Searching for the Prufrockian Dream

Fear vs. Hope

2011-11-27T14:00:00.001-07:00

I realized the day after I wrote about aliens that it was a post generated by and promoting fear. At least that's how I feel about it, and that's not really what I intended to do.

Do the alien dreams I have genuinely worry at me? Yes. Do videos like the one I posted freak me out? Yes. Do I think there is a rational reason to be afraid, and that the phone call in that video is genuine? At the risk of sounding like a lunatic, yes.

After all that, do I think our future is bleak and hopeless? No. A thousand times no.

I'm not always entirely sure where the hope lies. Sometimes I get overwhelmed by how big and out of my hands it all seems, how little there appears to be that I can do. This is true of life in general, and at times I've allowed myself to sit and stagnate.

That, I've learned, doesn't help.

I'm not always sure what action I can take to make myself feel better, and the idea of being in control of something I know precious little about other than how deeply troubled I feel about it is ludicrous, really. I think the best I can do is try my hardest to make day to day decisions about life that I can live with, and be prepared to put up a fight against Darkness and Evil wherever I see them. Hopefully then, if the shit hits the fan in a way that I've dreamt about, I'll be ready to do something about it instead of being frozen in fear.

And if it never happens, well, then I'll have lived a life that I hope I can look back on and say, yes, I did the best I could with what I had, and I strove to improve on that every day, and promote Light instead of Darkness, and Hope instead of Fear.

Alien Encounter

2011-11-19T15:37:00.001-07:00

As far back as I can remember I have had strange dreams. I say strange but what I really mean is other people find them strange, disturbing even, while I find them perfectly normal. To wake up after having been run through with a spear held by Mel Gibson's William Wallace intrigues me. I find it simple to go about my day after running from former friends by escaping through a secret door into a snow maze in a town suddenly filled with enemies at every bend...as long as it happened in a dream.

Every so often I'll have a dream that for no rational reason disturbs me. Sometimes it'll be a dream about demons, but those don't always bother me upon waking. A dream about Oliver Twist, or being an orphan, or being chased by a clown who wanted to drug me with cough syrup. It's usually because of whatever the dream was telling me, and I know to pay attention to those ones, the ones that last with me all day.

There are only two categories of dreams that I always awaken from in a cold sweat. Dreams about Ecthroi - and dreams about aliens. I've only had Ecthroi dreams in the past few years. I've had alien dreams almost as long as I can remember. They've always left me deeply terrified, the kind of fear you'd get if someone really truly was out to harm you and there was nothing you could do about it.

The dreams all have similar points in common. They always start innocuously, with me looking up at the night sky and enjoying, or at the least indifferent to, the stars. Every time I notice that some of the stars are different colours than normal - faintly green or red. And every time, once I notice that, I see that these stars are moving, and creating formations, and coming down out of the sky. They are not stars at all. They're ships, filled with aliens.

This is where the variations come in. The aliens either kidnap me and send me to another world to work as a slave, a world that I have no chance of ever escaping, so that I will never get to come back home to my family where I belong. Or they pretend to be friends of mankind but the moment that anyone expresses doubt (or even thinks doubtful thoughts) they begin their hostile takeover. Or they don't bother with the facade and just begin killing and enslaving mankind.

I always have the urge to hide, every time. You know that urge you got when you were a kid (and maybe still get now although you'll never admit it), that crazy sudden need to hide as fast as possible from what, you never really knew? And there was a hint of exhilaration, like how a kitten must feel when they're going through their midnight crazies? Well, it's like that but instead of excitement it's terror, sheer terror, and I know to my bones that if I don't hide, if I can't get away, that my life is going to be complete hell. It'll probably be a really short life, but what's left of it will be hell on earth.

So when I see videos like this...well, it gets to me. Because this is what I see - and I've seen it since before I knew about the internet. When I didn't have a TV. When there was no way that I know of that I could have gotten this information from anywhere but my own subconscious mind. And I don't know how to reconcile that without freaking myself the hell out.

http://youtu.be/RjGYSGbAEUM

Yeah. That phone call at the end? FREAKS ME OUT. Genuinely. Because it sounds absolutely real and if it is, what does that mean?

What does that mean for all of us?

I've recently heard an idea that what we perceive as UFOs are not extraterrestrial in origin, but supernatural. That resonates with me, and not in a good way. If you think about it, almost all UFOs and aliens behave in ways that defy the laws of physics...but they follow all of our understood rules for the supernatural. Plus, they've been lying to us on a regular basis about where they come from. Anything that shows up and lies to us can't be trusted - I'd go further and say that they're probably our enemies.

What if aliens aren't from another world at all? What if they're just another, modern disguise for demons?

I know some people who read this will write me off as a kook. And some of you will think it's endearing, how I believe this is all true. But I don't really care.

Because I'm the one having the dreams.

I'm Not Dead

2011-10-29T20:40:00.004-06:00

Hi! I'm not dead.

Just in case you were wondering.

I've just been busy, and then forgot that I had a blog until I read the super-awesomeness that is www.hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com which you should all go read. And read the archives too.

I do feel like I'm putting some of the pieces of my life back together, which is good. In case I forgot to mention here, I felt like I'd lost direction and purpose and had no idea what I was supposed to do with myself.

I've finally stopped fighting the fact that I want to be a writer, and that's about all I want to do. Ever.

So I'm figuring out what to do with that, other than writing obviously, and we'll see where I go next.

But I won't wait so long in between posts next time.

The Darkness

2011-06-22T15:13:00.002-06:00

I've been watching a lot of Dexter recently. He talks about the Darkness he has living inside him, that darkness he has to feed else it take over his life.

I can't relate. Not entirely.

Lately I've been struggling. Isn't that how all my posts go? Struggle should be a tag for my posts. Oh wait, it already is.

Last summer I was depressed. It felt like the world was one big dark hole and I was being sucked into it against my will and there was nothing I could do to stop the world around me from falling apart.

If we hadn't gotten Z. I don't know what would have happened. Z. made me get up in the morning. I had to do things because she needed me to.

I feel that dark vacuum sneaking up on me again and I'm panicking a bit. I think I'm aware enough to stop it - to reach out and socialize and keep myself from falling apart - but what if I'm deluding myself? What if there's nothing I can do to keep it from grabbing me again?

I can't stomach another summer like that.

S. and I can't survive another summer like that.

So I'm writing about it. It seems like a slightly futile effort but it's all I have right now.

I'm currently fighting the pull of the black hole, and today I'm winning.

Yesterday I lost. But today I'm winning.

Perhaps that all I can do, go one day at a time and hope that I win more often than I lose.

Life

2011-06-03T14:28:00.002-06:00

Not much to say.

I've been in a strange head space since Wednesday. Not a bad one. Just a different one, and unexpected.

Z. is growling at a pit bull outside. The fur along her spine is all standing on end. It looks hilarious but I probably shouldn't be encouraging this.

We had hail today. My flowers survived. Huzzah for the balcony.

They cut down the trees in the neighbours' back yard. I am unhappy about this. The trunks lie bucked up in the alley, useless to everyone unless they let them dry out to be used for firewood. Another neighbour has a wood burning stove. Perhaps the loss won't be a complete one.

And other than that I have not much to say.

Smiling at Strangers

2011-06-01T13:37:00.003-06:00

I've been in rehearsals because - tada! - I'm in a show coming up! Which is great. Which also means I've been taking the bus to the rehearsal hall because S. is working at Heritage Park again and he is using the car. Why am I not also at a typical job? That's another blog post.

This blog post is about smiling. Or strangers. Or random encounters with strangers. I'm not sure yet.

I was waiting for the bus and a man walked down the sidewalk with a huge smile on his face. That isn't necessarily strange, although it isn't often that you see someone smiling that broadly in public. Which is really sad when you think about it. But what made it odd was that he was actively seeking out eye contact with the people he met. And he was well dressed - not a homeless bum whom you could assume was hopped up on something, but a business man or some sort of professional. And most people looked away! And his smile didn't dim! I smiled back. I almost didn't. But then I did and it made me feel better.

So then I began to actively people watch. I don't think I was smiling but I was actively alert, watching, interested in the world around me. I usually car watch while I wait for the bus - you know, check out the various vehicles and wonder what it's like to drive that Jag or Beamer or Benz or beat up Oldsmobile. Now I switched my attention to the drivers. Most of whom were wearing sunglasses and either frowning or chatting on cell phones and frowning. People in the city are grumpy looking drivers. Or perhaps that's the 'I'm occupied' expression of humanity. I don't know. I continued once I got on the bus, looking down at the drivers around me.

I made eye contact with a woman who was driving a shiny grey-green car, don't remember what kind. She smiled at me, a real genuine smile! A smile that said, I see you people watching! I do that too! And I smiled back. Later I saw her join the cell phone chatting masses but for a moment she was a real person, with a real smile, someone I wouldn't trip if zombies were chasing me.

The next day I was waiting for the bus again. On my way down the street a somewhat disheveled gent asked me for a light. I don't smoke, so I don't carry a lighter. Which is what I said as I continued to walk. He kept going also. He ended up at the same bus stop. Asked me again for a light. Once again I said no. He asked someone else and then settled down at the bus stop and looked me up and down and asked if he could help me out. I never know what to do when random disheveled strangers start talking to me. I said I didn't need any help (as I said it I smiled to myself - you never know what kind of help you need until someone offers help flashed through my head) and then he asked me if I wanted to buy a bus transfer. I said I had a ticket, and as my mouth moved my heart sank as I realized I had left my book of tickets at home. And the bus was too close for me to run home, grab them, and get back in time. He offered them for a dollar. For fifty cents. I didn't have any money on me so I had to decline, even though I needed one. And then he got grumpy, asking me what kind of world was this where nobody had a light or carried any money.

I got a bit alarmed at this point. Not going to lie. I said, Sorry, I don't smoke and I don't carry cash, now will you please leave me alone.

He gave me a transfer anyway and then walked off and promptly vanished. I don't mean I saw him dematerialize, but I have no idea where he went so quickly.

I was very grateful for the transfer even though I felt like I was defrauding the system. And I mentally apologized multiple times for panicking and being rude.

I found the bus tickets in my backpack once I arrived at the rehearsal hall. I had them all along but didn't know it.

I hope he found his light.

Magnetic Attraction

2011-02-06T11:41:00.005-07:00

When I was a little kid I discovered the concept of divining answers from a magnet on a string. I can't remember where I heard about it first; some book about divining for water and minerals, I think. I can't remember how I learned about it. I do remember that I immediately went out, made a magnet-string tool, and discovered that it worked. In my test run it told me one of our lambs was a girl. I already knew that but that's why it was a test. I thought it was wrong when it said bunny Patty was a boy and bunny Clover was a girl, but later that turned out to be true as well. (Patty became Patrick. It was a simple transition.)

I told my brothers about it. We were all able to do it, me and my youngest brother with a little more skill than my middle sibling. My youngest brother could make the magnet swing in different directions by thinking at it, even when someone else was holding the string.

My mom was squibby about the whole thing. "You don't know what you're opening yourself up to," she said. "Satan appears as an angel of light, you know."

I was puzzled at first. The whole concept of not recognizing darkness in disguise didn't make sense to me then. It makes a little more sense to me now but I still think that God gives us a pretty good feel for when we're being deceived and when we aren't. If we can't trust that instinct then we can't trust any of it, I think, since that's all we really have to go on.

That and evidence of behaviour I guess.

It does suck that we're so good at deceiving ourselves, but that's where self-awareness comes into things.

Dad seemed to think that divining gender was a simple electro-magnetic thing. Scientific. He had little to say about asking questions and getting yes/no answers. Probably because I didn't ask him about it.

I haven't used the magnet on a string for a long time. For a while when I lived in Rosebud I lost my ability to use it. Along with my ability to make clouds dissipate. I ran into a skeptic who had more power over me than I realized; more power over me still I think than I would like but now I'm aware of that and I keep my walls politely up to protect myself. Before I realized that though, my faith was tested and my connection to the other side was a struggle and nothing that couldn't be explained rationally worked for me. I lost the magnet. It slipped from my mind altogether.

A few weeks ago I am cleaning the office and I find my magnet from all those years ago. Still on the green braided yarn string I made to keep it safe. It falls out of a box into my hand like it had never left. I try to see what it would say about Z. but she keeps trying to bite it, so I put it on the dresser and forget about it again.

Until this morning. It is stuck to my glasses case so I pick it up and began to play around with it like I used to. What gender of baby will my friends have next? A boy. Will I be an RVP within the next 5 years? Yes. Will I be an Area Manager in a year from now? No. By next GTC? Yes. Will S. and I get married? No, but when I ask if we'll be together for the rest of our lives it swings yes. Will I live past 60? Yes. Will Scott? No. Hmm. Will we have children? This confuses the magnet. First it says yes; on further questioning it says one boy and one girl; then two boys; then one boy; then no children at all. We will, however, have a theatre company together. That it seems pretty sure about.

A friend of ours read S.'s palm and said he'll live to be an old man and he'll have three daughters, with me. Who is right? I guess only time will tell.

I notice that sometimes when it swings yes it swings clockwise, and sometimes counter-clockwise. So I ask if those directions meant different things. Clockwise it swings. Does clockwise mean yes for certain? Clockwise. Does counter-clockwise mean a likely yes but not a certain one? It stays counter-clockwise. I test it by asking something I knew the answer to - clockwise it swings. Again I ask if I'll be an Area Manager by the next GTC. Counter-clockwise - likely but not certain.

Huh.

Spoiler alert - if you haven't read The Golden Compass, The Subtle Knife, and The Amber Spyglass, skip this next paragraph.

I recently re-read His Dark Materials by Philip Pullman. In that series the main character, Lyra, uses a form of divination to determine the truth of things past, present and future. She learns that a substance called Dust is on the 'other side' as it were, answering the questions. The Dust also answers questions through the I Ching. Presumably it uses all forms of divination, but those were the only two mentioned in the books. The Dust is later revealed to be fallen angels. If I hadn't read the series it probably never would have occurred to me to ask who was answering my questions. It certainly had never occurred to me before.

Are you what Lyra refers to as Dust?

Definite yes.

Am I dealing with a spirit?

Certain yes.

Is that spirit neutral?

No.

Is that spirit good?

No.

Is that spirit evil?

Certain yes.

Hmm. Interesting.

Was my mother right about this?

Yes, she definitely was.

Was my father right about this?

Nope.

I continue to ask questions. Are you accurate? Mostly. Is your aim to harm me? No. Is your aim to hurt me? Yes. Can you hurt me? Yes. Can you harm me? No.

The distinction is important - hurt is temporary. You can recover from hurt. Hurt is a burn. Harm though. Harm is a bigger deal. Harm is something that takes a lot of time and potential therapy to recover from. Abuse is harm. And hurt. Anyway. The magnet clearly understands the difference.

Should I as a Christian stop messing around with this?

Definite yes.

I put the magnet back on the dresser and go upstairs.

I wonder how honest the spirit on the other side is but I'm not sure if I'll go ask.

I might just use that magnet to find stray needles from now on.

Patron Saint for a Year

2011-01-08T10:53:00.003-07:00

This is a break away from Reverb10.

I got this from the blog of a woman I greatly respect and admire.

Her patron saint for the year is St. Florian. I'd never heard of him before.

Mine is St. Patrick. Yes, the St. Patrick, patron saint of engineers, Ireland and Nigeria. Against the fear of snakes and snake related incidents. And apparently also the patron saint of excluded people according to the brief blurb I read when I got him here.

I read that to include those who are isolated or alienated.

Interesting, no?

I thought so.

I'll be back with the rest of the Reverb10 posts but I wanted to share this first.

Now, when you are least suspecting it -

2011-01-06T09:35:00.002-07:00

I know you probably thought I'd forgotten, or given up on, Reverb10.

Surprise! I was writing them, but forgetting to post them.

There is a subtle difference.

So here's the next one. It's practically a bullet point list, but I did write it early in the morning - or maybe late at night - I don't know. Don't judge me.

What do you want to try next year? Is there something you wanted to try in 2010? What happened when you did / didn’t go for it?

I want to try to make a sundress. I also want to try to build a business so I can work from home. I also want to try to finish a novel I started a year ago; and try to get another novel sent to a publisher.

All of the above are things I wanted to try in 2010. What happened when I tried all those things this year - the sundress got put on hold when I had no iron and I had a bent needle on my sewing machine; building a business proved harder than anticipated and I gave up and restarted and gave up and restarted and then felt like God was telling me to slow down and wait for my time - not yet, not yet; I got too involved in the novel and then sank into depression and had to leave it alone; and I lost my other novel in my office which was/is a disaster area and only recently found it again.

What happened to me with all of this is that I felt worthless and like I couldn’t finish anything.

I know that isn’t true though. So I’m going to try again and this time I’m going to succeed.

Lessons

2010-12-27T18:06:00.002-07:00

The best thing I learned about myself this year is that I have endless reserves of anger and rage. This may not sound like a good thing to learn about oneself but I find a strange pleasure in that, alongside the disturbing nature of the discovery. It means that when I need to be angry, when I need to rage to stay alive or to protect that which I value, or when I need that anger to be there to fight for what I believe in, it will be.

I also learned that I can let go of things like resentment. And that I can be patient and loving even when I don't feel like it. I am capable of a lot more than I realized.

I will carry this on with me. Knowledge is power; and self-knowledge even more so. Now that I know that I can let go of resentment, for instance, it's a lot harder for me to hang onto it in the first place. I see the endless pools of rage and anger resentment brings (and even if I think I can utilize that anger, I don't want to live there), and I'm not willing to have that be my default setting.

Friendship

2010-12-19T10:35:00.002-07:00

From Reverb10. How has a friend changed you or your perspective on the world this year? Was this change gradual, or a sudden burst?

Hmm.

I've had my paradigms of life challenged this year. It hasn't always been by friends. In fact, though friends have been the ones introducing me to the paradigm shifters, they haven't directly challenged my perspectives. In part because I isolated myself from my friends this summer. But that's beside the point right now.

S. introduced me to Alex Jones via infowars.com and prisonplanet.com. Even if you don't believe it, it's still interesting. If nothing else it made me realize what I value in life, and what I'm actually willing to fight for and die for and still go down full of faith that I did the right thing.

That was a sudden change.

That was the biggest change. Not the only one.

Perhaps not the biggest change. Another friend, the woman who introduced me to Arbonne, was the indirect cause for me to listen to Keith Kochner speak in Saskatoon. That changed my perspective greatly, made me realize I don't have the limitations I thought I did, that I don't have to live my life the way I have been, that I'm not trapped into anything but that everywhere around me is opportunity.

These changes are ongoing, quick bursts and then long-term work.

Little changes - after all, a 4 inch shift in the ocean floor will cause a tsunami - can be as mind blowing as big ones, after all.

5 Minutes to Amnesia

2010-12-15T14:07:00.002-07:00

You have 5 Minutes before you will completely lose your memory of 2010. Set an alarm for five minutes and capture the things you most want to remember about 2010.

Here I go.

S. Him this year. His generosity. His love. Just him, in his life, crotchety and funny and sweet and sour.

Z. The dog. Her puppyhood when she was sweet and her current state where she's not. Such a biter. So much work to be done. Sigh.

Saskatoon. Hearing Keith Kochner speak. Having those ideas sink into my soul and remind me of what is important and what is not.

Learning about the way the world is working, the tyranny and oppression and removal of freedoms that is happening every day and nobody gives a shit. Alex Jones has a lot of information about this. It's scary but it's important to know. Even if you don't believe it, it's important to know. The Canadian government just passed a bill so that American troops can come to Canada to maintain order during an emergency. I think Canada gets to define emergency - but maybe not. And either way, we've just signed away some of our sovereignty. Great work, government...and great work, Canadian public, letting that one slide through without a whisper of protest.

The love I've experienced this year. I would want to remember that too. The revelations I've had in churches and at home.

And my five minutes are up.

That went faster than I expected. But I think I remembered the important things.

Appreciation

2010-12-14T21:16:00.002-07:00

What’s the one thing you have come to appreciate most in the past year? How do you express gratitude for it?

I appreciate S. More than I think he knows. He's been there for me this summer when I know I was extremely hard to live with. Sudden spurts of anger and rage mixed with long periods of what felt like numbness and withdrawal from life.

So he deserves a medal. Or something. Just for loving me through all of that.

I didn't express much gratitude this summer. I wasn't capable of expressing much. At least that's how it felt.

After going to Saskatoon last month, my outlook on life changed. Not overnight, it's an ongoing thing, an awareness of perspective and the important things in life. It has made me easier to live with I think. I hope. And it has made me more aware of expressing gratitude and love towards people I value. I hope it has actually taken action. I know I'm not as stressed. I'm calmer.

I don't think I've actually thanked S. for his wonderfulness this summer though. I think I'm going to do that. Right now.

Action

2010-12-14T19:33:00.002-07:00

To quote Reverb10 - When it comes to aspirations, it’s not about ideas. It’s about making ideas happen. What’s your next step?

Well shit.

This is probably what my Arbonne sponsor would like to know too.

Although I'm realizing what my dreams actually are, and defining what I really want, and it changes as I get older and more informed about the world, and more aware of what matters to me.

To answer this I really need to know what my aspirations are. The only repeating aspiration I have is to be a published author. I don't do much to promote this goal of mine. Although writing these every day is a baby step towards that - it keeps me writing every day - and that's something. I am slowly going through the full length novel I wrote two years ago, getting it ready to submit to a publishing house, and that's something too. It's just a lot of baby steps. Little pieces of action, far apart. I'm not sure why I'm not a big action quickly sort of girl. I never have been. But I don't think that's because I couldn't do it. Just for some reason I don't.

And with Arbonne...it's a strange feeling. I wanted to promote in November, to the next level, to share my dreams with some business builders and get the ball rolling. I was half-way there - and then doors began to shut. Gently. But shutting nonetheless. And I got the distinct, strange feeling that November was not my time. That it would be, at some point, my time to make Arbonne my focus. But not right now. I went to an Arbonne meeting and again, got the sense that while I needed to keep my toes in the water, it was not the time to 'hurry hard' at this.

I'm not sure why.

I felt strongly that I needed to start my business at the level I did. I don't regret doing it. I'm glad I started on this venture, and I still have dreams and goals. I just can't get it going right now and for some reason I feel like that's a deliberate thing.

It's strange but I'm going with it. If I can't follow my TUG (the ultimate guide, built into each one of us) then I can't follow anything.

Those are the two main areas I have aspirations in that I feel I need to take action on. One, I feel I need to take more action. The other, I feel I'm doing what I'm supposed to even if it doesn't seem like enough.

What are my next steps? With writing, it's to finish these prompts and get my book ready to send away. I guess I should set a deadline. I will have my manuscript (or a selection of it) in the mail to the publishing house by my next birthday (which is coming up pretty fast here). With Arbonne, it's to keep dipping my toes in, keep pushing here and there to see if there's a spot to find forward momentum, and wait for my gut (hmm, reverse tug and what do you get?) to tell me that it's time to move further, faster, now.

Integration

2010-12-12T14:05:00.003-07:00

I have been increasingly blessed to find that I don't think about my body and mind being separated much anymore.

It still happens.

A few nights ago I had a little fit - I don't know what to call them. I used to get them all the time. Time speeds up and slows down simultaneously. My mouth gets a strange taste in it. My head feels larger and heavier than it should. Things are incredibly loud. I feel like I'm moving very quickly and yet everyone else is so, so slow.

I had a doctor tell me it might be temporal epilepsy. In which case I had a seizure.

That is a mind-body split. It was very strange since I hadn't had one for so long.

I didn't like it one bit.

I used to live my life as though my mind was connected and my body was absent. Lately I've had more moments where I felt my body was more connected than my mind. As if my body was trying to tell me something and my mind was completely oblivious. Or in denial. Or deliberately shutting out information I needed.

Migraines stemming from shutting down when I needed to speak up. Muscles tightening when I refused to acknowledge my stress. Heart beating hard and fast and chest tight when anxiety overwhelmed reason and faith vanished in the face of fear. Breathing being lost in the stress of the summer.

And my brain didn't feel that involved this summer. It was shrouded. Blocked. Fuzzy. Forgetful. Not present. So perhaps that's why my body had to step up, to keep me going, to keep me alive and functioning on some basic level that I had forgotten existed.

More and more my body and mind and heart and soul feel like one cohesive unit.

If that was a consequence of the summer, then I am grateful again that this summer happened.

11 Things

2010-12-11T11:06:00.002-07:00

11 things I don't need. 11 things I'll try to eliminate in 2011.

1. I don't need One World Governance. Individual countries need to keep their freedom.

2. I don't need higher taxes. The economy won't improve unless people have money to spend, after all.

3. I don't need my freedoms being restricted in the name of security.

These three, all I can do about them is to protest the bills being passed that pave the way for these things to happen; and to use my voting power wisely; and to be aware, informed and unafraid. Keep my eyes open. Look for the light.

4. I don't need the procrastination I exude towards my writing. This is probably the easiest, and hardest, to eliminate...just by sitting down and making myself write.

5. I don't need poverty, and I don't need riches. However, I also don't have riches so I can't get rid of that one...and I've been trying to get rid of poverty for a long time. Perhaps I need to reevaluate my definition of poverty.

6. I don't need stress. I am learning to manage the things I find stressful and I am getting better at not internalizing things I don't need to.

7. I don't need meaningless anger. With learning what to internalize and what to shut out, I am getting better at eliminating this one too.

8. I don't need hatred. I am letting go of resentment, and with it goes the hatred and the anger.

9. I don't need censorship. From myself or from others. And this is solved by learning to hear myself, to allow myself to use my true voice, and to fight to be heard.

10. I don't need to be given smurf bites by my dog. This one is going to take some time and training. Possibly professional help.

11. I don't need my furniture to be destroyed by said dog. Again. Professional help may be required.

Wisdom

2010-12-10T22:56:00.002-07:00

What was the wisest choice I made this year, and how did it play out?

Good grief, Reverb10. You don't pull any punches, do you?

To answer glibly, and off the top of my head, I have no idea. I won't know until I have the wisdom of hindsight, time passed to show me the long term consequences of the choices I have made this year. It's near impossible to tell which of the choices I made this year was the wisest; and the context often determines what was wise at what time, anyway.

But if asked to actually choose one - going to listen to Keith Kochner speak in Saskatoon. Not only listening to him speak, but taking in what he had to say, and growing, and bringing change into my life because of it. If anyone reading this ever gets a chance to go to an Exchange Event, I would recommend it. There is so much to take in. So much change to put into effect. So much to ponder and let go of and rewrite. So many areas of my life that it applies to. I went because of Arbonne; it's shown me that my true passion in life is to tell stories, and the desire of my heart is to tell stories that change people's lives (hopefully for the better). And to live in Balance. I have yet to figure out how Arbonne, and theatre, and every other choice I've ever made, fits into that.

But I'm no longer freaked out about that process, and I no longer think I need to have all the answers yesterday. This is a journey and I am growing peaceful with that reality. Most days.

I think that's all the wisdom I can put into action in my life right now.

Rocking My Socks Off

2010-12-10T21:34:00.002-07:00

When I graduated from Rosebud a lovely woman took all the graduating women to a spa for mani-pedis and massages. The woman who did my pedicure said I had the softest feet she'd ever worked on. She asked if I ever went barefoot.

I told her I wore socks and shoes almost all the time, or socks and slippers. She said that explained it, at least in part.

All that to say, I don't rock my socks off.

I didn't do a lot of parties this year. I'm not sure I did any, actually.

I didn't do a lot of social gatherings either.

The best social gatherings I went to were with people S. worked with. They came over for his birthday. We went to one of their places for another birthday party, and for an end of season party. Outside, or at a local pub, surrounded by people who were full of life and energy when I was not, was a way to fill myself with some of that energy. Music, or the sound of people and doves in the backyard of the house next door; a fire pit, food cooked over the flames or brought by cheery waitresses. Comfy clothes, decent. Pizza on blue couches in a third story apartment that felt way, way higher. Chatter. Talk. Theatre and life mixing. Games. Drinking, alcohol and pop and water with ice crunched between the teeth.

The feeling of acceptance.

Those were moments of connecting to community too. Those were moments that I will remember from 2010.

Beautiful Souls

2010-12-10T21:31:00.004-07:00

Another prompt from Reverb10 - Think about what makes you different and what you do that lights people up. Reflect on all the things that make you different & you’ll find they’re what make you beautiful.

I'm a few days behind. I'll catch up on the weekend. Writing is tough...yeah, yeah, I know. I love it. But it's tough to take time for it when I'm gone all day and I want to come home and spend time with S. and the dog and not my computer.

When I thought about this one I didn't know what to write. I don't know what I do that makes people light up. It seems to be a bit random. Little moments of true un-self-awareness, those moments when a person is just truly themselves, no censorship - you know the ones? Where you see someone and get an instant crush on them, as one of my acting teachers once put it. Not a sexual thing - just a moment of seeing their soul. It's beautiful.

And I'm not sure what makes me different. Or rather, I'm not sure I can articulate what makes me different. It's my soul. That can't be articulated.

Community

2010-12-07T20:35:00.003-07:00

Where have I found community (online or otherwise) in 2010? Where would I like to join, create or connect to more deeply in 2011?

On a side note, I'm enjoying Reverb10. Even if I feel rushed doing it.

I have noticed this year that I started with a feeling of community. Within and outside of the theatre. I had gigs, friends I was working with, confidence and joy. And then that went away and I felt a vacuum of community in my life that led me into depression, or at least damn close to it.

So I've felt a loss of community that was, in retrospect, kind of self inflicted.

I briefly felt a sense of community at a church I went to three times, before it began to push all sorts of buttons for me.

I've felt connected to my neighbours for the first time in two years. Not strongly, like I was used to in Rosebud, but still connected. It's something...but not a community.

I've felt connected to people S. worked with. A bit of community, like a family I was married into. The people I've worked with, in some cases more than others, like a little bit of that too. But not enough to sustain me. And that's not what work is for, after all. Not outside the financial, anyway.

So, to answer the question. I've found community in dribs and drabs, where I could, because I realized I desperately needed it. Mostly offline, much to my surprise now. Although I spent a lot of time on Facebook. Which I guess says something about social media vs. human connection.

I would like to be more connected to my 'old' friends in 2011. I would like to find community in a spiritual sense this coming year, whether in church or in an informal setting. I'd like to plug into the theatre community, in some way, and into the Arbonne one as well.

But mostly with my friends who've been there through thick and thin. And some new ones I'm making now. Relationships are important to me and I want to keep that a priority.

Making

2010-12-07T20:29:00.002-07:00

What was the last thing I made? Is there something I want to make but need to clear time for?

The last thing I made, or felt creative about, was a present I wrapped. I didn't make the present - that I bought - but the wrapping process made me feel like a creator which was nice. It's pretty, sitting on my table until I see my friend tomorrow. It's orange. She reminds me of the colour orange. I hope she likes it.

The last thing I actually made, though, was a sock-shoe for the dog. It was not my idea. S. took an old holey sock, cut it apart and measured (roughly) a sock for Z. And then asked me to sew it. So I took orange thread (a colour theme perhaps) and sewed up the sides of the bag for her foot. She didn't much appreciate it but at least her foot can bend where it's supposed to. We'll see if we make any other sock-bag-shoes for her.

And I want to make a summer dress. The pattern is cut out. The material downstairs. It needs to be ironed. Today I noted to myself that I feel like I have no time to do anything. I'm not sure that's true but I know January will be upon me before I've prepared for it and I don't like that. The feeling of panic, being rushed. I need to sort out my time usage. And figure out how to utilize that fricken commute in the evening that goes for 45 minutes when it should be 20. Stupid traffic.

Letting Go

2010-12-05T21:59:00.002-07:00

Again, Reverb10.

What, or whom, did I let go of this year?

In a word. Resentment. I held onto some anger I didn't need. And I let go of that this year.

It was a wonderful, good feeling.

Of all the things to let go of, that was the best one.

Wonder

2010-12-04T12:16:00.002-07:00

This is from Reverb10.

I ponder the question, how did you cultivate a sense of wonder in your life this year? And I think, off the top of my head, that I didn't.

This year was a year of ups and downs for me. Incredible ups. Intense downs.

I started the year with such joy and hope and excitement. I was going to be involved with four theatrical productions, possibly more. I was going to have two shows produced that I had written. I was unemployed but with a sense that things would be okay, I would be provided for and my soul would be fed and I would be okay. My faith was strong. My joy complete.

The first project of the year. Working with friends. Writing a show out of the blue - so three written works produced! - and having a blast, and making money doing what I love. The wonder of that experience just happened. I didn't go out of my way to cultivate it. I just experienced it and revelled in the love of it.

Working with children in a homeless shelter. I wondered, in a different way, at their lives. The fact they would use the microwave on the toy kitchen and not the stove or oven. They would use a toy phone but not talk to each other. Again I didn't cultivate a sense of wonder, and it wasn't a sense of wonder in the way I suspect is meant by the question I am pondering.

Then we started rehearsals for the second theatrical project of the year. A play I wrote. A character I loved. A process that was just fun, just playing with friends. A wonder I felt at the joy and the fun and the play. This wasn't work. It was sheer enjoyment of being alive. It was wonderous. And then the show was cancelled - postponed - cancelled. Three days into rehearsal. Anger warred with disappointment warred with resentment and more anger. Fury. Rage.

The other two shows I was supposed to be a part of were cancelled too. Both my plays now unproduced sitting in drawers where I couldn't see them.

More anger. More rage. Much more resentment.

Depression.

Unemployment again but this time without the sense that I would be provided for. Without a sense of purpose. I felt lost and drifting. Inexplicable anger, misdirected at those I love instead of those people, and forces, I was angry with. No wonder, unless you count wondering why I was so angry and upset and sad and dark. And then it was just numb and apathetic.

We got a puppy, at first a minor distraction and then a reason to get up in the morning because she needed me to. It probably saved me. Even if it also showed me the darkest pools of rage, brought a great fear into myself because how could I be so angry with a little baby, innocent of ill intent, to the edge of hurting her but at least I could stop myself from crossing that line. And I was feeling something again. Even if it wasn't wonder or joy.

A patch of light. Visiting home for a few weeks. Nothing to do but no pressure to do anything. I couldn't find work here, I was a visitor. And then a spot of interest, a chance to take matters into my own hands, Arbonne was a chance to make money and have some aspect of life come back, and so I took it and floundered.

I realized there was no balance. Either all focus was on writing, or acting, or Arbonne, or socializing, or finding work, or playing games. When doing one the others vanished. I realized this was what I actually wanted - balance - all aspects of a whole life showing themselves at once. More than riches or fame or success. Balance would be nice.

I put myself out there. I get work. I wonder at how the pieces are suddenly falling into place for me. What happened? What was I lacking all summer, why is there light now where there was darkness, why hope where there was despair, why joy where there was an endless hole of anger? And the anger is still there, simmering. But it's not at the top anymore. It's progress. Or at least pleasant. I have time with friends. Work with money. Arbonne appointments. Family visits. Love. Auditions. A writing class. A welcoming congregation. Life is full of wonder and joy again.

Life throws some curve balls. I lose my job. Arbonne falls to the background, people say no, they don't want to hear what I'm doing. We can't go home for Christmas. The dog is being a little shit. The church is full of lies. The audition is a bust, writer's block surfaces.

And I hear a man speak about resentment circling down to resistance circling down to revenge. About the foundational stories that provide cracks and leaks and lies in the houses that are our lives. About how to identify those stories and change them and begin to heal. To let go of resentment. To let go of the lies and find our way to Balance. True abundance in every aspect of our lives.

And I let go of resentments I've held since the spring. Since the shows vanished along with my joy. I begin the life-long process of replacing lies with Truth, of reprogramming the voices in my head, of finding Balance with a capital B.

People still say no to Arbonne but for some reason I feel that it's a gentle Not Now from Him. I don't know why but I am okay. Moments of despair instead of weeks of darkness. A chance to speak blessings into the lives of hundreds of people every day, people who may not know what I'm doing but for whom I hope it makes a difference anyway. A Joe Job transformed into a chance for Light to triumph. A dog who is still being a shit but instead of unfathomable anger I find patience and an acknowledgement that she is there to teach me as much as I am there to guide her on the path to Good Dog. Writer's block dissipates. Auditions still a bust but that's okay too. It's about more than that, a bigger picture, a life of joy and abundance instead of panic and lacking.

New friendships grow out of unexpected places. Chances to share a faith that is unconventional at best. To share a joy and a peace and a gratefulness without labels or limitations. Old friendships revitalized once my resistance was thrown away. Joy in the hiccups of an unborn baby.

I am finding my sense of wonder again and for that I am so, so grateful. If that is what the summer was for. For me to appreciate the Light again once I began to find it. Then I am slowly growing grateful for the summer as well.

Blinded by the Light, or perhaps just Blinded

2010-10-31T15:13:00.006-06:00

I've started going back to church. My neighbours invited me with them and I decided to go. Something was missing in my life, some hole that I decided needed to be filled with God. And thus - church.

The first Sunday I went, I was amazed by how welcoming everyone was. I hadn't been there for 5 minutes and four people had shaken my hand. Welcomed me there. Expressed pleasure that I existed. The worship music was lead by an enthusiastic and decent group of musicians and singers. The sermon, delivered by a young man in his third year of seminary, was also enthusiastic, if completely unsophisticated. I was surprised by how it landed with me, how my intellect didn't get in the way and write off the young man for losing his place, his train of thought; for his entire sermon of cliches and non-original thought. It landed, and I had an experience, my faith renewed like it has not been for years.

I went back the next Sunday. It was another guest speaker. An old man, a man who preached in the style of my youth, designed to push my buttons with his incessant prattle about how God will make you wealthy if you tithe with an open heart and just have faith. After all, he and his wife had faith that God would provide when they stepped out and bought their fifth property without knowing for sure they could pay for it.

Thanks. That's really relatable. Fifth property, huh? I bit my tongue and held in my cynicism. When I talked to my mother, decompressing, I got the mixed messages of "I can't handle the Prosperity Gospel" and "You shouldn't go to church to get something out of it. Going through the motions has value too."

Full of cynicism and confusion, I slept in the next Sunday.

The pastor's wife called me a few days later to see if I was okay. I was both pleased to be missed and annoyed that I had to call in sick to church. And then she asked me if I could use my acting talents to help the youth put on a Christmas banquet in 6 weeks. "We haven't chosen anything yet," she said. "But the youth pastor is quite a talented actor too! He did all kinds of things in high school. I'll have to chat with you both on Sunday!"

She prayed for me too. Prayed that God would shower me with blessings, money, and find me a good husband one day. She didn't ask if I had a man already and I didn't volunteer that information. She did a lot more talking than listening and I just wanted to get off the phone before my phone bill got higher. I might have tithed when Old Man Prosperity preached but it hadn't returned to my wallet, guided by the Golden Hands of God, just yet.

I hung up with a rueful smile. It was true, what my acting teachers had said. Every time church people find out you're an actor, they try to rope you into putting on amazing productions in no time at all - after all, it can't be hard. Every high school student does drama. It doesn't take time. I bit down on my jaded knee-jerk reaction and planned how to politely decline any responsibility for a Christmas concert/program/banquet thingy while not making them sound like blithering idiots for their ignorance.

I went on Sunday. I tried to leave my judging eyes at home. Tried to have an open heart and mind, a teachable spirit.

"Who here would rather have a million dollars? Who here would rather have True Riches?"

This is what the pastor segued too, in a sermon about faithfulness. I bit down. I am here to be teachable. I am leaving the judging eyes at home.

"Define True Riches!" shouts special dude behind me. He's been singing in harmonies the entire morning, much to my surprise; harmonies that arise from him trying to sing the tune, I think, since they work but they don't sound fully intentional. He's also been yelling the odd supportive phrase throughout the sermon, which he has done every Sunday I've been there. Nevertheless, by this point I am in total agreement with Special Dude. I want the definition of True Riches already, particularly since the pastor has asked the question, with minor variations, 6 TIMES. I mean, get to the fucking point already.

Except when he got to the point I could no longer hold onto the teachable spirit I'd been trying to cultivate.

Because the point, and the definition of True Riches...

Money.

"God wants you to be rich!" "God wants you to make more than $100,000 a year! Why? Because $100,000 a year is a limit, and God wants you to have no limits!" "God's blessings are the goose that laid the golden eggs! People can take away your wealth (the golden eggs) but you'll still have true riches (the goose)!" "I believe this verse is about money!"

Verbatim. Unfortunately. That is all verbatim.

I wrote down some furious notes. I ran out of paper. When the pastor asked if we believed what he was saying, I shook my head emphatically - I don't think he saw. I began to shake with rage, my arms crossed, sitting in the front row, anger rising and rising until I had to either jump up and slap the pastor across his lying face or leave.

I left. My heels clicked all the way across the community centre floor to the back, where the two door guards (I guess they're called ushers) pointed out the washroom. I went in, looked in the mirror - my face was pale, I was shaking, I looked distraught. "I can't go back in there," I whispered to the empty room. "I just can't."

I texted S. - "Fucking prosperity gospel. Coming home. Want a cheeseburger and fries?" I took a few breaths and snuck out while the guards - sorry, ushers - weren't looking. I made it to the car, got inside and locked the doors - I felt like I had to escape. It was so oppressive. And as I drove away I checked my mirrors, expecting the pastor's wife to chase me down and haul me back inside.

I talked to my mom. "I got away though," I said. She laughed but that's how it felt.

I ranted for a long time. To S., to my mom, my dad. On here, now. On Facebook. The lies this man was preaching, masquerading as God's word, cloaked in the verses about a cheerful giver - tithe to Pastor Moneybags, God will reward you with cash, it's working for Pastor Moneybags, isn't it? As he grows fat on the tithes of his impoverished congregation who cannot afford a building of their own and must use a community centre while they wait for God's blessing to arrive, in the form of Mamon.

A word he actually used in the sermon, to describe God's blessings.

Last I checked, the Bible said you could serve either God or Mamon. Not both.

Not both.

And last I checked, Satan made promises of material wealth too.

So if both look like angels of light...

If they both shine brighter than the sun...

If they both give you money when you follow their rules...

What the fuck is the difference?

From an earthly perspective, that is.

I've struggled with money, and with faith, and I've almost made the choice to choose Mamon over God. To hear that if I only had enough faith, and the right kind of faith, I'd be rewarded with money...well, that rubs me the wrong way. That invalidates the faith journeys of every poor person on the planet. Why isn't it working for the Christians of Africa, or China? Surely the Christians who are prosecuted for their faith, who have to make a choice between worshipping God or living their lives in peace, surely they have enough faith to be given large gifts of cash instead of having their fucking lives taken away from them? This message of bullshit invalidates my childhood, where money was rare and God was not. My parents, who experienced poverty and faith hand in hand. It makes a mockery of everything I feel to be true and right, and turns God into a Golden Calf.

I can't handle it. Obviously.

The pastor's wife called me that night to ask if I was okay. "Someone said you left during the sermon," she said. I took a deep breath and told her the truth, politely. "The prosperity gospel pushes a lot of buttons for me," I said. "I had to leave."

"Oh. Oh," she said. She didn't seem to know what else to say. "Well, thank you for being honest," she finally said. "You're welcome," I said. "I'll call you on Wednesday and we can chat," she continued.

S. said I should have told her not to call me or contact me ever again. I guess I was too polite. I think being polite and nice is going to catch up to me one day, when I snap and have a breakdown of some kind on some random person - God help that random person, they're going to wonder what the hell happened to them - but since that is still just a thought and not a near-future eventuality, I didn't tell her to go fuck herself with her golden Bible.

By some accident my phone died today.

Accident? Or divine intervention?

I don't know.

But it's a good thing, either way.

Because today might have been the day that I snapped.

I drove to Saskatoon today. I've had an overly busy last two weeks. I've had 3 days, in the last 22, where I didn't go anywhere...as far as I can remember, anyway...but I think I only took one of those days to just do nothing. So I think I'm pushing myself to a breaking point of some kind. For the last week or so I have been spoiling for a fight - you know those days where you wake up and you just want somebody to do something or say something so you can just light into them and rip them apart, just so you can feel better? I wanted to break someone's nose, or cut them to the soul with my words, or something violent and cruel and completely unnecessary, just to be a bitch and get it over with. I fantasized about going back in time, to the customer who was grouchy because their favoured dog food was out of stock, who told me we were going to lose business if we didn't get our act together instead of reading the GODDAMNED SIGN ABOVE THE DOG FOOD THAT SAID IT WAS A MANUFACTURERS SUPPLY ISSUE and had nothing to do with us - fuck, I wanted to go back in time and take out 26 years of being nice to people on her until she cried. Good thing I haven't got a time machine.

I didn't fight today. I had a few chances to be a bitch but I held back and was nice and lied when people asked me how I was, said fine, smiled, all is well in the inner workings of this maniacally tired girl. I saw a friend and that was a high point in my day - it's possible to just rest in the largeness of her almost-to-term belly and take some real delight in the life that resides in there. And then I kept driving. I cried a bit as I drove. I talked myself through all the reasons I need to go to therapy. I think I've decided that I should get at least one sleep-in day a week, a day where I do nothing and go nowhere and just hang out with my man and my dog and try to restore my sanity in little pieces every day. I decided I shouldn't be in customer service, where the chance to explode on innocent people is just too readily available. If they ask me to be a merchandiser, I think I'll take it - it means dealing with product, not people, and you can swear (quietly) at product if it's frustrating you without getting fired.

Doing the Arbonne thing feels a little confusing to me right now to be honest. Is it chasing Mamon in another form? Or is it okay? Am I the hypocrite, or am I simply searching for a way to use my God given gifts and still have a roof over my head? My sponsor wants me to kick it into high gear. I'm tired and confused and I feel like I'm letting her down. I don't know what I want anymore, and I don't know what I'm doing for me and what I'm doing to be nice.

I have a lot of sorting to do and I thought I was done sorting through things - do you have to continually resort as life goes on? Don't you get to some point where you've done your sorting and you can just live already? If so, that apparently doesn't happen in your 20's. Sigh.

And now I'm in Saskatoon, waiting for my roommate for the weekend to arrive. I'm exhausted and I just want to go to sleep even though it's only 7:30. I usually am at a writer's class right now - and I just realized I forgot to tell them I was going to be absent this week. Insert the expletive of your choice here, I feel like I've used up my quota for this post already.

So I'll finish this post, and close my eyes, and wait for a knock to signal that I need to open the door and let her in...and then I'll crash hard and hopefully tomorrow when I open my eyes I'll be in a place to listen to this speaker I've come all the way here to listen to, and hopefully I'll be rested in spirit and in body when it comes time to turn around and go back home and work for 6 more days before I can sleep in again and take a much needed resting day with the two creatures I co-habitate with.

Assuming the dog - and S. for that matter - hasn't forgotten that I do in fact live there too.

Working World

2010-09-20T11:23:00.002-06:00

I am not used to standing for 8+ hours a day. My feet hurt after each of my two shifts.

It's a fun gig though. The funnest retail environment ever - selling to Cirque patrons as they go into and out of the shows. I was surprised, though, to see several patrons who were more interested in shopping than in seeing the show - they remained out in the merchandise area intentionally after the show had begun! That's an expensive ticket just to do some shopping, ladies.

It's a cold working environment. The tent is barely heated, just enough to take the edge off the chill. It would cost a fortune to heat the merchandise area; so we wear layers and layers of black and try to stay dry in the rain. I didn't notice it when I was working but the in-between times were chilly. Chilly and damp, and I still had fun!

I'm really glad to be back in the working world, even if it is only for a few weeks. It's so nice to be out of the house, with purpose, a task to complete and people to work alongside of. I need my solo time, but I need to be out of the house too.

We're off to a wedding in a few days. It's an outdoor wedding. Hopefully the weather cooperates but it doesn't look likely.

I have very little else to say. I'm glad to be inside today, relaxing after some actual working days; and I'll be glad to get back out to the chilly rainy Cirque tent on Tuesday.

Insular

2010-09-12T15:40:00.004-06:00

I've been sick with - well, with something, for four days. I never know what to call these things. I'm pretty sure anything with aches and fever is a flu, but I rarely get sick to my stomach. Probably because I just lose my appetite altogether. Anyway. It's settled down to a chest cough so hopefully that means it's on it's way out.

It did mean that I had to miss a friend's show. That made me sad. I love the play she was in, and I've never gotten to see it up on its feet. A coughing audience member, particularly a contagious one, isn't well loved however, so I chose to miss out and hope that I'll get another chance to see it someday.

The dog has been a little angel through all of the aches and lethargy and coughing. S. went to his hometown for his brother's bachelor party (which was an epic weekend, from the stories I've been getting) so I've been home alone with the pooch. Which has been fine. I haven't had the energy to do anything, and she's been most accommodating instead of turning into an under-exercized demon. Right now she's sleeping on the floor, sucking in air like it's going out of style - she has nursing dreams that seem quite intense. She'll be a farting machine later.

So I've watched a lot of television and I've done a lot of sleeping. I finished reading a book and I've checked up on a lot of blogs.

Not much of anything else. I tried to write but my brain hasn't been cooperating. I tried to memorize a monologue for an audition coming up - also not much success, but at least I've got some of it down. I hope I have a singing voice by then since I need to sing for it too. I also tried to do some Arbonne stuff but when every sentence is punctuated by a wracking cough it's a little hard to speak. Plus people are too worried about your health to believe that you can improve theirs.

A friend came over yesterday which was nice. No, it was great. I haven't seen her all summer and I've missed her. We had such a great conversation. We're kind of in a similar place, with our semi-jobless states and both dating non-religious men; it was nice to chat about our lives. I'm glad to have at least a few friends in the city.

S. and I have talked about the disconnect we feel sometimes living in the city when a lot of our friends live in a small town nearby. Nearby meaning about 90 minutes away by car. We try to make an effort to go out and see people. A few of those friends make an effort to come in and see us. A lot of them don't. It's tough for me not to internalize that and assume that they don't actually want to be my friends anymore - I have to remind myself that life in a small town - and that small town in particular - gets insular and it's almost impossible to avoid it and see beyond the valley walls.

Almost impossible, a small voice says. Because some people manage just fine. And those are the people I get to see more often.

Ah well. That's life, they say in France.

It's not that different from my life the last few days, after all. I've been living in a self-imposed insular state for half a week. If my friend hadn't made an effort to come over I wouldn't have seen another human being in that entire time. And those outside my walls wouldn't necessarily know why.

So I guess there might be other aspects to the lives of others that I don't see either.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to try to walk the dog. That is, if I don't cough up a lung first.

It's Nothing New

2010-09-01T15:07:00.005-06:00

S. believes in me. The depth of his belief blows me away.

I wonder if I believe in myself as strongly. I don't know. If I did, wouldn't I have done something with the talent he sees in me by now?

The fact that he thinks I'm talented enough to make it provides more impetus than I expected.

He sometimes tries to spur action in me by nagging me. That doesn't work very well.

But the simple act of telling me he thinks I'm talented, that he believes in my gifts, makes me want to do something with those gifts. How strange.

S. loves me. The strength of his love takes my breath away.

It's nothing new, but it seems new to me every time I realize it.

I am one of the fortunate ones.

Social Skilz

2010-08-31T12:51:00.003-06:00

I wish I had them.

I mean, I think I have some. I do have friends. I seem to participate in social events without making S. want to crawl under a rock. I appear to be capable of making a good impression on people.

But in some situations, the natural thing to do doesn't occur to me.

I just took the dog for a walk. We met an adorable little black pug. I have learned that when two dog walkers intersect, if they stop to let their dogs visit, only the dogs get introduced. It's a strange little phenomenon but it's just how it is.

We also met two people who were dogless. They were standing outside their houses, chatting. They introduced themselves, I introduced myself. And the dog. And then didn't really ask them any other questions. Half way down the block, after we'd left, I realized I should have inquired as to their jobs and lives, since they were obviously willing to chat with me and I felt that initial interested spark that indicates possible friendship. And since I'm trying to meet people right now since I haven't got many friends in Calgary, that would have been good to follow up on.

But I didn't. And now I may never see them again and have missed an opportunity to make new friends.

Sigh.

Maybe that wasn't an abnormal thing not to think of though.

Or maybe I've been spending too much time with the dog.

Balance

2010-08-20T22:08:00.007-06:00

This has been a summer of learning.

I have never had a summer where I haven't been surrounded by people. Whether it was in a theatre, at a restaurant, or in a museum, I have never had a shortage of humanity to immerse myself in.

I am not an extrovert. I find excessive amounts of people exhausting. I get 'peopled out' and need to retreat to solitude to retain my sanity.

But this summer, I have learned that there is such a thing as too much 'solo time'.

This is the first summer in years that I have felt loneliness. This is the first summer that I have had to go out of my way to find a social outlet - the first summer I've felt a need for a social outlet in the first place. Usually I get enough human contact during the day, at work.

But now I don't get that. I spend my days with a puppy. I see S. and almost no-one else. I occasionally talk on the phone with people, and that's it.

That's not enough.

So I'm learning how to create a social life. I've never had to do that before, and it's a strange new experience for me.

In the process I'm also learning that I'm not very good at incorporating all aspects of my life into a blended whole. I tend to focus exclusively on one thing at a time, to the detriment to all else. I am writing and the house falls to pieces around me. I am cleaning and I abandon my artistic side. I start doing Arbonne and I ignore upcoming auditions until the last minute. I decide I need a social life and I cease to be productive on any other level.

It's a problem but at least I'm learning now instead of when I'm old and wrinkled and unable to change.

I've been reading Dooce, a blog my mom introduced me to. Being the kind of person I am, I've actually gone back and am working my way through every single post she's ever written. I wish I'd done that before I started writing my blog. I've learned a lot - this post particularly has riveted itself to my brain. I don't always think about the possible fallout my online work might have on offline work, or life. There are things I've written here that I wish I would have taken more time to think out, or perhaps not written here at all and kept them in my private journals, or in my brain, unwritten. Not that I've experience huge fallout from what I've written, but I know I've inadvertently affected people negatively and that, I can't help but think, has changed relationships for me.

It doesn't necessarily have anything to do with balance; but perhaps it does. A balance between writing the truth in my life and my head and being aware of how that truth will affect the people around me.

So it's been a summer of learning. And I don't see it stopping any time soon...and that's okay.

Exchanges

2010-08-03T16:49:00.004-06:00

I'm learning a lot right now, about myself, about my thought processes, about my perspectives and perceptions and assumptions.

I wouldn't have thought that Arbonne, a health and wellness company, would have spurred self-examination and growth; at least not so quickly. My sponsor told me Arbonne was a self-growth company disguised as a health and wellness company and it's proving true so far.

I signed up for several reasons. It's something that I think will keep me from being homeless while giving me the time control to pursue acting and writing; and I like the products. But I also was just tired of being unemployed, tired of waiting for someone else to give me a chance.

I went and listened to a talk by Keith Kochner - he's called the Gap Guy because he helps people identify the gaps between where they are and where they want to go and eliminate those gaps. It blew my mind apart. I wish I could have gone to the whole 2 day exchange, since a 15 minute talk had such an impact, but I didn't hear about it in time. Still. 15 minutes was enough to give me food for thought for a week.

He said in order to get where you want to go, you have to make exchanges. Obviously what I've been doing hasn't gotten me where I want to be. Why didn't I think of this on my own? I don't know.

And this will change my life. It'll help me to set and achieve goals in every aspect of my life.

Now all I have to do is implement it...

My Life This Past Month

2010-07-25T15:52:00.004-06:00

I haven't posted anything here in almost a month.

It's not like I've been terribly busy this past month or anything.

This past month I've:

written
procrastinated
fought the darkness
fought the light
spent time with friends
isolated myself
cut my hair - bad, bad idea
been frustrated with and in love with puppy Z at the same time
gone and house/pug sat for my parents
become an Arbonne consultant

My life in a nutshell.

The last few days, since becoming a consultant, I've had an excuse for business. Huh. I meant to spell 'busyness' but I guess business works too. Steep learning curve but it's good for me. I'm already meeting some really cool people and getting out of my head - I had no idea how much I needed that until I started.

The last month for puppy Z has involved learning a few new tricks (she rolls over now, and we're starting her on a military routine - she sits, lays down, crawls a few paces and rolls over before sitting back up - you never know when you're going to need a puppy marine) and chewing on EVERYTHING. Hence the 'in love' and 'frustrated with'. She eats, literally eats, wood, whether that be baseboards or stair edges. And paint. And bits of the carpet. Argh. Just chew on your bully stick, you dumb animal. And then she sits there, all cuteness and little jowls, and how can I stay mad at that?

Lots of learning, on many levels and to many purposes. Life, I guess.

In a nutshell.

It's A Beautiful Day In The Neighbourhood

2010-06-27T16:32:00.004-06:00

All the crazies come out in the summer.

The landlord is fixing the screen door, finally. Or trying to. I'm not sure how much success he's having.

He is simultaneously interrogating the neighbour, asking if he's the one who left the couch in the dumpster. It's a little awkward for me, even though I'm inside trying to ignore them.

"Did you leave the couch in the dumpster?"

"I'm not answering that. I pay the rent." Blah blah blah.

"Yes, but you do live in my property."

I try to tune it out.

By the way, the neighbour totally did leave the couch there. Is it against the law? I don't know, but he's not owning up to it and damned if I'm going to get involved in the craziness that lives next door. They argue outside by our parking spot a few times a month. They ask us for drugs that we don't have. They've asked us for money. In general I think they're not dangerous, but I don't feel comfortable with them either. They spent the whole weekend drinking - not unusual, and it doesn't bother me until they start getting in arguments and smashing glass jars in our parking spot. The dog took offence and barked at them.

At least the soberest one of them cleaned up the glass before S. got home.

***

The screen is fixed and I can hear the landlord destroying said couch with a hammer. I hear a saw now too.

The dog doesn't know what to make of this permeable barrier keeping her from enjoying the plants on the balcony. By enjoying I mean eating. I'm glad to finally have a functional screen. It's much cooler in here with a breeze flowing through.

Even if it's tinted with cigarette smoke. I think smoking is disgusting. I know, and love, some people who smoke. Smokers aren't disgusting. But smoking? So, so gross. Ick.

The other neighbours are nice people. They have two little kids and the dog likes to play with them. They're from Sri Lanka, and they've never had a dog of their own, so they like to play with her too. Their mother lent me two books when she found out I like to read, and she gave me some lettuce that she'd been growing. When the sweet peas are blooming I'll bring her a bouquet.

Provided the plants haven't been eaten by the dog, or choked out from the smoke.

Argh

2010-06-21T08:29:00.003-06:00

I'm frustrated.

Frustrated with my life.

I hate being unemployed.

I feel like I'm unemployable and I hate it.

I hate feeling like I'm a creative hack.

Like I won't ever act again.

I have a growing hole on both my resumes and there is nothing I can do about it.

When I try things fall through so I wonder why I bother.

I've considered going back to school, to learn something else, something that I could enjoy and actually make a living at too.

But is that giving up?

Or is that reality?

I don't know.

And so I'm frustrated.

The People Whisperer, or How My Dog is Teaching Me To Breathe

2010-06-10T11:41:00.005-06:00

I took four years of training to become an actor. A self-aware, emotionally intelligent, physically in-tune person. I know it's a journey, I'm not 'there' yet, etc., etc.

But I certainly thought I had an edge on everyone else.

Apparently I am not immune to arrogance. And apparently it took an 8 week old puppy to show me that.

Yes, we recently got a puppy. Zoey, the adorable Boston Terrier. She's smart. She's stubborn and feisty and a bit of a suck. It's a lethal combination. We've had her a week and she's already housebroken (for the most part). She knows if she whines in the direction of the door she can go out to do her business (she's very concerned about her stock portfolio). Looking downstairs gets her to her food. Pitiful whining at the bottom of the staircase (that she can actually climb on her own) gets her carried up to the living room for playtime.

We're training her using Cesar Millan's Dog Whisperer techniques. It's surprisingly effective. We 'claimed' the kitchen and bathrooms and she stays out of those rooms. We reward calm behaviour and correct un-asked for excitement. We maintain calm, assertive energy and she recognizes us as pack leaders.

Oh, alright. S. maintains calm, assertive energy and she recognizes him as a pack leader. When I'm calm and assertive, she responds to me that way. Most of the time though? I think I rank somewhere as a littermate.

Why? I get frustrated with her puppy behaviours. I get upset when she doesn't listen to me instantly. I kind of forgot how puppies were. The last time I had one was 10 years ago. She's like a toddler, and I am not the patient person I thought I was.

Prided myself on being.

Cesar says you don't get the dog you want. You get the dog you need.

I thought, watching his show "The Dog Whisperer" before Zoey arrived, that I would nail this whole calm assertive energy thing. Oh, I'm a professional actor, I'm trained, emotions are my friend, blah blah blah. I've had animals my whole life, I know how to deal with them, I'm so patient, this will be a breeze and we'll have the calmest dog in the city. No. The world.

Pride cometh before a fall.

And boy, what a fall! Instead of being patient, I get frustrated. Instead of calmly correcting, I get angry when she bites in play and punctures the skin (she has razor sharp puppy teeth). Instead of living in a calm, assertive state, I constantly have to stop and reevaluate my energy, breathe, and bring myself back from a tense, aggressive, stressful place to a calm and breathing one. Calm and assertive. Calm and assertive. Stop fixating. Relax. Let her be a dog, a baby, and teach her to obey. Calmly. Be. Just be the authority figure, the pack leader.

It's exhausting. Not to be calm, but to constantly bring myself back from stress.

Upon reflection I'm not sure why my behaviour, my state of mind, is so surprising to me. I worked at a day-care for a month and I got frustrated with the kids there. Granted, they were deliberately pushing buttons (seven year olds rarely call you a bitch otherwise); but they were also babies. Little kids. Not adults.

The difference with Zoey is that I can see her reading and reflecting my energy. It's uncanny. Right away, right there. I get angry, she gets insecure and excited. I get frustrated, she gets persistent and excited. I calm down and breathe and stop taking it all so personally, and she sits down and looks to me for direction. Like she's supposed to.

I'm sure kids read and reflect too. Looking back I can see that. But I see it so much clearer with Zoey. Maybe because I grew up with animals, surrounded by them, and my experience with kids is much more limited. Or maybe it's just because I'm more focused on my puppy than I am on someone else's kid. After all, I can look forward to 10 - 15 years of life with Zoey. The kids I got to leave behind every night.

I am forced to be more aware of myself in every aspect of my life in order to present authority to my dog.

I didn't expect that.

I didn't expect Zoey to show me that I have a short fuse. I am selfish and want to get my own way, instantly. I have high, unreasonable expectations of the other life forms I interact with. When I am upset I want the world to stop until my tantrum is over and I'm ready to continue.

(I knew that last one already. I realized that a few weeks ago when I was driving along a busy road in the city and Scott and I got into a fight. What did I want to do? Slam on the brakes until we'd had it out and he'd seen things my way. I think that would have gotten us in an accident, injured for sure and possibly killed, but damn, I almost did it before I realized the consequences. That scared me into non-rage in a hurry. And the same process happened again yesterday, although I thought I'd learned better. I guess I'm not super human in my learning curve after all. Fuck.)

So I can't stop the world as long as there are others in it. I should have figured that one out, sharing my world with people like I do, but for some reason it didn't click until the potential accident and the introduction of a puppy who is watching my every move, my every wave of energy and emotion and physicalization for cues on how to behave. On what's allowed. On where she can go and what she can do.

Somewhat like having a baby, I guess. Only I think it's less pressure. Dear God, what would I be like with a toddler of my own?

Well. I think Zoey will have taught me much more about myself before that happens.

And the funniest thing about all of this? I think I'll be a better actor, not just a better person, for it.

PMS

2010-05-31T17:11:00.003-06:00

Just finally figured out why I've spent the last three days on the verge of crying whenever I watch The Dog Whisperer.

Or Fight Science.

Or when I listen to music.

Or write.

Or do anything except physical exercise.

Sigh.

This Resonates

2010-05-25T14:31:00.003-06:00

I deeply admire Stephen King.

I have not read anywhere near enough of his books to consider myself a true fan. Let me correct myself. I do think of myself as a fan, an erstwhile, ill educated fan. Other people probably wouldn't consider me a fan because I haven't read enough of his stuff, but I'm getting there. Slowly and in a haphazard manner.

I just finished his book, Mist. This passage is one of the reasons I have a strong artist crush on the man.

“You know what talent is? The curse of expectation. As a kid you have to deal with that, beat it somehow. If you can write, you think God put you on earth to blow Shakespeare away. Or if you can paint, maybe you think - I did - that God put you on earth to blow your father away....since (realizing that he was a good commercial artist) that voice of disappointed expectation - that cheated child’s voice that can never be satisfied with such a mild superlative as good - has fallen pretty much silent. And except for a few rumbles - like the sounds of those unseen creatures somewhere out in the foggy night - it has been pretty much silent ever since. Maybe you can tell me - why should the silencing of that childish, demanding voice seem so much like dying?”

This is said by the main character, David, an artist.

In the middle of a book about human behaviour when faced with deep fear, he has this additional nugget of truth that resonated with me so much I had to write it down and keep it forever.

On a bit of a side note, in the opening credits of Alan Wake (that game I wrote about the other day), Alan attributes this quote to Stephen King. "Explanation is the antithesis to fear." Love, explanation - heart and mind - logic and emotion. Both are tools we were given to deal with the world around us, two sides of one coin. Too bad we humans tend to pick one side over the other instead of finding the balance between the two!

Bits and Pieces From My Mind

2010-05-23T12:37:00.003-06:00

"Just give it to a thrift shop, they don't care if their water tastes like burnt."

I know he doesn't mean anything by it but my hackles rise a little anyway. But I don't know him that well so I say nothing.

I don't think he's ever had to face a reality of poverty. Where everything he owns comes from a thrift shop. A charity. Where if it wasn't for someone giving him something he'd have nothing.

If he has, he's sure as hell forgotten it already.

I can speak from experience - if I don't like the taste of burnt water, nobody else will either.

No matter how poor they are.

***

But we don't live by our emotions, do we?

This is still bothering me, weeks after reading it on an acquaintance's Facebook page. This acquaintance said she felt like her world was crashing down around her and she had nothing to hold onto. So what does one of her adult Christian friends - I'm assuming she's some kind of mentor - say to her? We don't live by our emotions. What you feel is invalid. Push it away, and hang onto God.

Why does this bother me?

I stop myself from commenting on this post over and over because I don't know what to say.

The assumption that we shouldn't take our emotions seriously - that we shouldn't listen to them - that we shouldn't live our lives by what we feel - it makes me feel uneasy.

Something I should ignore according to Christian Mentor there. Just stuff it away. God will take care of you. If you feel negatively, you just don't have enough faith. Trust God! God, God, God!

Look at all that projection. She didn't actively say any of that. Obviously I have some issues of my own to deal with.

But I would like to know why Christians think that emotions are so...so unnecessary. Why are we told that we shouldn't live by them? And what the fuck should we live by then? Our minds?

(Spoken as a true Blue.)

But I would like an answer. I don't think living solely by our minds is any better. I don't know about everyone else out there, but God doesn't usually use my brain to communicate with me, not right off the bat. First He grabs my attention by tweaking my heart in one way or another - through my emotions.

Because I listen to them.

Maybe it's just because I'm an actor and I have a bit more, oh I don't know what to call it. Emotional training? Positive experience with heightened emotional states? It's closer to training, how to open yourself up to that overwhelming experience, and then how to get yourself down without breaking or destroying yourself...maybe that, combined with my personality, makes emotions less scary for me than they are for the average person. Because emotions are scary, but that is a fear to be embraced. They serve a purpose. They are there to serve you as much as your brain is, your heart, your intelligence. It's all there because God put it there, and it pisses me off to see something so close to myself written off as an unnecessary appendix to life.

Because there needs to be a balance, and I think as Christians we all too often lose sight of that, and instead we push away the frightening aspect in favour of the one that makes more sense. The one that can't be manipulated by the Devil, after all, it's in the Bible. It's there in black and red.

As if knowledge is immune to the twisting of Darkness.

All of this just because I want to tell this acquaintance, this girl, that how she feels is okay. It's something to accept, to learn from, and to grow because of.

Ignoring emotions isn't going to build anything up except walls, and walls don't help any relationship. Not with people. Not with yourself. Not with God.

***

It just occurred to me that if I were to ask one of these two people what we were supposed to live by, they might say Faith.

Complete trust or confidence. Strong belief.

Those evoke emotional responses in me but maybe that's not how it is for everyone.

I don't really know what it means to live by faith. I have a bipolar faith - I either trust God completely or I don't trust Him at all.

I know when I'm struggling to trust when I get an anxious spring, a tightening in my chest that tells me everything is going to shit and no-one will be there to catch me.

I understand I should trust when I look back at the path behind me and see that I haven't been homeless or behind in any payments - even if I've been broke - and that I have been provided for. With friends, money, shelter, love...needs and desires.

And when I feel the trust there I am afraid of nothing. Perfect love casts out all fear.

***

It's telling to me that in Harry Potter, the Avada Kadavra spell, death by pure terror, isn't shattered by peace. It's broken by love.

It hits us on the most primitive level. Where everything is survival and instinct and reaction time. Love opposes fear, not hatred. Although I think a lot of hatred has fear at it's root.

I feel like a very fearful person sometimes, although I don't think I really am. I'm not afraid of bugs, or dead things or rodents; I have my fair share of rational fears but nothing that overwhelms me and keeps me from living a normal life. I'd hate to find an intruder in my home, for example, but the fear of it doesn't make me sneak around my home with a butcher knife.

My one irrational fear is a fear of the dark. It's something I've worked against since I was a kid. I learned quick that if you have a flashlight outside at night it just makes the darkness darker and inhibits your ability to see outside your little sphere, which I think makes you vulnerable to attack from all the crazies waiting in the shadows. I'd go out to check the animals at night and leave the light off until I needed to see details. Of course, when I slept I'd tuck the edges of the blankets underneath me so the dark creepy things couldn't sneak underneath the blankies with me. Even now I fight the impulse to jump from the light switch to the bed, so that I can prove to myself that nothing is lying in wait underneath my bed. And then I lay in bed and see shadows gathering in the corners and they appear to get thicker and darker and I tremble and shut my eyes and pray for the fear to be gone. Or I snuggle into S. because he's warm and alive and he'll protect me even when he's sleeping.

Love. It's pretty powerful.

I had a lot of dreams last night where I needed a flashlight to survive. Lots of battling the darkness with what little lights I had. It's probably just the combination of a few books I read - Brother Odd and Forever Odd by Dean Koontz - and the latest XBox game to grace our console, Alan Wake. Alan Wake has to fight Darkness personified with any light source he can get his hands on in order to save his wife. It's a pretty cool concept, actually. I haven't played it yet because just watching S. play makes me jump off the couch.

But these were just dreams, because I didn't wake up, skin crawling, sweaty, heart pounding with fear.

***

I finally figured out why two of my pots of sweet peas are dying. The cold at night is only bothering them, and it confused me no end until I realized they were the only two pots in front of the sliding patio door. The glass doesn't hold enough heat to keep them through the night. I moved them the day before yesterday, after they almost had it, and I think they're coming back already. Hurrah! Except now the middle of the balcony will be naked.

Write What You Know

2010-05-14T11:55:00.002-06:00

I'm doing a fair amount of writing these days. It's amazing how many hours there are in a day when you have nothing to fill them. It's equally amazing how easy it is to piddle those hours away with useless, meaningless crap. Facebook, I'm looking at you.

I'm also getting in a lot of reading. The Chronicles of Narnia, The Sparrow and Children of God, Good Omens, Of Mice and Men. And the odd book on writing or acting. Or both.

The book I'm reading right now, The Blunt Playwright, is proving both enjoyable and thought provoking.

In particular the comments on knowing what the protagonist wants. This shouldn't require that much thought, should it?

But when I often don't know what I want in real life I guess it's not that surprising that I have trouble writing characters who know what they want too.

I mean, it works. Sometimes very well, because I think a lot of people go through life not knowing what they want. The trouble is that when you're writing a story, it has to go somewhere.

The people in the story have to want something badly enough to change their lives for it.

Which is also something I don't think I do on a regular basis. I don't know if I want anything outside my current sphere badly enough right now to change my life.

The wonder and beauty of writing, though, is that I am provided with catharsis and voyeurism on a daily basis. I live a dozen lives a day, lives where I do want something, badly enough to kill; where I fight, am angry, am gentle and soft; where I make sense of a confusing world and where I succumb entirely to the chaos, to the moment. Lives that end and lives that keep going. Moments captured and moments lost.

It's a challenge. It's an incredible release.

Even with this post, I don't really know what it is I want to say.

Just that I'm writing, I guess. And it's wonderful strange and hard all at once. I am so lucky to be able to just sit at home and write.

I should put that as my status on Facebook. Be right back...

Infected With Rage: Or How Zombies Showed Me The Light

2010-05-06T11:34:00.004-06:00

I am furious right now. So furious I can't type properly. Furious like the zombies in 28 Days Later, but with a just cause.

There is a certain woman that keeps sending me chain emails full of hatred. I think I've mentioned her on here before. At first the emails made me shake my head. One made me weep. Several, including this latest one, have filled me with rage.

I don't understand how anyone who calls themselves a Christian can stand behind words of such hatred. The emails she sends out talk about how we should just kill all the Muslims by bombing the hell out of Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan - kill their women and children because 'they've done it to us'. They celebrate a professor at Michigan State because he told all the Muslim students to go home. They justify bigotry and racism because 'we are in a war'. (A war that was made up for political gain in my opinion, a war that hasn't fixed anything, a war against an act of terrorism that happened almost ten years ago and hasn't been repeated...but that's all irrelevant to the email campaign of hatred and fear, dressed up in patriotism and the love of God).

Even if it was an active war and people were being killed in America every day by terrorist bombs (I realize it happens more often overseas, but since it kills 'them' the emails ignore it), even then I couldn't advocate racism as an appropriate response. How does painting every Muslim with the same fanatical brush help anything? How does judging someone on their skin colour or ethnic heritage keep us, or anyone, safe?

I notice that she never sends out emails condemning all of Christianity because of the fanatical actions of certain sects of the faith.

She never sends out harsh words towards those who bomb abortion clinics, or beat homosexuals to death. Oh, right. Those people deserve to die because they're sinners. Unlike us.

Why can she judge Islam by the actions of a fundamentalist few and keep such a blind eye to the sins of her own professed faith?

Next she'll be saying we should round up the Jews for killing Christ.

I could let this ruin my day.

Or I could let it inform the actions I make in my own life. I could take a look at myself and see where I am blind, where I am a bigot, where I judge harshly without reason.

Maybe after I calm down I will. As much as I would rather just keep pointing a finger of righteous anger at her because it's easier, that doesn't help the world become a better place either.

This is the truth that I want to live by: "The ultimate sense of security will be when we come to recognize that we are all part of one human race. Our primary allegiance is to the human race and not to one particular color or border." Mohamed ElBaradei, Director General of the International Atomic Energy Agency, said that. An Egyptian by birth, named for the Muslim prophet, he may be Jewish but I don't know if that matters or not when a person is filled with hatred towards everyone who isn't perfectly Aryan.

And one could argue that our primary allegiance is to God - but I think this quote falls under "Love thy neighbour as thyself".

I'll settle for the world learning the second half of the commandment. It's a bitch to do. I certainly wouldn't risk my life to save this particular woman from zombies. (You'll know who really loves you when the zombies attack. True friends don't trip you when they're running away.)

Shoot. All my anger is deflated now that I realize I'm not living the commandment myself. Well, fuck.

True to form, it took a zombie reference to point out the truth of my own life to me. So now I'm going to go away and swear a whole lot and finally accept the fact that this woman, despite herself, has given me an opportunity to grow further into the Light.

Fuck.

Let It Snow...

2010-05-04T15:51:00.002-06:00

It's snowing outside. Or rather, drizzling. It's not committing to either season out there, just a general mix of unpleasant, chilly precipitation.

S. is outside somewhere, rehearsing scenes for his job as a historical interpreter/actor this summer.

I'm inside, my feet cold and my lap full of warm computer, sipping tea and watching my sweet peas grow the best they can in the half-light that makes it through the clouds. My knee hurts like it always does when the weather's like this, damp and cold. Between that and my ankle full of twinges (and my sore wrists, and does anyone else notice that their hip joints kind of click when they do sit ups? No? Just me, then?) I could be an old lady.

Joints are apparently not my friends.

Which means that when I'm an old lady I may not be as independent as I would wish to be.

Which sucks.

But that's in the future, the very distant future, and I'm very good at not thinking about possible unpleasant futures if I can be persuaded to think about things like how to kill the darkspawn in Soldier's Peak or what life would be like in a zombie apocalypse or how to build a tree house in medieval Europe.

Or what I should make for supper when my sure-to-be cold man gets home.

Which reminds me, I should be in the kitchen. ;)

Rest In This, Daughter, And Know You Are Loved

2010-04-30T12:02:00.004-06:00

This last week has been a time of thought and contemplation for me.

It seems like so many things are tying themselves together from past conversations into a present learning experience, which is both incredibly cool and extremely difficult to accept at the same time.

Months ago I had a conversation with one of my best girlfriends about the human relationship with God. She had just come back from a retreat where she was surrounded by artists who wanted to figure out how their faith fit into their art, and what she had to share with me blew my mind, to the point where I don't think it's really been able to absorb the heart-knowledge until now, and even now it's only just starting.

What she said was this: that we relate to God as either slaves or orphans, or on a good day, as sons (or daughters).

Slaves feel that they need to earn their keep, their love, their place in God's eyes. It's all about work. The work will save you. Orphans have no sense of what family is. They feel that God is transient and they need to steal their way into His heart. They need to please him in order to belong; and even then there is the constant fear that He will abandon them just as everyone else has.

On the other hand, Sons don't do anything. They can't. You cannot earn or steal the title of Son. You have that title before you are born, before you exist. It isn't something you earn, or accept, or steal. It's what you are. Nobody can give it to you and nobody can take it away.

All you can do, as a Son, is rest in your place.

That still makes me tear up.

It clicks, doesn't it.

So why is it so hard for me to accept?

I don't know.

I haven't had a steady, permanent job yet this year. Over and over I've felt, in my heart of hearts, that this is where I am supposed to be, that this time is gift meant for me to practice my craft of writing and auditioning. That this is my time to create and to rest.

I haven't accepted this. Instead I've fought it tooth and nail, looking frantically for work, feeling like I'm mooching off the system by being on EI. I've conveniently ignored the fact that I've paid into that system my entire working life and so it's not mooching. Even when that's been pointed out to me by my parents and by S, I've rejected it. I've ignored the creativity within me, pushing it aside to write my resume and pursue jobs that kill me just thinking about them.

Simply put, I've done everything but rest.

I have trust issues, have I mentioned that before? I'm very much like a toddler, believing that how things are now are how they will be forever. In my head, I will never find another job, so I'd better take the first thing that is offered to me no matter what it does to my soul. I struggle on a daily basis - no, hourly...rather, by the minute and the second - with believing that God will provide for me. I ignore all the evidence to the contrary - that I am clothed, fed and housed, that I am not yet broke - and take counsel with fear. I consider selling my soul, my actual eternal soul, to the powers of Darkness in exchange for financial security.

And then I wonder why my dreams are dark.

God is very patient. That's all I can say.

And I am very confused, most of the time.

I've been reading The Chronicles of Narnia and it amazes me how those stories also bring me to tears, over and over, by their power and simplicity. To see Aslan taking such joy in those He loves - it makes me cry to write that down - alongside His incredible patience and sorrow when they fail, or turn aside, or put pettiness above following the nobility within them. How He cries with Caspian dies, an old man...He really does share our sorrows with us, even when He knows better than anyone how short lived that sorrow will be, and that brings me to tears that He would care enough to partake in that with us, so that we won't be alone. And that He cares enough to share our most transient joys, even if it's nothing more than the pleasure of a romp in fresh air in the springtime.

For some reason it is easier for me to see clearly when I am in Narnia with Aslan, than it is when I am here and now, with God.

I think - I hope - He's okay with that. After all, as He says to Edmund and Lucy at the end of The Voyage of the Dawn Treader (coming to film sometime this year, hurrah!), "...There I have another name. You must learn to know me by that name. This was the very reason why you were brought to Narnia, that by knowing me here for a little, you may know me better there."

It's an uphill journey and I fear I am much more like Jill Pole than like Lucy Pevensie. But I try. And I put down my burdens, and I pick them back up, and I put them back down, and I start again.

For now, that will have to be enough. See? See how even then, I take the perspective of a slave, that my struggle is the work I must do to be fit for love? See how I turn to God as an orphan and cry out that I'm trying, please don't turn aside, I will be better, I will, I will.

I would never have thought that resting would be so much work - and I know it only is because I keep making it that way.

Goddamn this fight, this struggle to accept that I am loved, end of sentence.

I hope I'll get it eventually. I hope that someday I'll even just see His shadow as He leads me. That I'll feel His warm Lion's breath on my forehead and know, just know, that I am enough. Until then I am blind, with tears and with humanity, overwhelmed with sorrow at my own frailties, with the disbelief at the gift I am being given, day after day after day, offered to me every second as I doubt and fight and struggle with myself.

And for now, that will have to be enough.

Not for Him; for me.

Until I learn how to open my arms, my heart, and accept.

End of sentence.

Well, That Answered That Question

2010-04-27T12:53:00.005-06:00

I have a connective tissue disorder called Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome Type III. Genetics. Gotta love 'em.

Most of the time it has no impact on my life. No, let me reword that. Most of the time I forget that not everyone experiences pain on a regular basis when they're simply going about their daily routine. I injured my wrists by clapping at a performing arts summer school; the repetitive motion of clapping stretched out the connective tissue in my wrists and now the bones grind and pinch nerves. I usually feel it when I do things like lift a kettle full of water or even just when I carry a plate sometimes, but I tend to ignore it because I need to in order to function. You don't realize how much you need your wrists until they hurt all the time; so that's the main thing that reminds me that my DNA isn't completely on my side.

The geneticist told me that the same injury in my wrists could repeat in my other joints, specifically my ankles. He also said as I aged the natural tightening would help the bones stay in place, but that I'd likely have arthritis in them by then so they'd keep on hurting for other reasons. Oh joy.

Well, my ankles have been bothering me for the last 2 weeks. So, keeping in mind what the good doctor said, I have been wrapping them in tensor bandages whenever I've had to do a lot of walking (such as door to door sales) or high-impact movements (which I don't usually do but I've been doing a cardio exercise regime that includes jumping jacks because I don't want to have a heart attack when I'm 40. The good thing about hereditary ailments is that you can try to prevent some of them).

This morning, after I wrote my post about how unhappy I was with this new job opportunity, I walked to the bus. Rather, I got half-way to the bus and my ankle crapped out. I kept going. I'm very stubborn. But then I realized that if I ignored my body and continued walking, I would likely wreck my ankle the way I wrecked my wrist.

If your ankles don't work, you can't walk.

If you can't walk, you're kind of useless. For anything.

So I phoned my trainer and said I wouldn't be in today, turned around and limped slowly home. I've been home for a few hours, following the RICE thing for injuries, and it still hurts like a - like a painful thing.

$*&#$%#@$!*#%!!!!!

I was going to say that God didn't have to hit me up the side of the head to answer my doubts about this job, but then I thought about it. Didn't I feel uneasy about doing this, and didn't I ignore my soul speaking and keep going?

I did.

Sigh.

Apparently I needed some pain to make me stop and listen.

I'd like to say lesson learned but I know that's probably not the case. All I can hope is that the learning curve won't always this painful.

Have You Switched to Shaw?

2010-04-27T09:37:00.004-06:00

Hello! My name is Rebecca and I'm here on behalf of Shaw! I'm in the neighbourhood trying to save people money by bundling their services! What do you currently have with Shaw?

God. Shoot me now.

I just got offered a job working as a door to door salesperson. I've done one training day and I already hate it.

That's probably not a good sign.

The whole atmosphere in the office is that it's all about the dolla dolla bills, yo. I can't. I just can't. I faked interest and enthusiasm yesterday. I'm not sure I can fake it again.

It's a straight up sales job, all commission. The money can be great. My trainer pulled in $275.00 yesterday. She's very persistent.

She also doesn't listen well.

One gentleman told us that he's with Telus and he's not happy with the service, but he wants his word to be good; he signed a contract and he won't break it because he has to look at himself in the mirror every day and that's worth more to him than saving twenty bucks a month. My trainer told him she broke people out of contracts all the time. He responded that he didn't care. His word was his word and he wasn't going back on that. She repeated that she could save him money. Like saving money is what life is about.

Fuck.

I respect that man. His viewpoint is a rare one. He is a trustworthy gent, and that is honourable.

My trainer has no use for that honour. I got a semi-dirty look when I told the man I thought he was respectable. She never told me off for saying anything, but as we walked away she dismissed him as 'old school'.

And the thing is, if you don't sell you don't make any money.

So my question is, do I want to devote any more time to this?

And my dilemma is that I have no other job. I have no other prospects either. I feel guilty even thinking about turning down a potential opportunity in favour of sitting at home on EI. I should take this job because no-one else is interested in hiring me. Right?

At least until I find something.

But what if I never do?

Is this a test of faith, or is this an answer to prayer?

It sure doesn't feel like an answer. How can if be if I feel so strongly about this after one day? I can't buy into the mindset of sales. The game. The chase. The 'kill'. That's what they fucking call it. A sale is a kill. Like we're a 'wolf pack' and we bring down gazelles.

Not interested!

But also poor!

Fuck.

I also can't believe that I will find success and be able to follow my dreams if I pursue a high paying job for a couple of years.

I feel like I'm whoring out my soul.

I guess that's my answer right there, isn't it?

I'll Tell You What I Want, What I Really Really Want...

2010-04-19T17:18:00.003-06:00

...just as soon as I figure it out.

What do I want out of life? I've been pondering that a lot lately.

I continually find that as far as the here and now goes, I haven't got a clue. Big picture? Oh yeah, I can tell you that. I want to die as an old lady who has never lost her independence or her love of life, surrounded by family and friends I love who love me back. I want to be remembered for more than one generation, for being an honest, strong, noble and friendly person, accepting and wise. I want my words to live on after me. I want my thoughts to spark thoughts in others; it really doesn't matter to me if I get paid for those thoughts as long as they live on without me.

And I don't think I'm there yet and that's okay.

But as for what I want right now? I don't know. I only know what I don't want right now and that isn't helping. (I recently watched Vicky Christina Barcelona and I almost disliked how much the character of Christina resonated with me. Watch it. It's worth spending 90 minutes on.)

Which just brings me back in circles. What do I want to do to pay my bills, for instance?

That question comes up blank. Which really isn't helping. Especially when I've got a job interview that could lead to a full time, long term thing, in an area that interests me but isn't directly involved in the area I trained in, and if they offer me a job what do I do? What do I do?

I need a paycheque.

And I need my soul to be fed.

Maybe having those two needs met in one place isn't realistic, considering what feeds my soul and what actually pays.

All of which is a moot point if they don't offer me a job. So I guess instead of freaking out before my eggs are hatched, I'll just sit tight and stop fretting.

For now.

Breathe

2010-04-01T11:23:00.003-06:00

A week and a half later and I'm just breathing.

Man, what a rough weekend that was! On Friday I lost my temp job because they hired someone full time. It wasn't unexpected but I hate being unemployed. The days stretch on without an external force to govern them, no imposed schedule too often means no schedule at all for me.

But I had plans. I was going to focus all my time on the show. I was not only the playwright and an actor, but also Head of Marketing which was just about to kick into high gear.

And then it all got postponed indefinitely.

Now I have nothing to fill my days with. Nothing. NOTHING. Except to mull over and over what happened, what could I have done differently, what should I have said, what he said, what she did or didn't do...

Mulling can turn into brooding really easily.

Especially if you're a blue personality like I am.

I tried to shut it off, push it away and focus on other things, but every time I sat down to write that was all that came up. Anger. Frustration. Betrayal. Bitterness. Rage, and I was blocked, no words coming out except words of pain, my pain, not related to the work I was trying to do. I could journal until my fingers were numb but the second I turned to write something creative, whether it was something new or something I'd been working on for months and a giant rock settled itself in my brain and my soul and I was blocked entirely.

I'm working past it right now. Channeling all of my anger into angry stories. But it really felt like having one creative avenue shut down killed all of my desire to try again with something else.

Immature I know. But that's what it felt like.

So I put everything to the side, put my life on hold and ignored it all.

Until that didn't work anymore.

And then I began to sort, to think instead of brood, and I made myself sit my ass down in a chair and write even though I didn't feel like it. And what came out was angry, yes, but it was part of a story and I felt better afterwards. Like I had done something productive for the first time in days. Like I'd finally gotten out of bed and shown up for something instead of wallowing in self-pity and bitterness.

And I signed up for Script Frenzy, which may or may not have been an insane idea as I now have to write a 100 page script by April 30th but I suspect it'll force me to show up and move on every day, the external force I so desperately need right now.

We have an audition tomorrow. I hope it goes well - it could mean employment for the summer. Either way though, I will be imposing a schedule on myself. Waking up to an alarm. Going to bed on time. Eating when meals are supposed to happen and writing from this time to this time every day.

I think it's time I stopped drifting and made an island for myself instead of waiting to float into something. None of the things I've floated into this year have provided a lasting foundation.

It must be my job to create that for myself, with the help of God and the people in my life whom I trust to stick around and support me.

So here goes, and the whole while I'll just be here breathing.

We'll see what happens next.

Bitter

2010-03-22T10:40:00.004-06:00

Somebody pray for me.

Pray that bitterness and mistrust won't overwhelm certain friendships; that anger and frustration won't overwhelm certain partnerships; pray that I will find some light in this and some hope, and that I will find some faith to keep moving forward.

Because it seems like a pointless fight right now, the day after it all, and I am having a hard time moving forward.

Maybe it's too soon to even try. But even so, I don't want to get stuck here.

So pray for me, because I think I need it.

Riled Up

2010-03-21T17:35:00.001-06:00

Turns out I had just cause.

And being aggressively upset did me no good.

I'm going to go drink now.

Not Going To Lie...

2010-03-21T07:33:00.002-06:00

...I've got my back up already.

It's going to be an interesting day.

Keeping The Faith

2010-03-05T14:26:00.004-07:00

When I was a kid, I used to have recurring themes in my dreams. Usually the theme was pretty broad - violence was a common one, with either me killing other people or them killing me. Violent dreams never bothered me, not then and not now. Apparently I'm a bit of a freak that way.

For a while it was shapeshifting, only nobody could see me becoming the other, and my sheer belief wasn't enough to keep it real even for me most of the time. I can't begin to describe how frustrating those ones were...and still are.

And there was the phase of the chasing dreams, where I was being hunted down and only my belief in my invisibility would save me. These ones almost always worked, but that's because by the time these ones came along I had learned to lucid dream (by accident and desperation, mostly, so don't ask me how to do it because I really have no idea) and could control certain aspects of the dream to keep myself safe.

Recently - and by recently I mean the last year or two - I've had a lot of dreams where Darkness is out to get me. Now, I have a confession to make. I am afraid of the dark. Not terrified, but afraid, like a spooked and skittish lamb who's too curious to leave well enough alone in spite of the fear. I always have been afraid of the dark, and I've always refused to cater to that fear by using night-lights or leaving a hall light on or by doing anything to alleviate the fear except by ignoring it and telling myself that the dark is not there to hurt me. I used to go check on my full-to-bursting pregnant ewes at night and not use my flashlight until I had to actually see if their bodies were still round or not, as a sheer test of my nerve. Of course, I had my dog with me. That always helped.

But this Darkness, the Darkness in my dream, it is there to hurt me. It wants me and I don't know why. It is not just darkness - it's Darkness. Ecthroi, nothingness, all-consuming Darkness and it's evil and it wants me and I don't know why and it does more than scare me. It fucking terrifies me.

Most of the time I have a guardian in my dreams. A giant butterfly, a bird, a candle. An angel. Faith. Hope and a source of light within myself. Usually all I have to do is face the darkness and it recoils from the light it sees within me.

But last night - none of that was there.

I was alone, alone in the dark, with lost spirits grasping for me, sad and confused girls reaching from the walls, the dark a deep greeny-blue-grey dusk and there was no way out and there were no doors or windows. I couldn't see and no matter how hard I prayed or squeezed my eyes shut I had no light inside, no light outside, no guardian beside me to protect me or inspire me to find my own protection. Nothing.

It was the most frustrating, terrifying experience I can recall ever having. And I've seen an actual evil spirit.

And then light burst through but within seconds - not even seconds - I knew it was fake, it was a facade put up by the Darkness to fool me into letting down my guard and do you know how exhausting it was to keep that up? Fuck.

I felt myself fighting my way through the layers of dreams I was trapped in and finally was able to reach over and feel S. there beside me and in that I knew I was safe, he was real, he wasn't evil and he wouldn't let them get me, and with that the true light burst through the facade, the Darkness recoiled and I was left in my sleep in peace.

And then instead of falling into peaceful dreams, I turned back and prayed to God and apologized for finding safety in S. instead of in Him, and couldn't focus enough on the true light to finish my prayer before I was sucked away into another dream and gone entirely into the land of sleep once more.

At least it wasn't another terrifying dream. It was something mundane and normal enough I don't remember it at all and it didn't stick with me in any way.

Upon true waking, I find it interesting that I felt guilt for finally finding peace somewhere.

And I find it absolutely terrifying that I couldn't find the light inside myself this time.

What if it's gone? What if I can never find the light again?

What if the light is love and I can't find it in God anymore?

Then at least thank God I can find it in S. I can find the light somewhere. Maybe I shouldn't try to analyze this so hard. If I couldn't find the light at all I'd be screwed. I'd never sleep again.

And I should probably blame at least a little bit of this terror on the fact that I've been sick for 4 and a half days now and my mind is probably exhausted and fuelling my dreams with fever and confusion; but that's precious little comfort when the feeling of the dream is still stuck on my skin and in my mind like a mist from a fog that won't quite brush off me. Like spider webs I can't find but I can feel.

So I look up and see the face of the man who I can touch who I know loves me; and I take what I can from that and try to remember that God loves me so much more that I can't even comprehend it (which is the problem, isn't it? If I could comprehend it maybe I'd remember it better...) and try to keep the faith.

Whatever that means.

Sick Sick Sick

2010-03-04T17:28:00.002-07:00

God, I love having the flu.

Not really.

This one is kicking my butt. First with a fever (which I think is gone now for good, fingers crossed), then aches so intense I couldn't sit or lie down or move or stay still - nothing is comfortable when your hips and knees and ankles and wrists and elbows and neck joints all feel like you suddenly turned 99 overnight - which has been followed up with faucet-face and a persistent, non-productive cough. Oh, and did I mention the sore throat? It's been here for the whole ride. It's very loyal that way.

But I appear to be on the upswing so let's hope I'm all better in time for the weekend. After missing an entire week of work I'd better at least get something nice out of it.

I'm a Mapple Person!

2010-02-24T16:51:00.002-07:00

I have joined the ranks of Mac users.

S. bought me a MacBook for my birthday, which blew my mind a little.

It's so easy to use! So sleek and user friendly and quick! The programs make sense, it prints like a dream (my PC was starting to take up to half an hour to communicate with the printer before anything resembling a document would come out), the keyboard short cuts are so convenient - it's easy to uninstall things, and easy to install them. It takes files of all kinds and just translates them without any effort on my part.

I'm obviously a little in love with it right now.

I was also going to say I'd never had anyone drop that kind of money on a gift for me - but then I remembered that my dad bought my other laptop for me as a gift too.

I've never had to buy a computer. Huh.

All I can say is that I'm one hell of a lucky girl!

Happy Anniversary

2010-02-12T12:09:00.003-07:00

It's my parent's 28th wedding anniversary today.

Last week I got really confused and thought this year was their 24th...I was thinking of what I should do for their 25th, but it's come and gone and now I remember that between school and being in a show I wasn't able to do anything for the momentous year.

But 30 is coming up now, isn't it?

Anyway, congratulations to you, Mom and Dad, for 28 years of matrimony - peaceful and otherwise - and for showing the world, and more importantly us kids, that it can be done and it can be done well.

We Strive And Strive And Then We Die

2010-02-11T23:31:00.003-07:00

I was told the Eden story this morning. Twice, in fact. Once through LOLCats (which, if you haven’t heard of it, isn’t even English anymore but it’s own twisted subversion [and originally I meant sub – version but now I see the other word there as well and it works too] of it. An example. Genesis chapter one, verse one reads like this: Oh hai. In teh beginnin Ceiling Cat maded teh skiez An da Urfs, but he did not eated dem. 2 Da Urfs no had shapez An haded dark face, An Ceiling Cat rode invisible bike over teh waterz…and on it goes, until it hits my personal favorite of the first chapter, verse 13: An so the threeth day jazzhands.) On a bit of a side note here, since I got tangled up in parenthesis; I actually derive a great deal of pleasure from LOLCats. Now. When I first ran across the site I was horrified. I am now horrified when people use that kind of spelling in their daily lives, but a really clever LOLCats makes me laugh heartily. And reading the Bible in their language is a very entertaining experience, in short doses because after six chapters my eyes were crossing from the effort of it.

Back to my original point, and the other Eden story.

I was having brunch with one of my friends and her sister this morning when the sister told me the other Eden story, my first one of the day. We were talking about the divine feminine, and as often happens when the patriarchy of the church is brought up, the garden of Eden came into the conversation. I’ve often heard of the subjugation of women being justified because of Eve’s mistake, but the sister added a layer to that for me by telling me that serpents are ancient symbols of feminine wisdom (something I didn’t know) and she said she didn’t believe Eve was tempted by a literal apple but by wisdom, knowledge, and an increase to her natural birthright of intuition and feminine wisdom. She went on to say that she didn’t think Adam was tempted by either the apple or the wisdom inherent in it, but by woman herself…and what does that say about their relationship that he would choose Eve over God? My friend, who had been listening to this conversation silently while she ate her blueberry scone, pointed out that Adam had been lonely, had experienced loneliness – indeed, that was why Eve was there in the first place – but her sister said he also experienced daily, intimate communion with God.

The sister continued, saying that she thinks the reason men have pushed down women, denied the power of the feminine, ignored the references in the Bible to the divine feminine, is out of fear. Not a fear of a woman’s strengths. A fear that should a woman get herself into a position to make a man choose between her and God, that they wouldn’t be able to choose God any more than Adam did. A fear of their weakness.

It brought up some interesting mental fodder for me. How often our strengths become our weaknesses. The fatal flaw – the one thing that makes us a hero is the thing that will destroy us. A woman’s intuition causing a desire for more wisdom, for godhood; a man’s desire for companionship causing a turning away from God. This shows up in people all the time. I see it in manipulative women, in men who can’t settle down. Both seem opposing to the qualities of strength but they feel rooted there for me somehow.

I wonder if we seek to crush that in the other sex that makes us feel inadequate, that which shows our weaknesses and flaws; yet at the same time I think we choose mates that will trigger our insecurities and show us exactly what those flaws are, if we’re open to see them.

Do we seek a higher truth even in our subconscious? Do we seek whether we wish to or not?

As I thought about the imagery of God as female – apparently, according to my friend’s sister, Job refers to God as ‘the breasted one’, which is translated as ‘God of the Mountains’ or ‘Almighty God’ – it came to me that removing the feminine from God doesn’t remove that strength from women. It tries to remove it from God, which can’t be done. It vilifies it and makes it a sin for a woman to be a woman, to be fully feminine and powerful, it makes it wrong for a woman to not be more like a man.

We are very powerful creatures, us women.

My mom told me that when I was a girl.

At the time I didn’t really understand what was being told to me, but I had a vague idea that it had to do with our physical bodies and our ability to arouse. As I got a bit older I figured it meant that a woman’s power over men was entirely sexual, that we had something they wanted and our power came from whether we granted it or not.

Now I think it’s neither of those. Both of those. Bigger than those.

I’m still struggling to define what feminine power is, probably will be for a while as I sort through the lies and truth in my head and heart and soul; but what vague ideas I have so far tell me that yes, my body is a source of power in many ways. I can distract with it; I can give and receive pleasure; I can bear children and be the bringer of new life; but there is more. Not just my physical body has power. My internal body, my soul. My spirit and heart and mind. I am brilliant in so many ways. I feel deeply. I can heal and wound, I can speak my voice, I can move and dance and sense the power of the stars, of light over darkness, of darkness over light. I can choose. I can be a beacon of light and a harbinger of death. My body, my power, my strength, lies in far more than just sex and I am learning that slowly.

As I pondered, I wished that I had been shown this growing up, that I didn’t have to figure it out on my own, now, as an adult. I wished that being told about my feminine power hadn’t come shaded with overtones of sex, and the use of sex as power. I only got confused. Sex was bad, power was good, where did both land? Why tell me I was powerful in the only arena I wasn’t allowed to use? I wished I had been told of the aspects within me of Aphrodite and Athena, Artemis and Hera, the intuition of the Oracle, visions from the goddess, Gaia and Hestia. There are so many aspects to the powerful feminine, the divine feminine, and I am only learning about them now. I wish I had known before, instead of having to find them out on my own as I search for a vision of myself that is true and whole.

Although I might not get that whole look until I’m dead. What a fucked up faith Christianity is, huh? You strive and strive and strive and all the while you acknowledge that your striving is all in vain because you won’t achieve what you’re striving for until you die.

I don’t get it.

It sounds a bit like I’m disappointed in my mom. I’m not. I know now, in ways I could never have understood then, what her limitations were and that she did the best she could, she really did. And she is an example of the strength of woman, more so with every passing day. That strength and power was there all along – when I was growing up it was often hidden under walls of pain, pushed out in spasms of violent anger directed at her loved ones instead of at her enemies. In some ways my mother became a negative masculine force in my life through that misdirected anger and violence, because she refused to recognize the feminine in herself and she didn’t acknowledge that her voice had worth and needed – no, deserved – to be heard. I spent a chunk of the day mourning the childhood I should have had, the childhood she should have had, the lost little girls and the lost powerful young women we should have both been…the things we both should have learned the easy way, by seeing it lived, instead of the hard way of unlearning the lies and relearning the truth.

But that’s not the point. The point is that we both, my mom and I, are pushing past the lies that have been passed down to us and are finding our power, our birthright, and beginning to own it. We have finally acknowledged that our voices need to be heard, that we need to speak, that we are the reflection of the divine in all our selves, in all our femininity. And my mother is an example to me of strength – the strength it takes to heal, to grow and to forgive; to learn and relearn, and to not be afraid to teach; to ask for help and to ask for desires; to give and to receive. There is a lot there for me to gather up and claim as my own, my inheritance, and it has been hard won and I both respect it and revel in it, like the victors revel in the gory battlefield.

There is a lot of violent imagery there and I was going to say that wasn’t very feminine of me, but who the hell knows? Artemis was the goddess of both wisdom and war. Joan of Arc led thousands to victory before she was killed. There is a side to me that does revel in battle, particularly when there is a victory over an injustice, which is what I feel like my mom has fought a lot of in her life. I revel in her victory then.

Plus I’ve been playing a lot of Dragon Age and I just watched The Return of the King. Epic battles stir the blood, what can I say.

To continue. I know I already mentioned that we strive and strive and then we die, but I refuse to go along with this. I refuse to accept that I will strive for something I will never get to see. No. Fuck no. I will see my own power before I am dead. I believe that I can achieve this before the end of it all and I will see myself honest and naked and strong in all my glory.

I will.

And then I’ll probably die right away afterwards. There’s a bit of me that feels that to see that would be to see the face of God – which sounds like blasphemy, but before you haul out your lightening bolts let me explain why it feels that way to me. Because wouldn’t I then be perfectly reflecting His face? And isn’t that perfection?

So maybe I won’t arrive, but that’s not what I’m looking for. I’m simply looking to be able to live a life without fear, a life where I can accept who I am in all that I am. A life where I will no longer be afraid to succeed, where I will no longer play small.

And that, I believe, I can do.

Life Goes By

2010-02-09T10:41:00.002-07:00

I don't have much to say.

Life is happening around me.

I feel like I'm floating, trying to create meaning from the other floating things around me in the water. A piece of ribbon, a branch, some leaves...a giant trunk of a tree...a couple of bugs. What does it mean?

I have no idea.

That doesn't bother me.

I think this might be a good thing.

Working

2010-01-26T11:05:00.003-07:00

It's nice to have something to do.

I'm in rehearsals again! I can't believe I'm getting paid to write and play with my friends.

I could do this all the time.

Maybe someday I will.

Days Go By

2010-01-20T16:14:00.003-07:00

I have a lot of time on my hands these days and I'm not sure what to make of it.

Despite all the evidence to the contrary, I really thought I'd have a job by now.

I would have a job by now actually if it weren't for the acting gig I have for the next two weeks that takes me out of the employable sphere anyway. The business is still looking for help. Maybe I'll reapply in February.

But still. Lots of time right now and I don't know what to do with it.

I should be writing. Working on novels or plays or journals. Blogging. Doing something creative. Taking up the violin again. The only productive thing I've managed to do consistently since January 1st is do yoga.

I've thought about becoming a yoga instructor. Maybe next year.

I am writing, actually. Just started in earnest this week, challenged by S. who just finished working with a woman who writes a one-act every month. I decided I could do that. Pump out a first draft every month? Why not? This first draft will be done by Friday evening. I hope. All I can say is so far, so good.

I do also have another audition. That makes three this year. One isn't set yet but it's the one I'm most excited about. Three weeks into the New Year, three auditions. I'm pleased.

Broke, but pleased.

This time is a bit of an exercise in faith, and humility, and more faith. But it's okay so far. So far I've only had two minor panic attacks and I've been able to reroute my panic into more productive activities, like writing marketing outlines and press releases. Or not so productive activities such as turning on the XBox and killing as many zombies as possible in an hour.

At least I can take comfort in the fact that when the zombie apocalypse comes along and renders the world of money and gainful employment obsolete I will be somewhat prepared.

Until then though. Until then.

I Just Have To Say

2010-01-15T10:40:00.003-07:00

I think I'm in love with Starbuck - Kara Thrace, from Battlestar Galactica, not the coffee.

There.

I said it.

Now you'll never know which S. I'm referring to in my posts.

Nothing Much To Say

2010-01-12T12:03:00.002-07:00

Christmas was a nice break from reality.

The other day I was thinking and realized that in the full calendar years since graduation, I have had more than one acting gig every year.

It's only been two years, but still.

Last year: 2 gigs. 1 paid.

his year, 4 gigs (so far). 1 paid (the others potential cuts of the door).

This year I also have 2 plays being produced. 1 paid. 1 maybe-paid.

Not bad. Not bad at all.

Christmas Retail

2009-12-22T21:39:00.002-07:00

It's Christmas at the mall.

Some notes for shoppers:

Don't ask me to tell you what Twilight is about unless you are older than 45. However, if you are a 12 year old boy, don't get offended if I ask you if you're wasting my time.

And if you're waiting until the last minute to do your shopping, don't get offended when we're sold out of all the best sellers.

And...here's the big one...if I'm helping someone else, don't interupt me to ask a 'quick question'.

Inspiration + No Excuses = Time For Hard Work

2009-12-10T12:28:00.002-07:00

I just learned that "Water for Elephants", by Sara Gruen (which is quite a popular book) was a NaNoWriMo novel.

Also, that one of the Giller Prize nominees was a first novel, by a 26 year old woman (her mother came into the bookstore, very neat experience for me).

All of this to say, that if I want to be a writer, I have no excuse not to be one. I suddenly realized that it is a goal that is completely within my grasp. I could be a published, successful author by the time I'm 28 if I put the work in.

(28 is not a random number, it's actually been my mental goal for a while.)

(Coincidentally, the year I turn 28 is the year my mother will turn 50, and that is her magic number for being a published author too. I picked the number 28 before I realized this. Insert Twilight Zone music here.)

Now my goal is online. People can see it. People will know if I succeed or fail.

I'd better get to work.

Growing

2009-11-29T13:13:00.003-07:00

I feel like I'm doing a lot of growing up real fast.

I'm glad I went to church today. I'm glad I have friends like the one who went to church with me.

The message was one I needed to hear. I am plagued with fears - still, goddammit - and today the pastor spoke on the fear of insignificance, which is one of mine.

Fear.

Trust.

I have to choose one, or be ruled by the other.

Isn't growing fun? I know fun times are being had by all on this end of the keyboard.

20/20

2009-11-27T19:45:00.002-07:00

I really hope that when I get to heaven, and can see the whole path of my life at once, that I will finally see what the lessons are that I'm supposed to be learning now, and will realize that all my stress in the present was for a purpose, it really was.

Peace?

2009-11-13T20:14:00.003-07:00

I had so many other things I was going to write about.

The return of bitch mom with her whiney little girl; the man who had a stroke who can write but can't speak clearly; the strange dynamic at work.

Instead.

I know that if God wasn't a part of my life I would have a hole in my heart.

I wouldn't say he's a huge part of my life...I don't do the external stuff like read the Bible or pray a lot or go to Church (so according to everything I learned in Sunday School I should be shrinking or something)...but now I know that if I cut him out of my life I'd have a hole.

A surprisingly large and painful hole.

Huh.

I'm not at peace. I wish I was. But instead of the active rage and dissatisfaction I now feel...silent surprise. That's not quite right. It isn't surprise so much as a discovery of something I didn't know was there, something I'm not sure I expected or wanted to find and now I have do something about what I've found.

Like apologize. Or repent. Or something equally unpleasant.

That's what I'm pondering on tonight. That and the unexpected well of pain and hurt and anger I have right next to that not-a-hole-today.

Oink, Oink

2009-11-10T10:19:00.002-07:00

I spent the last three days with almost all the flu-like symptoms.

Might have just had the flu.

Might have had the dreaded and feared Swine Flu....(insert scary music here).

It's amazing to me people's reactions to hearing that someone had the flu. I was hanging out with some people a few days before I got sick (so while I was the most contagious, sorry guys), and we were all talking about the hysteria surrounding this H1N1 'epidemic' and how it was taking focus from everything else, and what the government was trying to sneak past us while we were all in a paralysis of fear. We were all scoffers at that table, none of us afraid of the flu or of getting it because quite frankly, it's the flu. It hits a bit harder but in most cases people are sick for a few days or a week and then they get over it. I've even heard that most of the cases of flu right now are H1N1 because that's the strain going around, and that most people who have it think they have the regular flu (but that may not be true, I can't remember my source and thus have no way of knowing how accurate this is - but it makes sense to me).

Within hours of our scoffing, when we were hanging out with a few other people who had not been privy to our conversation, I mentioned that S. had the flu and wow, everyone straightened and pulled away from me in minute amounts and asked if it was the Swine Flu - even the scoffers from earlier.

I don't get it. When I say I'm not afraid of getting the Swine Flu I mean it. I'll do all I can short of hermitting myself in my apartment to avoid getting it, but in the end it's kind of outside my realm of control so what's the point of getting all twisted up about it? If I end up in the hospital or if I am one of the small, miniscule percentage who die from it, well...I can't do anything about that. I will either stay healthy, get sick and get better, or get sick and die. That's life in community. That's life in general. You live, you die, you don't always get to choose how that happens.

But apparently some people scoff the fear to hide their fear from themselves and others.

I understand that.

I don't understand their fear in the first place but I understand their hypocritical scoffing.

Either way, I feel better today. Off to work I go. I've been more worried about experiencing some kind of negative reprocussions for calling in sick three days in a row than about ending up in hospital, but if there's one good thing about this fear-mongering, there was no pressure from my employer to go to work once the word flu left my mouth. Hopefully that means I'll still have a full-time job when I look at the schedules today.

Happy Hallowe'en!

2009-10-31T23:19:00.002-06:00

My Hallowe'en?

Bram Stoker's Dracula and The Blair Witch Project.

Handing out candy dressed as a priest, with S. as my special nun friend and another friend dressed as a skier (basically because he wanted to wear his new ski boots).

We got 34 kids (well, 32 kids, one adult and one adult who may have been a crack head)! We were expecting 12. Maybe 15.

I'm glad we didn't run out of treats until after the crack head was gone. Although we didn't really have to worry. The treats were lined out as if they were a shrine, only missing the candles. It was great...over two dozen small bags of chips, over a dozen cans of Pepsi and 16 big chocolate bars, plus a couple dozen teeny chocolate bars. At the end we were down to 4 bags of chips, 2 cans of pop, 1 big bar and 4 little ones.

We were also told we had the best pumpkins in the city of Calgary which either means that everyone else carved lame ass pumpkins or ours were really awesome - one was an evil tree and the other a hissing cat, and then an evil clown face.

Job well done I think.

Yesterday we went to Scream Fest and I screamed multiple times. It was great! A guy with a chainsaw chasing people, a clown in a car who drove at you and stopped just before he hit you, air guns blasting air in your face, four amazing haunted houses and one that was all outside. Someone was dressed as the Joker and he was pretty scary too.

Tomorrow I start National Novel Writing Month for the second year in a row so I may not write here much as I frantically write a 50,000 word novel before December...but I'll try to throw a note up here every week at least.

Again, Happy Hallowe'en, until next year!

Apocalypse vs. The Empty Wallet

2009-10-22T11:33:00.004-06:00

A lack of money makes a person desperate.

My faith takes such a beating when I'm stressed about money.

I hate this feeling.

Is this what I've doomed my life to be? Does this have to go hand in hand with being an artist? Do I constantly have to be struggling on a financial level?

I hate how financial stress makes the rest of my life feel stressful too.

I really wish our society wasn't money based - but things are too big for us to change that.

Oh well.

When the zombie attack happens money won't matter anymore. Until then I'll scrape along somehow.

And keep a supply of weapons and food in my apartment. You know. Just being prepared.

Snapshot

2009-10-12T18:54:00.001-06:00

I look over and see him lean over and kiss her on top of her head. It's such a tender moment I feel like I'm spying but it makes me smile and warms my heart.

I like moments like that. Especially at work.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone.

Back At Work

2009-10-10T19:37:00.003-06:00

Almost everyone I worked with in April is gone.

Just two people and me.

New manager. New assistant manager. New co-workers.

One of whom swears on the sales floor.

One of whom stands at the tills and doodles.

One of whom looks up LOL Cats at the front till computer.

???

Is it a real surprise that work is either crazy hectic or boring as hell?

Home Again, Home Again, Jiggity Jig

2009-10-01T11:26:00.003-06:00

We're home.

It's so nice to wake up and not be cold! And to have a shower with water pressure! And to have carpet, and internet at my fingertips, and my friends close by!

It's just nice to be home.

Singing Fools

2009-09-29T11:37:00.002-06:00

We're at my parent's house now and through the house you can hear snippets of musicals, pugs snoring, washing machines going crazy and fish tanks burbling. Nice sounds as the sun wafts in the window. A day of peace and rest before driving home.

Home!

I can hardly wait.

Pocket Rocks

2009-09-08T13:44:00.002-06:00

This is what I wore yesterday. Yes, all at the same time.

Modern underwear.
Long johns
2 pairs of socks.
Jeans.
A long sleeved shirt.
Rubber boots.
A petticoat.
A skirt in the style of the 1870's.
A bodice in the same style.
A bustle fluff thing.
1 knitted shawl.
2 capes, one long and thin and one short and wool.
2 scarves.
1 1870's hat.
1 pair long gloves.
1 umbrella - I didn't exactly wear it but I had it on my person all day so it almost counts.

And I was still cold. So I added a little bag with a pocket rock in it. Pocket rocks are rocks that you heat up on a woodstove until they're too hot to touch and you have to hold them in little quilted bags. They warm your hands and are the best invention in the world.

Today I have the day off and I have finally warmed up. There is no way I could live here all year round. No way at all.

Love

2009-08-18T16:05:00.002-06:00

we fight
we bicker and squabble and pull and twist
for control
of ourselves and each other

control

isn't what love is about
is it?

i can't let go
not without a fight

but i don't want control
i'm just afraid
afraid of what will happen when i let go
let go
no control
falling
headfirst
into

what?

it's all new.

we learn
we live

we let go

those moments sustain
keep me hoping
hopeful
knowing that the struggle for freedom
is worth it
in the end.

Noise, Hippies, Noisy Hippies

2009-07-31T19:06:00.002-06:00

That is what this weekend is here in the bustling metropolis of Wells. The town has been taken over by 'artists' who boggle my mind - they are the stereotype of hippies! Wandering about, bumming things off people, asking to use your bathroom or shower, camping on our lawn in their van...it's insane.

Oh, and a lot of them are half-naked. Not pretty half-naked either.

And they play bongo drums late at night outside our window. And sing weird hippy songs all over the place. And there are going to be loud metal concerts at midnight (and later) at the Community Hall next to our house.

Remind me never to live next to a Community Hall ever, ever again.

Requiem for a Good Dog

2009-07-21T12:23:00.001-06:00

My dog Emma died yesterday after a few days of violent illness. We think it was poison. She was 10.

I got her when she was a puppy. My brother’s dog had babies unexpectedly – how we never once noticed she was pregnant, ever, until two days before she gave birth was something I’ll never understand but it happened every time. I really liked the little blonde one with the retriever’s nose but I didn’t expect to be allowed to keep her. It was always my dad and my brother who got to keep pups against all logic. Dogs and cats weren’t something I got to keep when it didn’t make sense.

When my parents told me I could keep her, if I wanted, I was shocked and deeply moved. That they had even noticed how much I liked her meant a lot to me. More than I could really express. That my dad was willing to give up the puppy he liked so that I could keep mine touched me too. I gave it a few days of serious thought because having a dog is a big decision, and then I said that if the offer still stood I would like to keep her, thanks.

I took a few days to name her too. The name came from a Jane Austen book that I had actually not read. The tag line – a beautiful meddler – was what inspired me to name her Emma. She was beautiful. Somehow the vagaries of Golden Lab, Chow, Terrier and Poodle had combined to create a 30lb white blonde retriever. Right from the beginning she was my dog. She looked to me first for everything. She didn’t like children because she’d been briefly tormented by a visiting child and she had a good memory. She was extremely protective of anything she deemed to be our property, to the point of biting our landlord’s brother in the butt when he came to borrow some tools. When she killed a chicken at the age of six months, she took the scolding with a confused expression – but she remembered it (until she was about a year old and killed another one…but that’s an impressive memory for a puppy, and she never killed another one after that). When she realized I didn’t like something she did her best to fight instinct and obey my inscrutable whims. I could put an egg on the ground in front of her and she’d do everything in her power to not even look at it, though I could see the hunger for it in her face.

She went nuts when I first put a collar and leash on her. She was so frightened, being restrained. But when she got used to it and realized that the leash meant quality time with me, she’d go nuts for a different reason. I had to walk her at heel for at least ten minutes before I could get her to listen to any other commands. But once she learned to stay I could make her lay on the lawn while I herded sheep or dealt with other animals that were spooked by the presence of an overly helpful dog.

When I went away to school she moped around and stopped eating for a while. I think she thought I had died, because eventually she moved from sleeping below my bedroom window to sleeping outside my parents’. They didn’t appreciate being woken up by her barking in the night but it meant she was eating again so I didn’t mind. When I came home for Christmas she treated me with disdain for a day before deciding I had been punished enough and whole-heartedly welcoming me back into her life. After a few trips away and back home she had figured out the routine and no longer withdrew, although she no longer greeted me with the same enthusiasm either. I wasn’t the reliable pack leader I had once been. I think instead of transferring that role to another human she took it on herself, bossing the other dogs around with aggression and the attitude of a much larger dog. Even though her pack mate Phoebe was at least twice her size it didn’t seem to phase either of them that Emma was the leader. It was the accepted order of their world.

It doesn’t surprise me that Emma was the one to die. When she and Phoebe were out wandering the fields and forests, if they had come across some piece of rotten or poisoned meat, Emma would have never allowed Phoebe, or the pugs, to eat any of it. Instead she would have claimed it all for herself. She protected the other dogs lives with her firm belief that as leader, she should have all the best things in life. It was an accidental act of nobility which caused her death.

I just wish that I could have been there to take care of her as she died. She suffered a lot as she went, more than any animal deserves. If there is an afterlife for our pets I hope she’s got a good one – a place in rabbit hell would be perfect for her, as that was the only animal on our farm that I never succeeded in training her to not chase. And maybe someday I’ll get one last chance to let her know that she was, indeed, a good dog.

Reflections on Death and the Gossip Mill

2009-07-14T13:12:00.003-06:00

I think I actually have some buttons from my Uncle John’s death. I had no idea that his death had affected me in any way. I feel that I didn’t really know him, that it was the death of a stranger to me that nevertheless ripped my father apart. Most of my pain from that death arose from the pain I saw my father, my grandmother, my cousins experiencing. But I have buttons, buttons about respecting the privacy of the family to mourn. Buttons about giving people space. Respecting the process, the death, the loss and the grief for even just one fucking day before that gossip mill starts up again, just one fucking day, people, that’s all I ask.

This revelation was triggered by the death of one of the people in Barkerville. One of the Chinatown shop keepers, who also worked in the Chinese restaurant, died in a car accident. Her entire family work in BVille. It’s a small town. Something like this, a death, especially a sudden and unexpected death, gets around fast. It’s how a small town works and I know that. But I didn’t expect the rampant gossip that accompanied it: they were on their way to pick up their son; he was in the car; he wasn’t in the car; the husband has minor injuries; the son must feel so much guilt; the driver must be beside himself; the father and son are in Vancouver; they’re coming in tonight to pick up some things from the shop.

And the insincere comments of grief. Okay, I know some people were upset, some were really upset; but funnily enough they weren’t stopping to talk to anyone who wanted to talk about what had happened. They stuck to themselves and stayed out of sight for most of the day. But the ones who were whispering on the street – “She was so nice. I’m going to really miss her. I didn’t even know they were married.” This, verbatim, from a lady who has been working here for years. Years. I’ve been here two months and I didn’t know the deceased. I’d met her twice. She served me in the restaurant once, and sold me a fan from the shop. Yet I knew who her husband was. I wanted to ask, “Just how much are you going to miss this woman whom you obviously never got to know, who you just saw when you ate at the Duck when she took your order with a happy smile and a polite greeting, how much can you miss her? You knew nothing about her life. You don’t care, you just want to gossip about her death and her family, you stupid bitch.” But I didn’t. I walked away instead and avoided all the gaggles on the street for the rest of the day.

Maybe I’m too cynical.

But when I overheard a shop keep telling the story (a gossip version, so full of inaccuracies no less) to tourists – plain ordinary tourists who don’t care, who don’t give a shit about the family or who died, they’re just callous voyeurs in someone else’s pain – I got infuriated. Again, I wanted to shake them and scream in their fat ugly face, “How dare you? How dare you say, ‘It’s a big family here in Barkerville, when someone dies we all feel the pain’ when you aren’t even doing the bare minimum to respect the family, the actual family who are in actual pain, you don’t even respect their right to grieve privately without a bunch of curious eyes on them, eyes from people they don’t even know?” Again I held my tongue and kept walking, walking away from the idiots who I think would change their tune if it was their mother/daughter/sister/wife who had died. But maybe not.

This isn’t Michael Jackson, who the world felt they had a right to (whether they did or not); this is an everyday woman who I would bet most of the people in town didn’t know anything about, didn’t spend a moment’s thought on when she wasn’t serving them in the restaurant or the shop.

They didn’t even wait for the corpse to cool. Gossip flies in this town, to the point where the lady who runs the Wells General Store came into Barkerville to share the latest news as soon as she got it. She couldn’t even wait for people to get off work and come into the store, in case they heard it somewhere else first; no, she had to come into our working place, interrupt our work day to tell us all the newest gossip. Not professional. Not polite. Not respectful, but it makes her feel important and she doesn’t care about the people at whose expense she feels big. She just knows something we don’t know, and can’t wait to share it with us. I walked away before she could talk to me. I have another two months here. I don’t want to say something I’ll regret.

I don’t know the woman or her family. I am not in pain or upset or grieving but out of respect for those who are I feel it’s wrong to comment on her death and guess at what happened. It’s just rude to speculate on the guilt those who were involved must feel. But all day that’s what I heard and it made me furious, absolutely furious, to the point where S. had to tell me to stop ranting and just accept that small towns are vicious with their gossip.

The thing is, I’ve lived in small towns before. I grew up in a small town community and spent the last four years of my life in Rosebud which is almost as small as they get. The gossip mill was (and is) alive and well in Rosebud too. But it felt different. I thought about it for a while and I think it’s because in Rosebud the people you are gossiping about are usually your classmates, roommates, cast mates or friends. Or all of the above. Rarely in Rosebud is there someone who is only involved in one of your spheres of existence. There’s a more personal connection to everyone you’re likely to hear gossip about. I won’t deny that I’ve heard some downright nasty and cruel rumours in Rosebud. No town is immune to that kind of thing, unfortunately. But to gossip about death? Not something the town would do with such rabid ferocity. It wouldn’t have been treated like a piece of entertainment, a piece of news to liven up the day. Not like here in Barkerville. I’d like to think that in Rosebud we would instead get together and comfort each other and the bereaved; pray; go on with our lives without telling the patrons of the theatre about the death in all it’s details instead of speculating on things until four different stories of the event were circulating throughout town.

I think the difference there though is that in Rosebud people have a vested interest in each other. There the lives of the people around you touch you in some way and when you actually know the person who is suffering, you are less likely to just stand around and whisper about their loss; their loss is in a way your loss too. You at the very least feel echoes of their pain. Here in Wells and Barkerville people don’t live together. They work together. Whatever the shop keeps might say, there is a difference. Working together doesn’t make you family. If I had any doubts, the rumour mongering this weekend proved it to me. Family doesn’t gossip about the death of one of it’s own. Family doesn’t spill the news to strangers just for the thrill, or to feel important. Family bands together and weathers the emotional storm. Family holds each other up instead of ripping each other down for every last nugget of information.

When my uncle died there was a bit of both, I guess. He died in unusual circumstances which meant that strangers thought they had a right to know what had happened – in reality they couldn’t control their curiosity and for some reason that was our problem to solve in the midst of grief. It didn’t help that some of those strangers were from the press. One reporter phoned every person with our last name in the phonebook, asking the same questions which (I believe) we all declined to answer. They didn’t give up but they ended up getting their information from some satellite ‘family’ member who didn’t know what was going on…and it got printed in the paper, gossip presented as journalism.

On the other side of the coin were the people coming in quietly with support, food, hands to hold and shoulders to cry into, stories to make us remember my uncle and stories to make us laugh. Those people were the true friends, the family, the ones who maybe didn’t claim to share our pain but who respected it and let us know they were there for us. All without agenda. They didn’t come grieve with us so they could feel important or whisper about the circumstances of our grief with their curious neighbours. They came because they actually gave a damn about us, about our loss and about my uncle.

When people feel the need to share intimate details of loss with voyeurs to make themselves look and feel important, they aren’t family and never have been. The sad thing is that some of them can’t see the wrong in what they’ve done. People like that get no respect from me but bigger than that I think they’ve lost sight of something precious, something compassionate that makes us humans noble.

This whole event has done nothing to make me less jaded about human nature, that’s for sure.

Right now I feel that even if the rest of this place…it’s remote natural beauty…the easy job…the general friendliness of the people…even if it all begged for me to come back this one incident is enough to make me turn my back on this town forever and never come here to work again.

That might change as time goes on. We’ll see. But right now I think I’ll leave and not be sad to go.

Cold

2009-06-30T13:11:00.002-06:00

I hate having to check my email in the store.

There's people around all the time and I can't be sure that no-one is reading over my shoulder.

That's one of the things I really miss about being home. That and having a house all to ourselves, with only our dirty dishes on the counter.

And the heat.

It's so cold here, even though it's a sunny day. I've been told July gets warmer. It had better be true.

But life is good. Even if I'm cold. And the job is good as well. So I'll stop complaining now.

Life

2009-06-23T12:46:00.003-06:00

My life is going pretty well. I'm enjoying myself and don't have anything to complain about.

The lives of some of the people who are important to me aren't as free from care.

It's confusing. I don't know what to think or feel. I'm trying to just feel what's there and not think about it too much right now.

Other than that I don't have much to say except that I'm really, really glad S. is there for me.

Northern Life So Far

2009-05-24T12:33:00.001-06:00

The week we left for Barkerville my car died. I drove it to Rosebud so that it would be looked after, cared for, started once in a while – so that it would still run when I got back from BC – and on the way there the water pump decided it was no more for this world and the engine overheated and I perhaps cooked my engine. I still don’t know. I left it in the hands of a friend and we’ll see in five months whether I have a car or am in the market.

I do appreciate the bitter irony of the car situation.

The actual trip to BC was made without incident. We drove through the mountains with snow and rain and sun each taking their turn. We didn’t see any animals much to my disappointment. I did see birds – a Great Blue Heron, a few hawks and some ducks of various breeds – but no animals that run on all fours. Unless you count squirrels, in which case I saw one.

The hotel we stayed in was small and much, much dirtier than the images on their website led me to believe. I walked in and said, “I have a reservation.” The woman at the desk said, “You have a reservation? Here?” She sounded so surprised. I knew right then that things were going to be a bit squibby. When she looked down at her papers and called me by name, it clinched it. Obviously the place is not a well-used hotel, as the three vehicles in the parking lot implied. (One of them was ours.) We watched some television and went to bed.

The rest of the trip was also without incident. We ate breakfast in a place that had no fruit on the menu which normally I wouldn’t have noticed but I really wanted French toast with fruit that morning (damn); we commented on the remote farmhouses and ranches and wondered who in their right mind wanted to live out there all year round? Or at all? We kept a sharp eye out for the turn Google Maps had told us about – but when we got to Prince George we realized that the road didn’t exist. (I have since learned that Google Maps was directing us to a road built in the 1860’s which is no longer in use if it even still exists.) In Prince George the highway was being used as a parking lot and we had to drive carefully to avoid hitting mirrors. I have no idea what was going on but apparently it was a big deal, as everyone in town was there. With their dog and their dog’s car.

We explored Quesnel briefly and then went to Wells. The road was long and curvy but we made it there in one piece and found the house we are staying in – the yellow house next to the even yellower community centre. It was indeed easy to spot, as we had been told it would be. We met our roommate, Tim, who is a nice guy and reminded both S. and I of someone we know. It took us almost the entire evening to figure out who – the art teacher from our Certificate year! I don’t think he sleeps much, as we’re always in bed before him and he’s always up before us. When we wake up at night he’s either not home or he’s up eating or drinking coffee. I don’t understand it but that’s just because I like to sleep 10 hours or more a night.

The snow here. Wow. The snow! When we got here it was piled up against buildings, laying in thick white blankets on the baseball diamond – six to ten feet near the house and probably four out in the open. I wish I’d taken pictures as now, after a week or so of sun and (mostly) rain it has shrunk considerably. (Near some buildings it was piled up to the eaves!) It was cold our first few days of work.

We got costumes after a few days, which actually made it warmer. A corset holds in a considerable amount of heat and the dresses hide all the civvies I care to wear underneath them. On the coldest day I was wearing two pairs of socks, long johns, jeans, two shirts, a corset (as well as the necessary modern underwear), a heavy petticoat, my green dress, a scarf, gloves, a wig (to keep my ears warm), a hat, rubber boots and a thick woollen cape.

It was warmer today so I wore my blue dress. I like it quite a bit. It has a lace collar and cuffs and a lacy bustle as well. Those women in the 1870’s sure liked their bustles. Not to sound vain, but I look good in period costumes. A part of me wants to wear those kinds of clothes all the time, except for how sore my back and shoulders get. They’re heavy and really, I couldn’t wear a corset all the time. I like being able to tie my shoes and lean back on chairs and snuggle up on a sofa with a book, all rendered impossible with a properly fitted corset.

However, I was not the only person who thought I looked fine, much to my dismay. Today I collected a follower of the male persuasion, much to the amusement of all my co-workers. I can’t remember his name but apparently he latches on to a different pretty girl each summer and I’m the unhappy target this year. The fact that I have a boyfriend isn’t likely to deter him – one year his object of affection was clearly and obviously married. My boss has had to talk to him before about bothering actors who are working, so if I can’t shake him on my own at least someone will deal with him for me. Actually, my boss gave me and S. permission to kiss – full on French – in front of this guy; this while we are portraying an era where men and women didn’t even touch in public.

Hopefully I won’t need to resort to that.

I’ll try to keep this blog up to date through-out the summer. It’s a bit hard – I have to bring my laptop to the local general store to access the internet and after work it’s the last thing I feel like doing. However, like I said, I’ll do my best.

I'm Not Dead

2009-05-19T19:30:00.001-06:00

But I do have limited internet access. I'll be back, I promise - I have blog posts written and waiting for me to get my computer to an internet port. Soon, soon!

Awesomeness

2009-05-04T18:02:00.003-06:00

Migraine medication would be awesome if it worked.

Frick.

I have a super-power - the invincible migraine! My last prescription migraine pill, Advil by the (over)dose, Aspirin (even though I'm not supposed to take it), Robaxacet, to relax my tense muscles...all it does is make me sleep really well and wake up to -

a migraine.

Oh well. It'll go away eventually.

I hope.

(Just for the record, I didn't take all those drugs at once. That's, like, two days worth of headache fighting.)

Observations

2009-04-29T11:52:00.003-06:00

The other day a little girl was looking at books in the front of the store. She turned to tell her mom something and her mom wasn't there. She was looking around but she couldn't see her mom anywhere so I asked her what her mom looked like.

"She has Lulu lemon pants," she said.

That's it. What kind of little girl doesn't tell you what her mom's hair colour is, or what colour she's wearing? Brand names? Really? But that's what she said.

She ended up finding her mom right away after that, thank goodness. Her mom wasn't a very nice woman. She didn't pay any attention to her little girl calling out, "Mommy! Mommy!" at the front of the store and it's not like she couldn't hear her.

I will grant the little girl was a whiny thing, who when they got to the till asked over and over and over, "Mommy can I have a book? Mommy can I have a book?" without even enough time for her mother to answer. Very annoying. When I hear a child do that I immediately assume they are spoiled and used to getting what they want. Otherwise why would they keep asking? But instead of giving her the standard distracted "No" answer, her mother replied with, "No. I know, I'm a terrible mother, not buying you anything. Not giving you what you want," complete with a knowing look to whoever was helping her at the till. (I hate that. It creates violent urges in me.)

Then the little girl switched tactics. Not getting a book? Fine. Bookmarks are smaller, more attainable perhaps. Her mom denied her again with the same phrases...but then she asked if we had Twilight bookmarks. The little girl got so excited - but then the mother just bought one for herself. She was going out of her way to buy the things the little girl wanted for herself. There was a malicious tone to everything she did, directed towards her child. I didn't like her one bit. She was a mean woman who took out her meanness on her little girl because her child was small and powerless. Those are the kind of people I want to punch in the face until they bleed. Copiously.

And then give her little girl to someone who gives a damn and will raise her to be a healthy, functional adult. Because this woman certainly won't.

Family Visit

2009-04-28T10:50:00.003-06:00

I had a good weekend. Three days off in a row is always nice, nicer still when I get to see people I love. My mom came down for a few days. We had good conversations and went shopping together - we even took in a theatre show.

It was so nice to see her again. I went from living at my parents to seeing them every four months to now, where I see them every...eight months? Every year? It can be a long time in between visits now that my schedule is no longer ruled by the school semester but by work and all too infrequent holidays. If we lived closer geographically it would be different but alas, this is how life goes sometimes.

I think of my mom, moving away from her family and going years without seeing them. I don't think I could go years. Of course my family will come see me sometimes too so the onus isn't all on me to do the travelling like it was on her. That helps a lot.

The next time I see my family might be this summer. I'm going to Barkerville BC to work for five months. It's a place my family likes to visit so they'll kill two birds with one stone and I'll get to see them again. Except for my youngest brother, who is now beginning to experience the constraint of a working schedule too.

But there's always Christmas. I hope.

It's Been A While...

2009-04-24T22:36:00.004-06:00

...but not much is going on.

I had an audition with ATP...I still work at the bookstore...oh, the french guy who gave me his number and then asked me out on a date who I then turned down but then stupidly decided might be friend material is 'still hoping' as my co-worker put it, and worse, still showing up at work to chat aka flirt when I've done everything I can think of (other than freezing him out) to show him I'm not interested...I'm preparing to go to Barkerville BC for the summer...S. opened a show tonight in another city and I really hope it went well...I'm preparing for another audition next week...my mom is coming to visit me tomorrow!

My life in one long paragraph with lots of elipses. I love elipses.

Promotion

2009-04-12T19:19:00.002-06:00

I have keys to the book store.

That might be a bad idea.

Hopefully there are still books in there tomorrow.

Company

2009-04-01T21:29:00.003-06:00

I got this from my brother.

A married couple was in a car when the wife turned to her husband and asked, "Would you like to stop for a coffee?"

"No, thanks," he answered truthfully. So they didn't stop.

The wife, who had indeed wanted to stop, became annoyed because she felt her preference had not been considered. The husband, seeing his wife was angry, became frustrated. Why didn't she just say what she wanted?

Unfortunately, he failed to see that his wife was asking the question not to get an instant decision, but to begin a negotiation. And the wife didn't realize that when her husband said no, he was just expressing his preference, not making a ruling. When a man and woman interpret the same interchange in such conflicting ways, it's no wonder they can find themselves leveling angry charges of selfishness and obstinacy at each other.

When I read this, I laughed out loud because it was almost verbatim a conversation S. and I had about a year ago. We figured it out within the half-hour - but it's nice to know we aren't alone in our misunderstandings!

Random Thoughts from a Migraining Brain

2009-03-28T13:40:00.002-06:00

I have specific rituals that help me deal with a migraine. I take drugs with coke, I perhaps eat corn chips with salsa, and I lay in bed in the dark, listening to CBC radio while I zone in and out of consciousness until I feel better and can function again. I have been in bed for something like 16 hours now, and I feel a little better but not enough to get up and do anything. I'm a little surprised I'm writing on a computer actually. It goes against all of my migraine patterns and it isn't helping me at all.

It's so hot in the apartment. I can't handle it. I turned down the heat to 15 and it's still hot in here. Damn heat malfunction. I want to stand out on the balcony in my pajamas but I'm not sure what the bylaws are on that sort of thing. I'll settle for opening my bedroom window and letting the cold air soothe my overheated brain.

Apparently St. John New Brunswick is the happiest place in Canada. The people have various reasons. One guy said it was because people were friendly. One 17 year old said there was nothing to do. He wanted to go to Calgary, but couldn't leave his girlfriend. "She's having my kid," he said. Is he scared? No. He's so happy about it, about giving that kid the life he never had. Weird, but he sounded happy anyway, even if he was bored with St. John.

One old guy said the key to a long, happy life was sex and lots of it. Maybe that's why the 17 year old was so happy sounding.

Yesterday they talked about a study on cheating, and how when they asked people to recount the 10 commandments and then gave them chances to cheat or steal, they didn't. Even if they couldn't remember any of the commandments. And that when you are one step away from actual money, you are more likely to steal. What would you take from work? A pencil, or 10 cents from the till? The pencil! And when they made people aware of the monetary value of objects in the office, theft went down. And that giving people huge bonuses makes them less efficient at their work because they spend time being stressed out at the thought of losing the bonus instead of spending time thinking about how to do their job. It was fascinating but I can't remember the name of the study author now.

My computer is literally falling apart - the tiny screws in the bottom are falling out. I wonder why. And why is it hot to the touch? Does that have anything to do with the fact that the battery is unrecognizable to the system? Should I take the battery out? I have no idea. What I don't know about computers could fill a warehouse. Although they are making a quantum computer that can hold way more information than the computers we have now. I do know that, thanks to Quirks and Quarks.

I feel high. Drugs kicking in but I'm still unable to function at a normal level.

I have no more random thoughts. I think I'm going to go back to sleep until my brain is normal again - well, that could take eternity. Until it's back to my normal, at least.

Another Pet Peeve

2009-03-25T18:52:00.002-06:00

I hate it when people interrupt me while I'm helping one customer in order to ask for help themselves.

What am I supposed to do? I'm already busy. Legitimately helping someone, doing my job - I wish I could point out how rude they're being but I can't. Although today I came really close. Some guy, who had already interrupted me once - when I was mid sentence, I kid you not - then proceded to yell at me from across the store, asking "Is there anyone who will help me with this?" He was very impatient. And rude. And I was the only one he could see, and we were all busy with other people.

So I said, as he turned away, "Can you not see I'm busy with someone?" and felt bad instantly only because my customer was so nice and I hated to expose my frustration in front of her. Oh well. Guess what, I'm human too, customer. And idiots annoy me.

At least there were no Children of the Exorcism today.

I Love the Smell of Commerce in the Morning

2009-03-24T22:56:00.003-06:00

Today a small child screamed like she was possessed by the devil. Like "Exorcism" screaming, all gravelly. It was impressive. Over and over - "My book! My book!" were the only discernable words. Her mother was trying to buy the book for her but she wouldn't let go long enough for it to be scanned at the till. So her mother took her out of the store, and then when it became apparent she wasn't going to stop, her mother took her away. Her screams eventually stopped - but only because she was out of earshot. After they left, we clerks were the only ones in the store, so we chatted about Devil Girl and her mother, and our childhoods and our parents.

Later a man barged into the 'staff only' area, made a beeline for our bathroom and started using it without shutting the door first. How did he even know there was a bathroom back there? It's not advertised and we don't tell customers about it, much less let them use it. We quickly realized he wasn't quite all there, so at least he wasn't a creep who wanted to expose himself to the Coles girls. But still. It was...surreal. And then he left the store without saying a word.

Just to round things out, the fire alarm in the mall went off twice. It's loud. We have an alarm in our ceiling and it flashes a blue light as it beeps. Beeps is too kind a word. As it shrieks on par with Devil Girl it blinks a calm blue light. If that's for deaf people they get the better end of the deal. Except if I were deaf, I wouldn't realize that meant fire. It's too calm and blue.

That's been my day. The things I would tell S. about if he were here. Sigh.

Thoughts I Repressed Today

2009-03-23T17:59:00.002-06:00

"Telling me the title over and over will not help me find the book, so SHUT UP ALREADY."

"If this computer says we don't have it, the other computer won't give us a different answer!"

"Why are you here?"

"Why didn't you follow me - do you think the book will just hover over to you?"

"How am I supposed to find a book based on, 'it's got a silver cover'?"

"Are you buying this book or not? And if so, will you please come back to the till, you moron?"

"Did you not hear what I just asked you?"

(That last one I think almost every day with more and more irritation. Why? Because I am developing a new pet peeve. I'll ask a customer, "Can I help you?" and they'll say, "Yes, I'm fine," and walk away as fast as they can. Did they not hear what I asked? Do they think I'll pressure them into buying Twilight? God Almighty, it makes me want to punch them in the face. It's not like they don't speak English. The ones that don't speak English usually just smile and nod, or say, "Browsing!" like it's a magic word that will protect them from pushy sales clerks. But I don't get a commission from selling books. All it does is give me something to do.)

On a side note, today I actually chased a woman away from the store. All it took was a "Are you finding everything okay?" and she nodded and barely had time to say, "I'm fine thank you" before she was out the door and gone.

I don't understand.

Maybe on my last day I'll say what I'm thinking - but I say that about every job and I never do it. Too polite and professional I guess. Too used to repressing my real thoughts and showing a happy smiling face to a world that doesn't bother to look beneath the surface.

I'm not sure why my thoughts are so dark. I started out the day happily enough. I had way more happy customers than unhappy ones. I had a fairly uneventful benign day at work. And yet I'm just frustrated and fed up with not living the life I want. Not paying my bills with my writing. Not getting paid to tell stories in one form or another.

I enjoy working with books all day.

But I really don't want to do this forever, and every job I get that isn't what I want for my life wears on me quicker and quicker.

Maybe that was the one thought I should have repressed today - just for the sake of my short term happiness.

And maybe it's the one thought I should be most aware of.

Things I've Seen

2009-03-16T19:30:00.002-06:00

I saw a small Asian boy smiling like Buddah would smile if he were a baby with no cares in the world, as he was pushed through the mall in his stroller. He only stopped smiling when he saw me watching him, even though I was smiling at him. I wonder why. Then he went back to his own little world and the look of pure contentment came back.

I want to look that content while I go my way through the world.

Today I was met by my boss without a smile, not even in her voice. I think now that she must have had a stressed morning but this morning I took it personally and the first hour or two of my day were terrible. I wanted to quit. I wanted to throw books at stupid people. I wanted to gouge the eyes out of wailing children. And then I realized that my boss has always greeted me with a smile and a friendly word and that there was nothing I could have done in the first thirty seconds of my day to make her upset, so it must be from a cause outside myself. I am very egocentric. I must be two years old. That must be why I look so young. ;) Although if I keep taking everything personally it will age me before my time.

I was told by an older man that I was wise beyond my years. He doesn't know me, so he doesn't know all my faults - that I have the ego of a toddler. We talked about the school system and the lack of balance therein. He teaches shop, and the troubled kids 'get better' in his class because instead of trying to build with letters and numbers and failing, they build with their hands and succeed. The school wants him to take his counselling degree but he doesn't want to because he cannot counsel out of the context of his class. Or he doesn't think so. He was so easy to talk to. He said not many people believed in the need for balance. That's why he thinks I'm so wise. Because I know that balance is a need, even if I can't acheive it myself. He asked how I got so wise and I said I'd just always been a thinker. He said him too. He'd always stood on the edge and watched others, and half-wanted to get involved but holding back because most of the stuff others were doing looked so damn stupid. I added the damn. It's the first time I've met someone who put in words what I've lived my whole life. It was exhilerating and sad. I don't know why it was sad. Perhaps because I know that there is a cost to being the watcher and I'm not sure I want to pay it, even if I don't know any other way to be.

He seemed happy. He said if I ever had time and saw him around the mall, we should go for coffee.

It made me wonder why the only guys who ask me out for coffee are either older than me by decades, or younger than me and socially awkward. Even though he didn't ask me out on a date. It didn't feel like that, anyway. More like he enjoyed our conversation as much as I did and would like to chat with me again sometime. That I wouldn't mind.

Now I'm down because I'm an observer. Like Britney says, there are two types of people in this world. The ones that entertain, and the ones who observe.

Who would have thought wisdom could come from pop stars. But if it can come from the mouths of babes, perhaps it can come from anywhere.

Good Fences

2009-03-15T19:39:00.003-06:00

"Good fences make good neighbours."

Our upstairs neighbour is not a quiet man. He's either blowing his nose or he has a baby elephant up there. (Maybe that's what happened to the baby elephant at the zoo.) He gets up and stomps around at 5 in the morning on a regular basis. (I've even been woken up by a string of swear words, cause unknown. Not the best way to face the world in the early morn.) He spends his weekends listening to truly terrible music late into the night, as though unaware that there are other people who have to work on weekends (every weekend, thanks boss...) and need to get to sleep at a reasonable hour - not one in the morning. And he cheers for the Flames. Which is bad enough on its own. And he cheers loudly. With a lot of swear words.

The guy downstairs is either dying of lung cancer...or he's just got a really terrible cough.

I wonder if they secretly want to stomp on the floor to shut us up, but I really doubt it. We're pretty quiet people, S. and I.

Good fences?

I think good walls make good neighbours.

Advice on the Radio

2009-03-11T14:24:00.002-06:00

I wake up in the morning to CBC Radio. A good way to get a clue about the outside world, a bad way to remember dreams - they fade in the blur of murders and the many varied tragedies that are deemed important for me to know about.

This morning, although I don't remember what happened on the news (except for a school shooting in Germany), I did lay in bed and listen to half an hour of Q. They were going to interview some Monty Python people but couldn't get ahold of them, so instead they aired an interview they had already done with David Sedaris.

Working in a book store (which I may not be for much longer but that's another story) I see books and authors all around me every day that I was previously unaware of. David Sedaris is one of those authors. He's in the humour section. Guys are the ones who pick up his books so I had relegated him to a pile in my mind labled, not interesting.

What a mistake that was. The interview was fascinating. He's a morbid guy. Morbid and funny and all he does is observe the world around him. And when he writes about his friends and family, which he does a lot, he always clears it by them first. Gets them to read it and tell him if there's anything they want him to change. Why? Because he values his relationships over his writing. What he's going to share with the world, he clears with the ones he loves first.

That level of respect impressed me greatly.

I don't think I've done a very good job of doing that. So now I'm going to start.

It doesn't cramp my creativity. I write what I want and no-one stops me. But if I'm going to share that writing with the world? There is a fall out from that, and it had better be one that I, and those who are important to me, can live with.

Thank you, David Sedaris. You will probably never read this (unless you have that Google thing that lets you know anytime someone writes your name online) but thank you anyway.

No Shame

2009-03-03T13:39:00.000-07:00

I have no shame. When I’m at work and I know a man is interested in me and not the books, I walk the very thin, precarious line of flirtation to see if I can make him buy something.

I have a pretty good record so far. Hurrah for the retail world. Just doing my part to stimulate…the economy.

And yesterday I got a phone number out of the deal.

Too bad I’m a) not single and b) 15 years younger than him.

At least he was good looking. He was from Montreal and has a steady job as a flight attendant for West Jet. When I said I’d thought about trying to get hired on there he said he could get me a job.

That was why he gave me his number…or at least the pretence.

I’m not sure whether I can follow up because I don’t know for sure that he had no ulterior motives. He was flirting pretty heavy by the time he gave me his number. At least, most guys don’t say they’re good marriage material in regular conversation.

Oh well. It’s not like I can work for West Jet right now anyways. I’m going to BC for the summer to work as a street performer. Maybe when I come back. If I have no acting work.

We’ll see.

Laughing

2009-02-28T11:21:00.002-07:00

In the previous post I wrote that God was laughing at me.

I think I might be laughing along with now. Sheepishly, but laughing.

As Hope mentioned in her comment - free will and choice, not either/or. It's true. It's annoying sometimes but it's true.

And maybe that's what sparks the laughter. Realizing that I'm basically throwning a tantrum. I'm 25 now - I thought tantrums were supposed to be in my distant past?

Apparently not. So I'll go from banging my heels and screeching to ROTFL instead.

Choices, Always Choices

2009-02-25T10:47:00.002-07:00

I hate change. I like having security - a steady job, a steady (if small) paycheque, a steady path layed out in front of me...to the grave...

If I am honest with myself I know that the steady path also bores me. The thought of spending my life that way fills me with a greater fear - that I will die unfulfilled because I chose to. Because I chose the easy, safe path.

Fuck!

I hate having to make choices where there is no right answer. Why can't God actually give me direction instead of free will and the ability to choose what I will do?

He drives me nuts.

I'm not sure I'd have it any other way. Difficult human that I am, I would rebel against any path set in front of me unless I set it there myself.

Well, fuck.

Back to square one, and somewhere, God is laughing at me. I know it.

Unwanted Empathy

2009-02-24T00:43:00.002-07:00

Today I understand, at least a little, what my mom must have felt all those years Dad was driving truck in the snow and sleet and icy cold.

At least I know my love is stranded in a hotel while the storm rages outside.

Even if he isn't in the city he was supposed to be in right now.

But I'll take stranded far from home over never coming home any day.

Friday the 13th

2009-02-13T19:35:00.002-07:00

I've had such a day today.

It's been a good day. It's been a lot of fun. Wonderful. Kind of beyond descriptors.

I convinced a homeschooling mother to read Twilight so her 12 year old has a chance to read it too. She then offered me a job. She had me write my name and number in the back of the book she hadn't yet purchased so she could give me a call and set up a meeting. I'm intrigued; that's why I actually wrote down my info.

I watched my boss get flowers from her significant other. It was sweet, and cute, and so endearing. Especially since I didn't know she had anyone, and she seemed so blushingly shy and thrilled about it all.

I saw a little girl in a plaid pleated skirt, with really cute boots and a tam o'shanter on. I suddenly wanted a little girl that I could dress up in cute outfits. I've never felt a maternal urge before. It's strong. Later I saw a little girl with such red hair, and it happened again. Hmm.

I saw an old man flirt with my manager and he was so smooth and wonderful at it, younger men should take lessons. Although I think it maybe takes a lifetime to learn. He also had a French-Canadian accent, and was talking about a large house, with an ocean front, and a huge library - things that appeal to women who work in bookstores.

I heard a brogue today that made me want to melt.

I slept in and still made it to work on time. It makes me wonder what I do for 45 minutes every morning - I could be sleeping.

I got to see my love again after almost four days apart. He walked in the door and my heart leapt.

I made chocolate chip cookies and ate the dough.

I told S. of my inexplicable maternal urges and he didn't respond. He was busy figuring out tax stuff - I've figured out when to spring things on him from now on.

I had a smoothie from Jugo Juice. It was good.

Ahh. If I had any worries about Fridays mixing with 13's, they ought to be gone by now.

27 Years

2009-02-12T11:18:00.002-07:00

Typing that title reminded me of 27 Dresses, a movie that my mom would probably enjoy watching with me, although she'd have a hard time getting anyone who currently lives in the house with her to watch it with her. I don't get to see my family enough and I miss them - something I realized sharply today as I read letters from my sponsored child. Her letters are written by her grandparents, her father, her uncle - whomever she happens to be with that day. She gets to see them all, all the time. I told her she was lucky to have her family so close to her. She's probably too young to understand but that's okay.

It's fitting that I miss my family today, I suppose. Today, 27 years ago, my parents got married in the living room of the local Justice of the Peace. Rumour has it they had a fit of the giggles; that my mother took my father as her awfully wedded husband; that they forgot they needed more than one witness and had to get the daughter of the JP to sign the papers for them. Not what most would call an auspicious start to a marriage.

But hey. They must have done something right. 27 years of marriage is not a common achievement anymore. Probably because it takes a hell of a lot of work. Work that my parents have not always done with the gusto and enthusiasm that they have for it today. There were times when I was small that I was so afraid they'd get divorced and I'd never see my dad again. Or worse, I'd have to choose one of them to live with, and how does any child make that decision? It weighed on my young mind.

I am so grateful to them that I never had to make that choice. That they did do the work, and they did stick it out, and that they are still together today. And happy. They are happy, and that is something too because not all couples who have made 27 years are happy about it. Not every long-lasting marriage is as healthy as my parent's. Not every long-lasting marriage has two partners in it.

That's what my parents are. They are partners, and it makes my eyes tear up - why? Pride? Love? Joy? Probably a bit of all of those. Relief too. It is such a relief to see that in two people. I take a lot of hope from seeing my parents in their lives and their relationship. Nothing, or nearly nothing, is insurmountable in love if you are committed to making it work.

I see them together, knowing each other. My dad looks for something and without asking what he's looking for my mom will tell him where to find it. And she's right, and she just knew what he was after, without being told. I see my dad, loving my mom, and the joy and playfulness that is there makes the world an alright place to be.

It makes me have hope for myself. As a person. As a lover. As someone in a relationship. Possibly as a parent someday.

It gives me hope for the world.

So today - raise a glass with me to my parents, to their 27 years of growing together. May your joys increase. Your love always fill you up past overflowing. And may you share at least another 27 years together. I love you very much.

Notes On My Days

2009-02-03T10:46:00.003-07:00

Note 1, at work: I should not have to wrestle with my fruit before I eat it.

Note 2, at home: I have bruised my temple from pressing it so hard when I had a migraine. I had no comprehension of my own strength. And wow, my head must have hurt to not notice that I was pushing my skull in that hard.

Note 3, at work: I don't have time to listen to a lecture on evolution. I'm here to help you find books, not listen to you pontificate on books you already own. Unless I've read them, liked them, and we have a conversation about them. Then I'll spare the time.

Note 4, at work: Some really strange people come in here. Some really strange people read books.

Note 5: Are children getting more spoiled? Or am I turning into an old lady - "Back when I was a kid..."
That's pretty much all I have right now. But I wanted to share it anyway.

Ten Things I Love

2009-01-28T12:33:00.001-07:00

Here's how it works: you get a letter from someone who has done this meme, and then you write. My letter is N. I got it from Hope. If you want a letter, let me know and I'll give you a random one.

1. Now. I am learning to love now, anyway. I have spent so much of my life in the past or the future. Yoga is helping me to appreciate that all I have, the only real thing in my life, is the now.

2. ‘Nog. I didn’t used to like egg-nog, but I have been introduced to it, with milk and a bit of Baileys, and it’s quite good. There are those who think I’m a wiener for not drinking it straight. I’m sorry. It reminds me too much of the first milk from a ewe, all thick and sweet like sugary glue. And if you’re wondering how I know what that looks like, I’ve had to milk a ewe when her lamb wouldn’t nurse. And yes, I tasted it. People use to drink sheep milk, and I wanted to know if it was sweet like the books said. It is. Like egg-nog. So now I dilute my ‘nog, and all is well with the world.

3. Nails (as in fingernails). When they’re pretty and not breaking, that is. I had my first ever manicure last year and it was so nice. I just use my hands so much that it isn’t easy to maintain a well-groomed hand. Every time I see someone with beautiful hands I wish mine were like that too. Kind of.

4. News. I like to listen to the news on CBC Radio when I wake up. Yes, it’s depressing sometimes, but it makes me feel like I’m aware of and connected to the world around me. I started this habit when I was in Rosebud, where if you don’t make an effort to be aware, the world just passes you by and suddenly there’s a new prime minister and you didn’t even know there was an election. Okay, it’s not that bad…but almost.

5. Nosegays. That’s an old word for flowers, and it encompasses two things I love, flowers and old words. Especially flowers picked out of the wild, which then bring that wildness into the house, and old words used naturally and with no thought of trying to appear intellectually superior to the surrounding throngs.

6. Northern Lights. The first time I saw red northern lights I was sitting up in bed at the house my parent’s very nearly bought, looking through my large window in awe at the sky above the Hawthorne trees. I think the first time I heard northern lights was at that house too. We lived there for the last few years that I lived with my family. It surprises me that it took that long for me to hear the lights I saw every winter until I moved to Southern Alberta.

7. Novels! How could this one come so far down the list…well, it’s not in any particular order. Novels. I love reading books, and I really love reading fiction. The latest on my reading list has included Ender in Exile, Bird by Bird and Twilight. Yes, I’m reading Twilight. And yes, it is very enjoyable. If I had my way, I’d actually get a comfy chair at work and sit and read novels all day long until I had read 80% of the books we have (the other 20% don’t interest me…reference books, books on sports, etc.).

8. Numbers. Certain numbers, anyway. I have this weird things about numbers and days of the week, and certain months as well. Some seem to me to be round and soft; other are sharp and adventurous. I prefer (generally speaking) the sharp and adventurous numbers, week days, and months. Unless they are perfect in their roundness, and not dorky at all. February 28th is perfectly round. September 17th is perfectly sharp. May 5th is a stupid mix, trying to be sharp when it really should just give up and be round, but it never will and so it makes me feel irritable and jittery. I have no problem living through the day of May 5th – I just don’t like how it looks on paper, or how it sounds, or how it feels in my mouth or ears. M should make up it’s mind instead of sitting on the fence. Gah. My favourites? 7. 7 and maybe 9. 4 is decent too. And Thursday wins for days of the week, hands down. I’m not sure on months, since so much depends on what day of the month it is. My least favourite numbers are 5, and 3. And Monday.

9. Necks. I notice necks on men, the way they slide into shoulders and arms and torsos. Necks, manly necks, are so amazingly hot. I cannot describe my attraction to necks. And a beautiful graceful neck on a woman will capture my attention and I’ll find myself staring. Perhaps I am a vampire at heart. Necks are beautiful.

10. Nuzzle. This could go along with necks, I guess; a seductive nuzzle on a neck is pretty nice (ha! Alliteration!). But there is something so tender about nuzzling too. Just watch a newborn lamb being nuzzled by it’s mother, and you see right there how immediate the bond is between the two of them. I know they’re animals but I think they feel love too. And to see love between anything outside myself fills me with a peace about my life and the world around me – that it will all be okay somehow, because other people (and beings) love.