra time to accustom yourself to the state of the world. Honestly, 2017, I fear you don't know what you're in store for, so I'm here to debrief you.
Right about now you may be noticing that 2016 hasn't been a great year for everyone. In fact, this is the most negative New Year's Eve I've ever been a witness to. Yes, there are a few unique individuals who had amazing years but the vast majority feel as though they've been thrown in a burlap sack and tied to the back of a bumper of a truck that happens to be off-roading on the most brutal terrain known to man.
It's been a rollercoaster ride. And not a new shiny rollercoaster but one of those rickety old wooden ones, the kind you truly think may fly off the rails at any given moment. So, 2017, I sincerely hope your not too discouraged and that you understand why so many people are eager to see 2016 laid to rest. The pressure is great and there is a lot resting on your shoulders.
For myself, it has been an incredible year of highs and lows. While I have watched in stunned silence as Britain voted to leave the European Union and America voted in Donald Trump, I have also been heartbroken over the Syrian war, the pipeline protests, horrific mass casualty attacks, and the water crisis in Michigan. More than anything, I am devastated by the fear and helplessness so many of my friends are experiencing and those emotions are truly reflected all over the globe.
On the other hand, I have my son. My beautiful, warm, charming, utterly hilarious son. This year has seen his first birthday, his first steps, his first solid foods, and first real words. He has brought me immeasurable love and joy which made this year better than so many of my previous ones. He is wickedly smart and so damn sweet. But he is also the reason why I am afraid.
You see, 2017, I am frightened of you. While people want to be rid of 2016 I'm scared that I will miss it by the end of next year. Of course, I want to be an optimist but the very real truth is we don't know what's coming down the pipe and what's to come might just be worse than what has been. And I look at my son and I worry about the world I've brought him into. I want him to know love and kindness. I want him to know understanding and compassion. I long for him to grow up in a world where he can be who he wants and love who he wants. I desperately want to believe we are good and that the good will stand up and defeat the bad but 2016 left me feeling that the bad guys won. That is unacceptable.
It's unacceptable not just for my son but for all of us. Don't we all want to live in a world where good wins?
Here's the thing. I can't change the world. I can't stop wars. I can't eradicate racism and homophobia. I can't wipe out poverty. Not on my own at least. Together we might be able to. It starts with our own backyard. And it starts with kindness.
Under normal circumstances, I don't do New Year's resolutions. But nothing about this last year has been normal. In the wake of 2016 and having witnessed so much unhappiness for others this year, maybe it's time. Here it goes...
My resolution is simple and not very unique.
I resolve to be kind.
First, I will be kind to myself. Because people who are kind to themselves are more likely to be kind to others. I will treat myself better and stop tearing myself down. Not only for myself but for my son. I don't want him growing up witnessing his mother being mean to herself. I want to show him how to love and respect himself and that can't be done when I'm appalled at my gargantuan thighs or calling my writing gutter trash.
Next, I will be kind to my friends and family. To the people who love me and never ask me to change or be someone I'm not. I will work to engage with them and give my love, understanding, compassion, and humor. I will not judge them or criticize because I know they have already judged and criticized themselves enough.
I will be kind to the Earth and all the creatures on it. I will be kind to the trees and the animals and the bees and the spiders.
And lastly, I will be kind to the people I encounter throughout my day. I will hold doors and smile. I will offer kind words. I will strive to connect and have genuine moments with strangers and acquaintances alike. I will offer friendship to people from all walks of life in hopes of teaching my son the value of each person. My kindness will not be subjective and it will not be complacent. It will be strong and determined. It will be formidable. In kindness, I will stand up for what's right and strive to provide a safe place for anyone who needs it.
So, 2017, I may not be able to change the world or the outcome you have in store but I can change my backyard. I can change every interaction I have. And I can change how I move through life. From today and onwards, even in the face of grief and anger and frustration, I will work to be kind. For myself. For my son. For the earth. For everyone.
Monday, October 10, 2016
Ho-Hum
Lately I've been knee-deep in a blue sort of feeling and it's so strange. So encompassing. So heavy. So unwanted, truthfully. Thick as mud and just as hard to get out of. Damn wheels are stuck and we all know I'm rear-wheel drive.
Usually, October is my jam. Pumpkins and horror movies, sweaters and new seasonal colour palette - that riot of orange, yellow, red and brown, what's not to love? What's not to celebrate? Every other year, I've looked forward to saying goodbye to summer (good riddance, summer, with your tiresome heat that causes my meaty thighs to chafe) and hello to Autumn (Hello, warm blankets and big mugs of hot tea (well, actually, lukewarm tea. If you know me at all, you know I don't drink my tea while it is hot. It's a quirk, I suppose).
Except, this year is different. (You know how I am not equipped to handle different)
At first, I thought it was because of the baby boy's first birthday. Yes, he turned one. (Certainly I deserve some sort of praise and cake for this?) And yes, I was unusually emotional. Like the weepiest of all the weepers. I couldn't believe how often I welled up at the thought of him turning a year old. It was, to say the least, headache inducing and annoying. (You know how I am when it comes to feeling the feels.) I thought, for sure, I was being ridiculous, but word on the street is that being a mother is a very emotional business. In truth, I am not cut out for all these feelings. They are exhausting. So, I was sad. Very sad. But also hugely happy and excited about the baby boy turning one. After all, we made it a whole year together. It was both a blink of an eye and the longest period of time simultaneously.
That was back in August. In September, I chalked it up to the change of seasons and the lack of warmth. Rainy days are great for reading a book but not so wonderful for adventuring with the wee one. We try to get out and explore for a couple hours a day. Hard to do that when the heavens are throwing a temper-tantrum of epic proportions.
Still, I thought for sure once October hit, I would be back to my joyous self. Actually, no one has ever used the word 'joyous' to describe me. So, let's not get too hyperbolic. Exaggeration is fine in moderation. Lo and behold, I did not feel excited about October. In fact, it turns out, I became even more morose. Confounding, I know.
Still, I thought for sure once October hit, I would be back to my joyous self. Actually, no one has ever used the word 'joyous' to describe me. So, let's not get too hyperbolic. Exaggeration is fine in moderation. Lo and behold, I did not feel excited about October. In fact, it turns out, I became even more morose. Confounding, I know.
Now, it's ten days in, and I've yet to shake this melancholic mood. It's Thanksgiving today and I have many things to be thankful for. I try to focus on that, but you know how sadness creeps in until it has coated everything with its weepy residue and no matter where you sit or stand you get it all over you. The truth is, I don't foresee a turn around in mood any time soon because, and I know this is going to come as a shock, I am moving again (YES, AGAIN). And I started thinking, maybe this is why I wasn't enjoying October in my typical Halloween obsessed fashion.
Even though we have a crazy landlady and an ant problem, I actually like living here. I have good memories. Like the most important recent life-changing memory ... baby boy's arrival home. This was his first home and, for some weird reason that I'm sure other mothers can understand, I am sad to say goodbye to it. I know in my heart our next home will be just that, our home, but this one is special because we spent so much time together here. We grew so much here. I became a completely different person here. And that's the most truth I have written in a very long time.
I learned to love another human unconditionally here. This is where my universe shifted. In this house, where I write this, I became a mom. I figured out how to be a mother. And I brought my son here. He learned to crawl here. He learned to say 'mom' here. He learned to eat food here. He learned to walk here. His first smile was here. My life was given new meaning here.
If that won't trip you up and make you feel a bit sombre, I don't know what will.
Also, the house we are moving into at the end of the month is much smaller (cozier).
Do you know what a smaller home means? Less space.
So, I have been purging. And by purging, I mean throwing out my life. You wouldn't believe the things I've gotten rid of. There is still so much more to go through. It's daunting, really. I have donated, consigned, sold and thrown out so much of my life. So many things I was holding on to. At first, when I found myself knee deep in sentimentality, this was hard. Really hard. I felt as if I couldn't let anything go because I'd be hurting someone, or myself. That I would be letting go of who I was. The girl I used to be.
And you know what ... sometimes you need to do just that.
When I seriously started to get down to business, when I stopped moping and getting all boo-hoo over this junk, when I finally pulled my purge pants on and actually started giving things away, selling them, throwing them out - it got easier. With each thing I donated, it was easier to toss something else. Until, I looked around and thought, Well, shit, this is all just stuff.
Now when I look through a box labelled 'my past', I don't see the people I used to love or memories we shared. I see things. Things that have been sitting and collecting dust. And some of these things I have moved around with me since I was seventeen years old! Do you know how many moves that is? Let me think ... Surrey, New West, Main, 14th, back to Surrey, another place in Surrey, to the Island, and to here ... that's eight damn moves! And do you think I even opened those boxes? Or went through that stuff?
Big. Fat. Nope.
So goodbye pirate shirt, I might fit you again but I will never wear you. Goodbye ex-boyfriend boxes full of twenty page love letters and mixed tapes. Goodbye scrap books of ticket stubs and weird advertisements. Goodbye jewellery I've had since I was sixteen, no one needs three dog chain choker necklaces. Goodbye wedding dress with the wine stain from Leppy. Goodbye random tooth I had pulled when I was eighteen. Goodbye first tattoo design which I seriously regret having now. Goodbye all this crap.
Because these things may serve as memories, but you know what else does. My memories. In my brain. I still have them. They are all stored up there in meticulous order. And if one day I no longer have my memories, then these items will be useless anyhow!
Okay, so maybe I know why I'm in a funk. Birthday. Moving. All this change. And I know I am terrible with change. There's been so much of it in the last couple years - the business, the baby, the job. It's basically been a complete overhaul. And now all this purging - it's hard work, you know. I suppose even the brightest beam of sunshine might be disenchanted by this act. All these items, they fill up our lives, don't they? It's almost as though this stuff defines us in some weird way. It is nice to have a few trinkets to hold onto to remind us of who we once were and how we got to this point. But we are not the same people we used to be and, you know what, it is okay to let that person go. I think letting go of who you once were is freeing because you no longer have to compare yourself to her.
You can simply be who you are now. And maybe that's something I can look forward to.
Then I can start working towards the girl I want to be.*
*a girl who isn't in a funk
And now a picture to sum up the chaotic beauty of my life:
Monday, June 6, 2016
Miscommunication
Sometimes we say things and, even though we say them correctly, they aren't heard that way. When you live with someone, you're bound to experience some form of miscommunication. I try to enunciate and speak loudly, but there are times I get lazy and a mumble comes out. If all else fails, I have been known to get my point across with dancing, wild gesticulations, and exaggerated facial expressions.
Still, there are times when the Sidekick and I are not on the same page.
Here is one of those occasions.
It was a hot and balmy evening last July and I sat in the groove of the couch where my bum fit so perfectly because I'd been working diligently to build a nest. My nearly eight month pregnant form hugged a pint of non-dairy ice cream between my thighs and I stared at the television, intently binge watching Call the Midwife. Like any good spouse, I often regaled the goings-on of the show to the Sidekick. Not because he cared but because that's what we do.
We talk at each other about television, sports, music, people and events the other person doesn't really care about but has to listen and respond because that's what a relationship is all about. Listening to crap you don't want to know just because the person telling you is someone you love.
Anyhow, on this such evening, I was thoroughly engrossed in the midwifery, most likely because Chummy was being the chummiest chum , when who should enter the room? The Sidekick.
He comes in and asks, "Which one's Carl?"
"Excuse me," I say, partly because I was so focused on the show but also because I thought I misheard him.
"Which one's Carl?" he repeats.
Of course, I do what anyone would do in this situation, I simply stare at him waiting for more information to which he says, "Carl the Midwife! Which one is Carl?"
Blink. Blink.
"It's Call the Midwife!" I exclaim. "Not Carl!"
And to this day, whenever I need a laugh, I remember how the Sidekick thought I was watching a show about some dude named Carl running around trying to be a midwife.
So, you see. If 'call' can be 'Carl' then surely other words can be masquerading about causing issues where there shouldn't really be one. Suddenly, "Honey, can you grab some peas?" turns into "Honey, can you stab the police?" and we are in a mighty strange predicament.
In the end, always speak clearly and, if possible, write it out on a sign.
Still, there are times when the Sidekick and I are not on the same page.
Here is one of those occasions.
It was a hot and balmy evening last July and I sat in the groove of the couch where my bum fit so perfectly because I'd been working diligently to build a nest. My nearly eight month pregnant form hugged a pint of non-dairy ice cream between my thighs and I stared at the television, intently binge watching Call the Midwife. Like any good spouse, I often regaled the goings-on of the show to the Sidekick. Not because he cared but because that's what we do.
We talk at each other about television, sports, music, people and events the other person doesn't really care about but has to listen and respond because that's what a relationship is all about. Listening to crap you don't want to know just because the person telling you is someone you love.
Anyhow, on this such evening, I was thoroughly engrossed in the midwifery, most likely because Chummy was being the chummiest chum , when who should enter the room? The Sidekick.
He comes in and asks, "Which one's Carl?"
"Excuse me," I say, partly because I was so focused on the show but also because I thought I misheard him.
"Which one's Carl?" he repeats.
Of course, I do what anyone would do in this situation, I simply stare at him waiting for more information to which he says, "Carl the Midwife! Which one is Carl?"
Blink. Blink.
"It's Call the Midwife!" I exclaim. "Not Carl!"
And to this day, whenever I need a laugh, I remember how the Sidekick thought I was watching a show about some dude named Carl running around trying to be a midwife.
So, you see. If 'call' can be 'Carl' then surely other words can be masquerading about causing issues where there shouldn't really be one. Suddenly, "Honey, can you grab some peas?" turns into "Honey, can you stab the police?" and we are in a mighty strange predicament.
In the end, always speak clearly and, if possible, write it out on a sign.
My photo-shopping skills are incomparable.
Tuesday, May 17, 2016
Mental Health Awareness
To be honest, I've always been a fairly anxious creature. I have, in fact, perfected the art of worrying and I grow more adept at it as time passes, especially now that motherhood is in the mix. There are times when the walls of reality seem to be closing in on me and I have no idea how I will escape being crushed by circumstance. When I should be sleeping, I lay awake and think of scenario after scenario of failure and conjure up horrible what-ifs. Certainly not every night, but enough to cause a bit of concern. You see, no matter how tired I am, my brain refuses to rest ... and it's exhausting. Though it is hard to admit, I am afraid of what is, what could be, and perhaps a little of what was. I second-guess and doubt as effectively as any worrisome warrior or neurotic ninja. And truthfully, I know this obsessive worrying isn't healthy. I tell myself to stop but I've always hated being told what to do.
So, why am I mentioning it?
May is mental health awareness month. And we should be talking about it.
See, it's hard to confront one's own demons, to put bare our troubles and seek help, but these matters of the mind are nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, they are more common than one might think. For we all struggle, even the most bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Why? Because life isn't easy. This society we've built and the rules we've created can make it impossible to see the light through the darkness.
It's easy to become trapped under the weight of our own neurosis, to allow our depression and anxiety to suffocate rational thinking. In this world we exist, it's easy to lose touch with those we love. And sometimes it is second nature to feel alone.
When we are stuck beneath the tar of self-hate and uncertainty it is easy to stop talking and withdrawal. It becomes normal to think no one is listening. So we turn ourselves inwards and allow that tiny voice in the back of our heads to fill our existence with irrational thoughts. All of a sudden simple things like going out or dialing a number is a mountain we have to climb.
And sometimes you don't have the energy to put your shoes on or change your underwear let alone scale a mountain.
Don't let that little voice dictate your world.
Allow conversations to happen for they can change an outcome. Communication is a luxury we don't always utilize because sometimes the simple act of sharing is terrifying. But without talking, without telling the truth about the monsters hiding under our beds and lurking in the closet, we will never touch the lives of anyone else.
If I can help someone feel a little less alone and perhaps a little closer to the light, then maybe the sleepless nights are worth something.
So, why am I mentioning it?
May is mental health awareness month. And we should be talking about it.
See, it's hard to confront one's own demons, to put bare our troubles and seek help, but these matters of the mind are nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, they are more common than one might think. For we all struggle, even the most bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Why? Because life isn't easy. This society we've built and the rules we've created can make it impossible to see the light through the darkness.
It's easy to become trapped under the weight of our own neurosis, to allow our depression and anxiety to suffocate rational thinking. In this world we exist, it's easy to lose touch with those we love. And sometimes it is second nature to feel alone.
When we are stuck beneath the tar of self-hate and uncertainty it is easy to stop talking and withdrawal. It becomes normal to think no one is listening. So we turn ourselves inwards and allow that tiny voice in the back of our heads to fill our existence with irrational thoughts. All of a sudden simple things like going out or dialing a number is a mountain we have to climb.
And sometimes you don't have the energy to put your shoes on or change your underwear let alone scale a mountain.
Don't let that little voice dictate your world.
Allow conversations to happen for they can change an outcome. Communication is a luxury we don't always utilize because sometimes the simple act of sharing is terrifying. But without talking, without telling the truth about the monsters hiding under our beds and lurking in the closet, we will never touch the lives of anyone else.
If I can help someone feel a little less alone and perhaps a little closer to the light, then maybe the sleepless nights are worth something.
Thursday, April 21, 2016
Screw You, Fitbit
Listen here, Fitbit.
You might be able to guilt me into getting my fat ass outside to do some laps around the neighbourhood every morning. You might have even been able to dupe me into walking until I hit ten thousand steps every day. Hell, I even fell for your badges and weekly step counter!
But there is no way in hell you will ever trick me into cleaning!
You might be able to guilt me into getting my fat ass outside to do some laps around the neighbourhood every morning. You might have even been able to dupe me into walking until I hit ten thousand steps every day. Hell, I even fell for your badges and weekly step counter!
But there is no way in hell you will ever trick me into cleaning!
Saturday, February 6, 2016
This Is Not A Mummy Blog
While the little one sleeps, I'm stealing a moment to update my very loved and completely neglected blog. But if I loved it so, would I neglect it in this fashion? Sure. I think of it like long lost friends - the ones who, no matter how long you are apart, act the same when they see you again. Some bonds you simply cannot break. This blog is one of those bonds. For crying out loud, I've had this damn thing since 2006. That's ten years!
Ten years of blogging. Someone get me a medal. No seriously. Do you know how many people start blogs and abandon them without care or concern? Thousands. There are literally thousands of lost blogs floating around the interweb with one or two posts and then - nothing. How tragic. And yet, here I am. Still plugging away on what use to be That Girl Tyson. Sure, I only posted a handful of times last year, but I posted 339 times in 2014. That's almost a blog a day, which is actually what I was going for.
Trust me when I say there is a lot of hidden content on here. After ten years, there are probably close to a hundred posts I've turned to drafts again in hopes of them being forever forgotten. Not simply because there were riddled with poor grammar, which they were, but because they are too private or silly. Either or. The others I've gone back and re-edited, hoping to clear away the errors.
In fact, I just edited my last post and found four errors. Unacceptable. I can't believe I hit publish without correcting 'excitement' and 'friendships'. I even misspelled 'will'. It's a four letter word, how the hell did I misspell it? Probably something to do with sleep deprivation and carb-overdosing. Yes, I don't sleep enough and I am eating too much food. Some will say I need the food to create the milk to feed the babe, but the truth is my breasts are a big dodgy and have issues sustaining life. Long story short, this isn't a mummy blog. So we will end that right here.
The point of this post is to tell you this isn't going to be all about my wee infant. I am not going to post photos and updates, and talk about the pros and cons of motherhood. There will be no tricks to putting a babe to sleep or ways to make the bitty one stop bawling, I don't know those types of things anyway. Isn't the best approach to simply repeat "please stop crying" and "please go to sleep" over and over? Or am I doing this wrong.
So, this ins't a mummy blog, as the title states. Except, the problem is, he's currently my entire existence. Whenever I get to thinking about writing a little blip here, it's always about him. I have five drafts I simply didn't share with you because it's all about him and his perfect mouth and hands and bum and eyes. And then there are those times I want to write about the birth. Mostly, I think, because I still have PTSD from his entrance into the world and, well, I want to talk about all the gory details. Just to put them down somewhere. Because people always say you forget the details of the birth and, quite frankly, I don't want to. I want to remember everything, from the sound my waters made when they broke them to the poop I left behind on the floor. Too much information? Sorry not sorry. Birthing is beautiful. It's disgustingly beautiful. Horrifically beautiful. Batshit beautiful.
Batshit beautiful. Now, that's a saying I can see catching on. I'm trademarking it.
To clear things up, I don't have anything against mummy blogs, except for the fact that I don't think people really want to read them. I mean, I've read my fair share as I try to stumble through being a mom, but everything has already been said about parenting. I certainly don't have anything worthy to add. So, I promise I won't write about the Timbit all the time - but sometimes, yes, because I can't help myself! The thing is, just because he consumes my life right now doesn't mean I won't have other thoughts later. I suppose I am making a promise. Not just to you, but to myself as well. I promise to write again. Not only blogs but novels and stories too. I am determined to be creative. Maybe not right now, but it's coming. Big things are coming. I can feel it in my bones. And on that day, watch out.
Ten years and I am still toiling away. Labour of love, indeed. Actually, October is my true ten year anniversary here, according to my first posted blog. So, I suppose I'll throw a party then and someone will get me a tin gift. It's tin for ten years right?
I'm sure I will have become a big, successful, household named author by then. Go ahead, laugh with me.
Thursday, December 31, 2015
What A Year
I'm still here, even though it feels as though I've been floating outside myself for most of this year. Honestly, I will never be able to top the sheer craziness and wonderment the past 12 months has brought. With all the changes, life is completely different and yet I am the same person even though my reason for existing has shifted and turned me into a bit of a mess.
The world itself is a bit scarier and bigger, while my personal bubble has shrunk down to a tiny being with an impish smirk. Though the scariness remains the same. Big and small, how can the world be both at the same time? An eternal mystery.
I am me. Who I've always been. A little broken and a bit childish. And yet I am mother now. Mama. Mum. Even though I had 9 months to come to terms and understand this, it is still wholey unexpected and I dare say new every morning.
I cannot say what 2016 will bring but I have hopes.
Hopes for more love and kindness and excitement. Hopes for old friendships and new. Hopes to perhaps return to writing. Hopes to continue adventuring through the woods and across the world with the Timbit wrapped up close to me. Hopes for cake and hot baths.
Hopes for happiness.
2015 saw me breathing life into new person, wise beyond his four months, and watching him come into the world is more magical and frightening and wonderful than any other thing. For that, this year will go down in history. My history.
Huh. I have a history!
Happy New Year!
The world itself is a bit scarier and bigger, while my personal bubble has shrunk down to a tiny being with an impish smirk. Though the scariness remains the same. Big and small, how can the world be both at the same time? An eternal mystery.
I am me. Who I've always been. A little broken and a bit childish. And yet I am mother now. Mama. Mum. Even though I had 9 months to come to terms and understand this, it is still wholey unexpected and I dare say new every morning.
I cannot say what 2016 will bring but I have hopes.
Hopes for more love and kindness and excitement. Hopes for old friendships and new. Hopes to perhaps return to writing. Hopes to continue adventuring through the woods and across the world with the Timbit wrapped up close to me. Hopes for cake and hot baths.
Hopes for happiness.
2015 saw me breathing life into new person, wise beyond his four months, and watching him come into the world is more magical and frightening and wonderful than any other thing. For that, this year will go down in history. My history.
Huh. I have a history!
Happy New Year!
Thursday, November 19, 2015
Magic
I believe in magic.
Today, I walked past the ocean and ventured into the woods. The earth was damp from the tears Mother Nature shed the night before, leaving behind a sodden pathway and the most invigorating scent. And as I walked, I noticed the raindrops hanging off the withered leaves and bare branches. They sparkled in the sunshine, reminding me of the white lights we adorn our trees with, and I stopped to take notice.
It's easy not to notice. Easy to keep walking. Have headphones in and our eyes on our shoes. It's easy to pass the magic right on by.
No one has to tell winter to come. No one has to tell the season to change. The cycle continues no matter what. It turns and the warmth leaves as the cold rushes in. The year goes by. Leaves fall, only to grow again when spring returns.
This is magic.
To smell a new day. To hear the birds playing in the underbrush. To see the life of fungi poking up among the decay of Fall and to hold leaves bigger than our heads in our hands. To exist and be a part of something out of our control, something that will continue no matter what we do or say.
Magic is all around me.
Today, I walked past the ocean and ventured into the woods. The earth was damp from the tears Mother Nature shed the night before, leaving behind a sodden pathway and the most invigorating scent. And as I walked, I noticed the raindrops hanging off the withered leaves and bare branches. They sparkled in the sunshine, reminding me of the white lights we adorn our trees with, and I stopped to take notice.
It's easy not to notice. Easy to keep walking. Have headphones in and our eyes on our shoes. It's easy to pass the magic right on by.
No one has to tell winter to come. No one has to tell the season to change. The cycle continues no matter what. It turns and the warmth leaves as the cold rushes in. The year goes by. Leaves fall, only to grow again when spring returns.
This is magic.
To smell a new day. To hear the birds playing in the underbrush. To see the life of fungi poking up among the decay of Fall and to hold leaves bigger than our heads in our hands. To exist and be a part of something out of our control, something that will continue no matter what we do or say.
Magic is all around me.
Friday, August 28, 2015
Newsworthy - Or So I Think
The news is slowly creeping out, spreading to the far reaches of the world (a bit of a hyperbole), and is being met with astonishment, happiness, uncertainty and a bit of disbelief. Some people are over-the-moon, while there are those who are nursing hurt feelings, put off by being kept in the dark. It's hard to understand, I suppose, why one would keep the most wonderful thing they've ever done to themselves and their small inner circle. All these emotions are perfectly normal, but even though I can understand them, my little masterpiece is just that - my little masterpiece.
In the beginning, I wanted to keep it hush-hush because it was new and scary. I wasn't sure how it was going to turn out, what the outcome would be, and all that mattered was keeping it close to me. As time went by, I realized this was our experience, the Sidekick's and mine, and it wasn't necessary to share it with the entire world. Really, in the past nine months, the entire world has been just the two three of us. It didn't matter what other people thought. I didn't care to share it with everyone because I wanted to keep it to myself. It was my secret to revel in and enjoy. It was my journey.
Yes, I could have posted belly photos and foetal updates, which many people do and is perfectly fine, except it was intimate for me. It was something I wanted to experience without the pressure of other opinions. Besides, I've always felt to live happily and healthily in this world one must keep a modicum of anonymity. Sounds crazy, huh? The girl who blogs and vlogs, who puts her face and words out into the world, actually advocates the power of privacy. This isn't a new thing. I've always felt this way and worked diligently to protect the privacy of friends, family and myself.
We are so accustomed to seeing every part of everyone's lives and it's weird when we aren't in the loop. But I am a firm believer the loop isn't for everyone. The loop isn't intended for every Tom, Dick and Henry. The loop isn't made for all the people you have ever known, ever will know, and may know in the future. With social media comes responsibility. We are responsible for what we post, who we allow to see it, how safe we keep ourselves, and some of us open ourselves to be vulnerable in a space where vulnerability can be exploited. We've all seen someone (or many someones) post about the lack of support, love, responses, attention their updates receive. That's because even when you have nine billion friends on Facebook, you can still be overlooked, missed, and ignored. Quantity really is no replacement for quality, and that applies to social media and networking too. In private moments of need we turn to those people in our loop and if your loop includes everyone then you are going to end up being disappointed and, probably, feeling alone.
My loop is reserved for those who have supported and loved me, shown me friendship in the dark times and celebrated in the light with me.
Maybe this is hard for people to understand. Or maybe I'm making complete sense, for once in my life. But if anyone is taking it personally, please don't. It isn't personal - not for you. For me, it is. Very personal. For the Sidekick, too. And the Timbit, who came three weeks early and is utter perfection. Like I said, this is the most wonderful (and hard) thing I have ever done and I cannot tell you how incredible it has been. I am proud to be a mother. Incredibly in love with the little man who is sleeping soundly on my right side as I write this. And thoroughly amazed our family unit has grown. It's all so surreal.
It's all so amazing.
Monday, June 15, 2015
My Water Is Boiling Over
It feels like improper etiquette to disappear from blogging for ages only to pop up with a moan. I most likely could have come up with some fluff to post before the ho-hum of this post. Perhaps some marshmallow fluffiness to make you smile. Then again, if you can't be starkly honest on your blog, then where the hell can you? Fluffiness be damned.
For a long time, I used this space as a safe place to sound off and order my thoughts, to mend the rough mental path I was on. At one point, I totally found my way through the darkness and, I think, with some work, I'll get there again. When I reread those posts, I stumble through all those life changing realizations, only to come to the understanding that I am not happy. Not now. Not today.
Well, that's depressing to see in this Georgia font so plain and out there.
Allow me to follow up with an amendment to that unpleasant factoid, I do have happy moments - sometimes often, sometimes many, but at the core of my everyday life, I am not happy. I am exhausted and worried, frustrated and lost. And honestly, I think this is how a lot of people feel. I do not think I am exceptional in my uncertainty or unique in my weariness. Quite the opposite, really. I think I am like most people. I am bumbling along, not sure what I am doing, trying to make a better situation for myself, holding out hope it will change, and I am making the right decisions. I don't know, though, not for sure.
The funny think about happy moments? Those glimmering moments of happiness and freedom, the shiny spots in an otherwise scuffed and worn out life, are enough ... for now. Eventually, they will stop being enough, and I am hoping I can find my way back to peacefulness before they cease helping me out of bed and putting me to sleep.
This is not a red flag. One does not need to send the cavalry to help, or post me care packages, nor do you have to fret over whether I will be okay. Because isn't that what we do? We push and pull through, we figure it out and solve the puzzle, we work through it.
It's like boiling water. How you set a pot on the stove, turn on the heat and think to yourself how much time you have before it boils. You go off to fold the laundry, sweep the house, or open a small business, and when you come back those miniature bubbles are forming, and you think, "Boy, it takes a long time for water to boil, I'll go finish up a few other things." So, you set to it, trying to get as much done as you can, even though you know there is a pot on the stove, and it is going to boil. I mean, it's a certainty, barring the electric being shut off, or you running out of gas, if you have one of those types of ranges - you know that water is going to boil. Except, somewhere between driving a thousand kilometres a week, working six of the last seven days, and trying to prepare for the unpreparable (not a real word), you've forgotten about the pot and, low and behold, it's boiling over, the water spilling down the sides and hissing out its anger on the unforgiving element. You run for it, to take it off the heat, salvage the water inside, but sometimes it boils dry and you ruin a perfectly good pot.
Well, my water is boiling over. And this post is me running to shut off the heat and save a perfectly good pot. As I sit here in my truck, parked at the side of the road, watching the sun and smelling the ocean, I know life isn't terrible, but that doesn't stop it from feeling terrible at times. Sometimes I simply hate self reflection.
Friday, April 17, 2015
A Little Forethought Goes A Long Way
So, Michael Buble posted a photo of an unsuspecting woman in short-shorts on his Instagram with him smirking away in the foreground as her cheeky-cheeks winked cheekily in the background. He even dressed the post up with some hashtags about her hungry albeit beautiful bum and it turned out to be the internet news of the day. A lot of people are perplex about why this is a big deal, a few are wondering where the cries of 'body-shaming' are coming from, and some are wondering why his post has garnered such attention, especially when the post was intended to be complimentary.
After removing the controversial picture, Mr. Buble posted a statement about how he would never intentionally be 'insulting to a human' and how he thought women should be 'loved, celebrated and respected'. Well, I call bullshit, and this why what he did is unacceptable, rude, sexist and disconcerting (to me, at least).
1. A lot of opinionated folks feel the only reason Mr. Buble is getting flack is because he's famous. In a lot of ways, this is correct, mostly because if an average Joe posted a photo of some unsuspecting woman on his Instagram it wouldn't have gone viral. Most people don't have over a million people on their Instagram accounts, or nearly eight million on their Facebook fan pages, which is where the picture appeared. An average, bonehead dude wouldn't be able to reach a million people with a press of a button, so one might think with the sheer girth of his social media platform, Mr. Buble (and wife) might have used their heads and thought, "Hey, maybe this isn't a good idea?" But they didn't. Of course, this doesn't mean they shouldn't be held responsible for the tripe they put into the world, right?
2. After addressing his popularity, let's take it away - because it doesn't actually matter when you think of the underlying issue. The fact that he is a world-famous singer has only allowed us to shed light on the complete lack of privacy we live with. In the world of social media, it is easy to wave goodbye to our privacy, and this story simply proves we are a poor clothing choice and a share button away from being the next viral sensation. This doesn't change the fact that it actually isn't okay to pass along pictures or information of other people. As humans, it'd be nice if we respected each other enough not to take covert snapshots and share them to our social media followers ... unfortunately, this isn't the case. Simply put, if you want to share your own lives, clothing, children, work, then feel free, but exposing someone else without permission is a violation of their privacy. And it's wrong. No matter if you are Michael Buble or not.
3. What bothers me most about this picture is the poster actually thought it was complimentary! I suppose the logic correlates with when men catcall women from the side of the road. As if this woman should be happy that her 'humps' are plastered all over the internet, that she should be thrilled because a celebrity found it attractive, and that she should accept his 'beautiful bum' hashtag with pride. Because nothing makes you feel better than being objectified, right? Who wouldn't want to be turned into a piece of meat and thrown to eight million rabid fans? And yet, I noticed he didn't say these things to her face - maybe because to have said them to her would have been super disrespectful. Well, that's just confounding, right?
The core of the issue is that the objectification of women is so rampant most of Buble's fans (which are predominately female) jumped to his defence, claiming he was being 'nice' and 'flattering', and very few seemed to see the flip side - the extremely common oppression of women and acceptance of sexism. Even more irritating is Buble's claim of lack of intent. So, you didn't mean to be chauvinistic? Oh, I guess all is forgiven then. It's the 'boys will be boys' mentality, and quite honestly, it's getting pretty damn old. Imagine if this was your daughter. The girl in the picture could have been fourteen, for all we know. Horrifying, right?
And some people wonder why we still need feminism. Because every day we facilitate this type of behaviour, excusing it and condoning it.
4. Alright, let's say the man just didn't think, and he honestly does love, respect and celebrate women, and he was just being funny ... One must ask the question: has he never been on the internet before? Has he never read comments on YouTube or Twitter? Did he seriously think this picture was going to be met with the same (cough) love, (cough) respect, and (cough) celebration he posted it with? (The coughing is because the words were sticking in my virtual throat and causing me to choke on the irony) This might be a newsflash to Buble, but the internet isn't exactly a nice place. People are mean, usually just for the sake of being mean, and he put this woman on display, holding her under a spotlight for the masses to critique. Now, I only read a handful of the comments, but I was disgusted. People were calling her fat, asking if she was blind, saying she clearly forgot her pants, and there were even utterances of 'whore'. Not only was she body-shamed, but her intelligence was called into question, and all I kept thinking was, she looks far better than I would in short-shorts.
5. And through all the harsh comments and abrasive observations, there was a very unsettling theme of her responsibility. After all, she went out in public in the shorts, she was begging for the attention, she knew she looked good, and obviously she brought it on herself. Let's all call this what it truly is, victimization and our ever-present ability to blame the victim when they are taken advantage of, violated and exploited.
More annoying are the people who are asking WHY she wore shorts like that out in public. First off, it's Miami, I hear it gets hot there. Second, maybe she went for a run and they rode up a bit, or perhaps she has a huge wedgie and didn't feel a restaurant an appropriate place to pick it. Hell, maybe she wanted to show off the obvious hard work she puts into her body. The truth is, it doesn't matter the reasons behind WHY she put the shorts on and went out - she doesn't deserve to be plastered all over the internet and mistreated for wearing them. Whether or not we want to admit is, rape culture is pervasive in our society and it's evident when things like this happen. This woman is a victim of her privacy being violated, and is on the receiving end of sexism.
In the end, a little forethought goes a long way, especially when your platform can reach millions. The truth is, these types of things happen all the time, to women every day, and instances of sexism and exploitation are readily accepted to the point where a lot of us don't even bat an eye. From where I stand, if you truly love and respect women and want to celebrate them, then perhaps allowing them privacy would be a great first step. And I am talking to other women too. We do the exact same thing. Heck, it was Buble's wife who snapped the picture in the first place! This world is already so hard, how about making it a bit easier by thinking about how our actions and words can affect those around us. Make each post count.
Monday, March 16, 2015
Time Travel
Time travel?, you say, raising a brow in interest.
If only I could tell you my hiatus from this blog is from figuring out how to actually travel through time and space. I wish I could tell you I have patented my algorithm and am giving everyone who comments on this blog a million dollars. Alas, I cannot. I have never been very science or math minded, so if I am actually going to time travel to the last sixties, because that's where I would go, someone will have to figure it out for me.
It's been a whirlwind. Life is a bit on the crazy side and while there have been many times I've wanted to sit down and simply write, I haven't been able to find the time. Then there are those who say, you find time to do the things you love. This isn't necessarily true. It's nice when you find the time to do what you love, but most of us don't work that way. We find the time to get done what needs getting done, like laundry, dinners, painting, flooring, running errands, filling our gas tank, but when it comes to what we truly enjoy we compromise. Probably not even intentionally. We promise to do it later. Maybe at the weekend. Or the next holiday.
Now, I love writing. If that comes as a surprise, you haven't been paying attention and I owe you spanking. I've always enjoyed writing, ever since I was a chubby-faced, scraggly-haired, sensitive Sally. And I've always tried to write, and I think that's important to clarify. I do try to write. I want to be good. But a simple truth is, while I can meticulously join sentences and breathe life into characters people care about now, this hadn't always been the case, and tonight I find myself thinking about those who were subjected to my early writings. Perhaps an apology is needed.
Last week, I time travelled. I literally (though, not really literally, more so figuratively) was thrown back in time over a decade when through the door of our newly opened tattoo shop strolled my grade twelve creative writing teacher. Surely, I looked the epitome of confused because she said to me, "It's Mrs. D."
And I knew. I never forget a face, let alone one I confided in when I honestly wasn't sure I'd make it through being a teenager. How emo sounding, right? Except, it's the truth. I struggled through being a teenager. I loved school because it was a reprieve from a rather daunting family life, I had wonderful friends, without whom I wonder where I might have ended up, and I was stubborn and dwelling in darkness. What? You don't believe me? I have my creative writing book to prove it.
It looks far cheerier than it actually is. Honestly, when I reread some of the atrocities I wrote, I cringe. Not only because I clearly didn't have a grasp on the English language, but because I wasn't happy. I was struggling. And I knew at the end of the day it was my job to fix it. To mend myself. Also, I roll my eyes over how emotional and raw everything I wrote was. How dramatic. And I realize I'm officially an adult, discounting the blues of another teenager, except this one is myself, and I actually lived with those demons.
If only I could tell you my hiatus from this blog is from figuring out how to actually travel through time and space. I wish I could tell you I have patented my algorithm and am giving everyone who comments on this blog a million dollars. Alas, I cannot. I have never been very science or math minded, so if I am actually going to time travel to the last sixties, because that's where I would go, someone will have to figure it out for me.
It's been a whirlwind. Life is a bit on the crazy side and while there have been many times I've wanted to sit down and simply write, I haven't been able to find the time. Then there are those who say, you find time to do the things you love. This isn't necessarily true. It's nice when you find the time to do what you love, but most of us don't work that way. We find the time to get done what needs getting done, like laundry, dinners, painting, flooring, running errands, filling our gas tank, but when it comes to what we truly enjoy we compromise. Probably not even intentionally. We promise to do it later. Maybe at the weekend. Or the next holiday.
Now, I love writing. If that comes as a surprise, you haven't been paying attention and I owe you spanking. I've always enjoyed writing, ever since I was a chubby-faced, scraggly-haired, sensitive Sally. And I've always tried to write, and I think that's important to clarify. I do try to write. I want to be good. But a simple truth is, while I can meticulously join sentences and breathe life into characters people care about now, this hadn't always been the case, and tonight I find myself thinking about those who were subjected to my early writings. Perhaps an apology is needed.
Last week, I time travelled. I literally (though, not really literally, more so figuratively) was thrown back in time over a decade when through the door of our newly opened tattoo shop strolled my grade twelve creative writing teacher. Surely, I looked the epitome of confused because she said to me, "It's Mrs. D."
And I knew. I never forget a face, let alone one I confided in when I honestly wasn't sure I'd make it through being a teenager. How emo sounding, right? Except, it's the truth. I struggled through being a teenager. I loved school because it was a reprieve from a rather daunting family life, I had wonderful friends, without whom I wonder where I might have ended up, and I was stubborn and dwelling in darkness. What? You don't believe me? I have my creative writing book to prove it.
Lived? Why the hell is that past tense? I still live with some of those demons. We're good friends now. Fully aware of each other. Cohabiting rather well on most days. On others, it's grim, but in a encouraging way. A 'fuck you' demons kind of way. A 'I'm going to get through this and have the last bloody laugh if it kills us all' type of existence.
Now Mrs. D, who isn't Mrs. D anymore, but Ms. S was (and is) a very influential person on me and in my life. Strangely enough, at the time, I didn't realize it. While she certainly encouraged my writing, she actually influenced me emotionally more than creatively. That sounds bad, but I don't mean it to. In fact, I'd take an emotional influence over a creative one any day. I've always had a rampant imagination and would ideally like someone to simmer the fire instead of stoking it, perhaps then sleep might come easier.
Way back when I seemed to be clawing my way through life before life had even really started, Ms. S validated my feelings. It's hard to explain why this is so important. I suppose one might need a bit more back-story, but I really don't plan on marching back down a road I left behind a long time ago. After the most tedious cycle of confrontation, acceptance, grieving, anger, sadness, ignoring, and so on, I eventually learned how to forgive and let go. To move on. It's been a long second half to my life, but I doubt I would have been able to get through it without someone saying:
It's okay to feel lost, alone, and afraid.
It's okay to dwell in the darkness with your demons.
It's okay to be angry, sad, and hurt.
At a time when I felt wrong for feeling bad, I needed a blunt lesson in life. Ms. S provided it for me. Of course, she didn't say it so bare bones-y. She was, and is, an English teacher. Her words of wisdom came often and much more articulate than those bold sentences above, but at the core of everything she said, I heard "You are not alone. You will be alright." And that was more important than the writing encouragement or grade I received.
Although, I must say, the demons never truly go away. You just get to know them to the point of realizing what/who they are and they aren't so scary anymore. We rarely get the opportunity to actually express to someone what it is they did for us. I'm lucky to have that chance.
Also, I am so glad I don't write poetry anymore. Good grief, I wish someone had of told me how terrible it was. Of course, I was an emotional teenager, so that might not have been a good idea. After this unexpected visit, I find myself pondering over who will walk through the door next.
Will it be you?
Sunday, January 18, 2015
Tough Week, Eat A Treat
The silence around these parts has been next to unbearable. Just between us, I needed a little bit of time to myself. With the new year, comes new resolutions, and a brand new inspiring to-do list. 2015 is going to be the year of change, I feel it in my bones.
So far, January isn't treating me all too well. It's been rough. I started it sick as a dog, hacking up a lung and struggling to get out of bed in the mornings. When the cold left, a new sweeping illness stormed in, and I'd be lying if I said it wasn't messing with my head.
Honestly, I'm sad. This week, if not the last eighteen days, meaning this year, has been a tough one. I have been dragging myself through them, not really participating. Under the weariness and nausea, I feel as though I've lost track of who I am, which is rather unfortunate because it took a good solid year of being alone to figure that out. For some reason, I feel as though I have been compromising myself a lot lately. It's left me unsettled.
So, this journey is beginning again. The one where I find my soul again. Goodness, it sounds so tedious, I simply don't have the energy to do this all over again. This morning I took the first step, though. A walk in the rain with the hounds. Then, I baked something. I created something. A treat.
Treats help cope with the things we cannot change today.
Strawberry Cheesecake Bites (Vegan, of course)
Makes 20
Preheat oven 350°
Ingredients:
Crust:
So far, January isn't treating me all too well. It's been rough. I started it sick as a dog, hacking up a lung and struggling to get out of bed in the mornings. When the cold left, a new sweeping illness stormed in, and I'd be lying if I said it wasn't messing with my head.
Honestly, I'm sad. This week, if not the last eighteen days, meaning this year, has been a tough one. I have been dragging myself through them, not really participating. Under the weariness and nausea, I feel as though I've lost track of who I am, which is rather unfortunate because it took a good solid year of being alone to figure that out. For some reason, I feel as though I have been compromising myself a lot lately. It's left me unsettled.
So, this journey is beginning again. The one where I find my soul again. Goodness, it sounds so tedious, I simply don't have the energy to do this all over again. This morning I took the first step, though. A walk in the rain with the hounds. Then, I baked something. I created something. A treat.
Treats help cope with the things we cannot change today.
Strawberry Cheesecake Bites (Vegan, of course)
Makes 20
Preheat oven 350°
Ingredients:
Crust:
5 Tbsp - Earth Balance Margarine
1/4 Cup - Walnuts
1/2 Cup - Flour
1/2 Cup - Brown Sugar
Filling:
4 Ounces - Faux Cream Cheese (I used Tofutti)
1/2 Cup - Plain Coconut Yogourt
1/2 Cup - Sugar
2 Tbsp - Pineapple Juice
1 Tsp - Vanilla
6 - Fresh Strawberries
3 Tbsp - Minute Tapioca
2 Tsp - Egg Replacer (just the powder, not mixed with water)
1. Preheat oven to 350 and line a 8X8 pan with parchment paper. In a food processor, blend Earth Balance, walnuts, brown sugar and flour. Once it is course, press down into your prepared pan.
2. Bake in the oven for 15 minutes.
3. While the crust is baking, mix cream cheese, yogourt and sugar in the food processor. Ensure to use a spatula to press down the sides.
4. Add the rest of the ingredients and blend all together.
5. Take the crust out, put the filling in and bake for another 25 minutes.
6. Remove from oven and chill in refrigerator for 1-2 hours, until it has set.
Now, these are delicious, but certainly not good for you. You also have to keep them refrigerator afterwards, or at least that's what I am doing.
They are divine, though.
Friday, December 12, 2014
To Buy For
Since starting Make It or Bake It, I have very few people to buy for. The Sidekick is at the top of the list, though he's been kind of hard to buy for this year. He kind of has expensive tastes. I'm too poor to have a boyfriend, really, but the heart wants what the heart wants. It's the thought that counts, right? Right?
I always do a stocking for my sister, as well. This year, she is also hard to buy for. Mostly because I have very little funds.
Other then that, I have four friends I like to get things for and my parents. These people understand the financial situation, so I'm not going to stress if I can buy them the moon. The pets also get presents. Not spoiled, though. I hope my list isn't ridiculous. I mean, I try my best to keep it to a minimum which is why I rarely get close to new people.
Just kidding.
What does your buying list look like?
I always do a stocking for my sister, as well. This year, she is also hard to buy for. Mostly because I have very little funds.
Other then that, I have four friends I like to get things for and my parents. These people understand the financial situation, so I'm not going to stress if I can buy them the moon. The pets also get presents. Not spoiled, though. I hope my list isn't ridiculous. I mean, I try my best to keep it to a minimum which is why I rarely get close to new people.
Just kidding.
What does your buying list look like?
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