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

Damn You, Intersnacks!

This morning I was watching the latest episode of The Mindy Project, because I find it highly entertaining, and I said to myself, "Gee, I really like that Peter Prentice." He's a character on the show, but the actor who plays him, Adam Pally, portrays the somewhat clueless, undoubtedly adorable, and kind a perfect gynecologist. When he joined the show, I rejoiced. Mostly because Happy Endings had ended and I'd sort of developed a super secret crush on Max.

Well, I turned to the intersnacks to tell me if Mr. Pally has been in any movies or such, and lo and behold, he's leaving The Mindy Project. How disappointing. His character and squeezable face has made the show so much better. Not gonna lie, kinda made me pout for awhile. I'd start a petition asking him not to leave, but I highly doubt it'd do any good and, as you all know, I'm pretty damn lazy.

And look at that beard! 

Wordy Wednesday - For My Friend Bennetts

Dear M.M. Bennetts,

When all is said and done, the circumstances of death don't really matter, but there is a relief knowing you went in your sleep. At home. In your bed. With the people you love near you. Peacefully, they say. And I know in your heart you felt the love everyone had for you.

This witchcraftery of the internet is a remarkable thing. It brought us together. It brought a lot of us crazy writers. And somehow it allowed us to bond, to develop friendships, and to relate to one another. Though our interactions existed only online, they are remembered with a fondness and an admiration on my part you might not have fully understood. 

Through 2012 we talked about how weary the direction 'up' can be. And how forward is such a monumental task. Separated by oceans and trees and bills and real life family and complications of a greater nature, we never existed beyond here. Beyond this virtual reality that a lot of people refuse to validate and consider 'real life'. But I fell in love with you. A person I have never met. I look up to you still. And I gain strength from your words and encouragement from your actions. 

A lot of people won't understand this void I am feeling over the fact that you aren't here anymore. Well, not in the physical. You will always be here. Inside us. Inside me. We talked about eating cakey and taking walks. I wanted to come visit, to share with you the haunts you described, but life certainly gets in the way of our bigger and better plans, doesn't it? 

Still, I had you for a moment, and boy does that moment feel so short right now. 

Out of everything we ever spoke about (dogs (dolliwollies, to you) horses, goals, love, life, fathers, and cake, all the cake) there is one thing I will always remember.  It was part of a bigger paragraph. A deeper conversation about goals. Small ones. But it was simple truth and beautiful in its directness. And you said: 

Sometimes, the road ahead is just so much road. 

This has popped into my head at trying times over the last two years. Times when getting up and out and actually doing something seemed terribly exhausting. But today it is the chime in my heart, ringing out and reminding me there is a lot of road, until there is no more road at all. 

It is Wordy Wednesday. 

The word: Melancholy

It is not unknown. It is not one I just learned. And it certainly isn't as fancy as the other selections have been. Still, it aptly describes my state of being. 

Wherever you go, Bennetts, continue to shine. Burn bright. Be fabulous and furious. Maintain the wit and humour everyone adored. Keep creating. And if you cross Napoleon's path, give him hell. 

Lots of love, 

Tyson 

The Boots. Always.

Subjects Removed

It's been a long year so far, and we are only halfway through. As some of you know, I put my condo up for sale back in February. I thought it would sell quickly. It didn't. After much waiting and fretting, it is now sold.

While I thought the weight of stress would finally lift off me, leaving me with nothing but an overwhelming feeling of freedom, I'm actually suffering from a unique sort of melancholy. Yes, this is what I wanted, to be rid of the burden, financially more than anything else. And yes, this does represent being able to move forward. For the last year, I've felt stuck in a sort of limbo with very little to indicate I am actually moving in the right direction.

Still, there's this sadness. A grief. For a loss I am responsible for.

Don't get me wrong. This is a happy occasion, but I am still saying goodbye. To a place I bought at a very difficult time of my life. A home where I did a significant amount of growing and an equal amount of healing. In saying goodbye to this place, I am letting go. Letting go of myself, of parts of my past, of people and moments and love and losses I never thought I'd let go of.

Sure, I moved out awhile ago, but as long as I owned this apartment, I had an umbilical cord to the girl I once was. The sad one, who was so lost and broken she never thought she'd find her way. The heartbroken one. And the one who learned much and stopped feeling bad and started breathing in the trees and ocean, breathing out the doubts and anger. As long as I owned that apartment, I had an attachment to my friends, the people I love and miss. By selling it, I am acknowledging how much I miss those people. How detached I sometimes feel over here.

And I am saying goodbye to my ex. This sounds bonkers, doesn't it? I mean, we haven't been together for three years and have both been with other people for quite some time, two years and counting on my side of things. Still, this is where I went after us and it's where we worked diligently to form a friendship. That friendship still stands, I like to believe it always will, and I consider myself lucky to have it. It takes unique individuals to salvage a friendship from the wreckage of love, but it can happen, if you aren't both complete dicks.

It's weird. How a building, a five hundred square foot apartment, can represent so much of who you are and what you've been through. I understand those memories will be with me forever, but I didn't except this overload of emotion. Honestly, I thought there would be dancing and merriment. Don't think this is a regretful thing. It really isn't. That is not one of the hundred emotions storming through me.

And I am happy, but also sad too.

Funny how things are never quite what you imagine them to be. But at least this is a little forward movement. I think.

Stripped Bare

Sometimes, I stand naked in front of the mirror and look at myself. Into myself. I strip myself bare and look at my bones. My soul. The key components of who I am as a person. I do this because it's a reminder. Not that my thighs are jiggly and my hair is pretty much always unkempt, but that I am human. That I am on a journey. That these moments are my life and I should be participating in the fullest degree. These seconds, minutes, hours, days, months and years, cannot just slip by.

Every moment is precious. Every day I wake up a gift. Each moon rise noteworthy. The sunrises important.

It's easy to get sidetracked. To get swallowed by emotions and worries, strife, grief and uncertainty. The longer I stare at my bared body and soul, the more I see how convoluted existing can seem. But seem is an impression, not necessarily truth, and if you dim the lights and change the angle, everything shifts. Morphs. Looks different.

There is so much noise these days. So many distractions. We are carrying computers on us everywhere we go and this new fangled technology hinders us. Even when we are with our family and friends, we aren't with our family and friends. We are with our family and friends, and the hundred or so friends we have on our Facebook, Instagram, Twitter or whatever social media is our current vice. The noise gets to me. It grinds me down. Out in the world, there are radios and cars, people, phones, televisions everywhere. It's why I moved away from the city. Why I am in fact living in a village. But I love it here.

Because it is easier for me to strip myself bare. Because when I leave my house there are mountains all around me. Because the air smells of smoke and forest. Because the streets are quite. Because the stars can be seen when I look up at the night sky.

Still, even with all this wonderment around me, I get distracted. I forget. And I get downtrodden, especially in highly emotional times. I get weary. Tried. Broken. I forget how blessed I am. How happy I can be. And how healing the earth is.

So, I strip myself bare. And stand in front of the mirror and look. Not at how my belly may just be a bit bigger than it was last year, but at my soul. I reconnect with the girl I am, and the girl I want to be. The one who wants flowers in her hair and no shoes on her feet. It only takes a moment to reconnect with myself, but it's so important. Because when I lose sight of who I am, it gets hard. This whole thing is all about ebb and flow, I wonder why that always slips my mind.

The truth is I don't want my journey to be a burden. I want it to be an adventure.

It's nice to check in and see I am still here.

Too Tried To Try

Sorry, I am utterly exhausted. Too tired to think of something witty for a handful of people to ruminate over. It's a broken sort of couple days. I tell you one thing, I am grateful for my sister. Even though it sometimes feels as though I am so far away from her, I can be at her front door in a matter of four hours. Not counting the fact ferries stop running at 10:30PM. Damn them for that.

She is strong. And I hate the fact she is hurting. It's a grief I feel right through to the pit of my soul. And I understand why it hurts so much. I am hurting for her. Broken for her. Distracted and confused and unsure and angry and sad with her. I am by her side because there is no other place I would rather be. I know when I need her, she will be there because that's the brand of love we have. Friends. Sisters. Wicked women who know the importance of life is to live it, and love.

There's something so powerful about knowing you will never truly be alone.

Anyhow, this song has been getting me right in the feels these last couple days.

But then I am sensitive and these are hard time.

And I always miss the sun.

In Conclusion

Remember how I was trying to retrain my brain to be more positive? No? Well, that's embarrassing. I posted a vlog about it and everything. You're supposed to hang on my every word, people! Anyway, the whole idea was to do five tasks every day and by doing these things I'd get happier, and more optimistic and crap.

Well, the twenty-one days are up. The end result is not exactly what I expected.

Let me break this down for you.

While I do feel this challenge was worth my time and energy, my brain hasn't exactly been retrained. There are still clouds of negativity obscuring the sunshine from time-to-time. I never really considered myself a negative person, but it seems as though I am, indeed, a glass half-empty kind of girl.

I know where this pesky idiosyncrasy comes from, and I do try to kybosh it, but I have my bad days. On those days I can be a right Bitchy Betty, or a Sappy Sally, it all depends on how I roll out of bed. I tell myself the bad days exist in order for me to appreciate the good ones. And it isn't so much that I am pessimistic, but realistic, and I worry. I do. I'm a worrier. This is a hard trait to break.

In the end, I fear it will take a 365 day challenge for me to get over this deep-seated (and entirely annoying) characteristic. I am fully aware if I were a character in a book, this is the trait I would despise about myself. And yet, even now, as I write this, I am stressing about money and cigarettes. Don't ask. It will take far too long for me to explain.

The highlight of the 21 Day Challenge, and the five tasks, was, without a doubt, the exercise. Does that shock you? It's true. I felt like it was something I HAD to do, but I also WANTED to do it.

Back when I lived on the mainland, I used to workout every day at the gym. Breaking a sweat made me feel alive. Those endorphins are hard to ignore. They tease and taunt me. And being inactive, sedentary, is not fun. In fact, it sucks a lot. Everyday I didn't work out, I felt worse about not being active. A vicious cycle. One that's hard to break. Sometimes we need a push.

I decided to get up early in the mornings and sneak a walk in with the dog. To most, that doesn't sound like much exercise. A stroll around the neighbourhood with a hound padding softly at my heels. Ha ha ha. I wish. When I go for a walk, I run, climb and try to wrangle a eighty pound woofer who is stubborn as all hell. It's kind of a full body work out. The village I live in is riddled with these mountain trails and I love to get lost in them. By the end, I'm sweaty and there's usually a dull ache in my butt or thighs. Sometimes both.

This exercise isn't enough for me. I wish I could go hiking for six hours a day. But I have to work and all I have is the hour before work to do it in. This is something I am going to keep on doing. Being outdoors, in nature, using my body, makes me feel refreshed. And happy. Besides, what's an hour on the grand scale of things? It's a television program or a long soak in the tub. Exercise is more important than the latest Dexter or being clean. Maybe.

I would also recommend the writing challenges for everyone to do. Think of three things you are grateful for a day, write them down, along with a positive experience you have had. These truly did work for me. It opened my eyes to things I didn't really even realize I was seeing. It simplified my life. I was grateful for a lot of free, everyday events, people and objects. Things I see, touch, hear and smell every single day stood out to me. And stand out for me. Because even now, I see at last three things I am grateful for. Sunshine. Gumballs. And vintage thrift store finds.

It's funny because until I wrote these items down, I kind of took them for granted. Or didn't think about them. Now when I take a look around, I see things a bit differently. I imagine if I continued to do these two very simply tasks, I'd see the world completely different one day. That is an exciting idea.

Lastly, I suck at meditation.

I am actually thinking about giving up on this. In the last couple years, I have tried so hard to meditate. I've selected my mantra. Cleared my head. Closed my eyes. And...nothing. I focus on my breathing. Inhale. Exhale. And...nothing. I am still there. Listening to the world around me. Maybe this whole meditation Zen thing simply isn't for me. I am guessing I simply haven't figured out MY way of getting there. I would like to say I am hopeful and it will come to me, but I have my doubts. Until then, I will just try not to fall asleep.

The truth is, I think, the outcome of these sort of challenges vary. Maybe some people only need 21 days to retrain their brain, but maybe some of us need longer. Because maybe we have more damage or issues to work through.

So, the challenge was interesting. Totally worthwhile, but I'm just not there yet. It could have been because a massive monkey wrench was thrown in the works at the beginning of this endeavour. Learning to forgive AND retraining my brain might have been a lofty goal. But I stuck with it, so there's that, and I think a little pat on the back is warranted. Still, there is work to be done. Lots and lots of work.

Hot & Sweaty On Our Walk

Retrain Your Brain

Feeling Like A Joke

I've been meaning to do this sooner, but the intersnacks have been dodgy.

The interesting thing about blogging for me is that it works as a diary, helping me sort through the mountains of ridiculous crap floating around in my head. When I don't have the option, things sort of pile up and, no matter how much I stew over it, I can't just let things go. There's this weird part of writing things down that helps me release them. Sure, I could simply sit down with a pen and paper and get to scribbling, but...

No, wait. That's exactly what I did. And to be honest, it really didn't work. You see, I've been having a terrible time sleeping, which is most likely related to the state of mind I've worked myself into. Last night, for some inexplicable reason, I thought it a good idea to scrawl down the free fall of thoughts in my head. Of course, it was three in the morning and they didn't exactly come out orderly and pretty.

Actually, they came out like some haphazard list of possible blog topics, most of which I've already touched on in previous posts and others I'm not sure if I'm strong (or stubborn) enough to write about. The most common theme throughout them is feeling lonely, and health of body and mind. To me, if you have a healthy mind, your body will follow suit, mostly because you'll be motivated to get up and out and actually do something. It's been raining here, and getting up has been a chore.

Anyway, one of the points I jotted down, the first one, has been stuck in my craw for days. It's the source of a lot of heartache. And so, I'm writing about it. Here. In hopes of being able to let it go after. The thing is, I tried confronting it before, but it doesn't seem to matter how much I deep breathe or stretch my mind and body, it's there, needling away at me. I even tried talking about it, but what good is that when you feel stupid for even bringing it up.

Here's a shocking point, it's hard for me to talk about things. Surprise. It's easy to assume I'm a great talker, because I blog and vlog, but that's simply not the case. There are only two people who I feel comfortable telling anything to. I fear anyone else will take it the wrong way, maybe personally, and then offer up advice that won't help. The thing everyone needs to learn is - advice usually isn't what the person talking wants...or needs.

Back to the point, and the issue that's helped derail me from the path I was quite content to be travelling on. I'm a joke. Maybe not to you, or anyone else, but to myself, which is the person who counts the most. Today, and for the last little while, I feel like everything I do or say is a joke. And not when I'm actually being funny, but the serious stuff. My writing. The relationships I have. What I do for others. My love for knitting. Respect for animals. Everything just feels like one big joke and I'm the punchline. And not a very good one. The kind people chuckle at uncomfortably.

It doesn't seem to matter how much effort I put out or time or love or dedication, I feel pathetic. As though I am a sad little attempt at living. Where nothing I do or say matters enough to be taken note of. It's as though I'm simply playing a role, and not doing a very good job.

To be completely up front with you, it's a craptastic way to feel. And, in the battle between common sense and unreasonable feelings, rational thinking never wins.

I've tried putting a mask on and saying, I'm fine and going about my day, but the hitch is, I'm analyzing every piece of my life and losing grasp of what it is I cherished. The longer I harbour this passenger, the more I become the fool, and the feelings of displacement grow stronger. Other not-so-awesome thoughts pop into my head at unfair times. Like feeling invisible. Unwanted. A piece of furniture that always gets in the way, takes up too much room and isn't very pretty to look at. Then, the loneliness seeps in. A silent messenger who comes in the middle of the night when I'm laying next to someone.

Then I start wondering, why I'm not getting what I want?

I know it isn't fair, to want someone else to make me feel better. To distract me. To help me through the tangled knots of my mind. To reassure me that I'm not so bad. To love me even when it's hard to love myself. To forgive my bad mood. To understand where I'm coming from. To see me for who I am, not who I want to be or think I am. To demand attention. To want to be held, kissed and hugged, simply because I'm not happy with the reflection in the mirror.

It isn't fair of me to project my own demons onto someone else.  

The hardest part is, I've been here before, and  it's frustrating because I don't know how I got here again. This girl isn't me. I'm not supposed to be resentful or bitter. This uncertainty doesn't look good on me. I thought I managed to free myself of the constraints of my past, but it's there, sneaking up when it finds a chink in my armour and delivering blow after blow. Apparently, this baggage isn't going anywhere.

I'm a child again. A sad, dysfunctional child wanting the approval and affection of the people I love. Who feels disappointed in herself for letting others down. For letting herself down. The little, ugly, chubby, messy girl with the ratty hair and ill-fitting jeans. She is at the centre of who I am. And the little bitch is strong, and demanding.

I guess this has been going on since Christmas. Ever since, I've felt as thought things have changed. Inside me and all around me. And there's truth in change. We stop doing things for reasons. I'm trying hard to work through those, but the glue and staples don't seem to be holding.

Usually, I pull away. Distance myself. Put up walls. Hide out until the storm passes, or at least ravages and ruins everything in its wake. It seems as though no matter how hard I try not to, I revert back to the girl who doesn't want to get hurt and only ends up hurting myself. The thing is, I'm trying, to talk, to explain, to have some sort of connection that feels real, but I doubt whether it's working. Maybe I'm looking for feed back. A nod. Blink of an eye. Or perhaps just a simple clearing of the throat.

Everything I've wrote on this blog in the past is truth. I know that in my heart, even if it is stubborn and angry right now. Love is the way. You have to be beautiful inside to be beautiful out. Happiness comes from within. It's the little things in life. But the funny thing is, no matter how much you know to be true, all it takes is a shift in weather to fog up your glasses and change the way you see the world.

I'm hoping for another change in weather soon, so I can go back to seeing myself and the world for what it truly is.

And now, a quote:

Perhaps I shouldn't have posted this. That's it, I'm writing about cake tomorrow.