The Age Fairy brought me another birthday. Don’t worry, I won’t spend it all in one place.
I got up this morning and I was at least 2.76% wiser. That’s pretty cool. Take what you can get in a recession, eh?
All I got for my birthday, really, is this curious sense of “What now?” that comes with the next morning when you’re staring at the new year ahead of you.
Last year, I didn’t have that. Last year, I was a little preoccupied, so this year’s feeling phenomenal in comparison.
As much as this is probably one of the most embarrassing stories I’ll ever write, it’s also a great example of why reflecting works so great sometimes to put some perspective on who you are and where you are in life. See, last year, I was not in my Happy Birthday Place. I wasn’t even in my Remotely Satisfied Birthday Place. Continue reading
Category Archives: Journalling
Getting Philosophical as a Birthday Looms
Not too long ago, I learned of the Buddhist exercise that is tantamount to writing your eulogy for the life you hope you will have led.
I hadn’t given the idea that much thought until the recent days.
See, the thing about legacies is, they don’t just happen. They take years — often, decades — to carve out. Who we are, who we were, isn’t just some momentary snapshot — it’s a grainy 8mm movie that never stops playing.
Every day we have opportunity to contribute more to our lives. Every day is another stroke on the canvas of our legacy, another swath of colour or texture that contributes to the work of art that is our life. Continue reading
Losing Pounds? Losing Wounds.
I wonder, sometimes, how life knows to get the timing just right, so that, if you’re paying attention, you can use the synchronicity to really gain some wisdom.
Luckily, I tend to pay attention.
Tuesday has been “headtrip day” for two weeks now. Yesterday was jam-packed — a night of chatting with one of my best friends immediately after another trip to the headshrink, and then this morning I got to watch last night’s The Biggest Loser.
And I’m not sure where to start, so let’s do the Tarantino end-middle-beginning-takes-you-to-a-new-ending thing, shall we? Continue reading
A MiniEpiphany of Sorts
I know what I’m doing wrong. I’m not owning it. I’m not buying into it. And I sure as hell have not drunk the Kool-aid.
And I must. I must drink the Kool-aid.
The simple reality of my life right now is, I can’t afford to have one. I’m sick of constantly living in the red. Black, baby. Black is the new black.
I also have a book to write. Continue reading
What Little I Remember of the Day I Almost Died
I’ve been blogging six years now. There’s been some crazy stuff in that time. Five years ago this month, I’d almost died. I’ve never posted that story on here, just on my journal blog, and might as well. Here’s what I wrote about that day, a year after the fact. I’d write it differently now, but…
the happening scares me.
the not knowing is what terrifies me.
i remember getting on the bike, revving it, and riding off with my friends.
then, nothing. nothing until the dull fluorescent beige of the ceiling in the ambulance and a paramedic leaning over me.
“do you know where you are?” Continue reading
Burn(t) Out
I’m trying to psyche myself up. A new Post-It Note adorns my television-front with two messages, officially the only mantra-y thingies on my walls right now.
“Motion is lotion” and “Pain is weakness leaving the body.” Maybe now I’ll forget the love affair I’ve recently ignited with my sofa.
It’s the season premiere of The Biggest Loser tonight, and it’s proving to be a bit of an emotional experience. A seriously emotional one, really.
This comes after a rather wound-picking-ish therapy session after work. [insert heavy sigh here] Continue reading
It's a Walled World After All
I live in an area crowded with old brownstones from the ’50s, low-rises with big windows, balconies, and narrow streets between them. The illusion of it being an intimate neighbourhood is exceedingly well done.
For all its lack of imposing, stacked up against the major metropolitan downtown that’s only a few kilometres from here, it’s amazing how little I’ve met the people I’ve lived around for a decade. Maybe a third of those in my alleyway have lived here for the decade I have. Of them, I know perhaps five.
For three months now, I’ve wondered where one of them, the neighbour I overlook from my kitchen, was. I assumed some big trip around the world, since more than a few people around here have turned out to be travellers.
But then I saw her Friday for the first time in three months — more than 100 pounds heavier, looking 15 years older, tired, worn, and just about to quit — life, not just her job. My heart went through the floor. Continue reading
Dating Options 101: Whatchagot
I had too much wine on Saturday night, wrote this. Didn’t publish it for fear I might’ve said too much. In vino veritas and all. So here’s the version you see. 🙂
I’m being antisocial. Again. I’m at that point where people are draining me, so I know I need my time to myself.
Some guy’s aggressively pursuing me. I could be shagging this weekend, not lounging around in ugly clothes. The thought fills me with a little doubt as I look down at my yoga pants and my shitty concert t-shirt. God knows it’s been long enough. If landscapes were sex-life allusions, then mine would be the Sahara in a drought. I’m okay with this, though. Except, you know, at those moments when — SCHWING — I’m so not. Fortunately, self-inducing oblivion helps avoid those moments.
I’ve been rebuffing said attempts. Pretty sure he’s not really my type. It’d be just sex. Incredibly-hot-guy-with-no-mental-connection sex. If things were less complicated, maybe. Like I say: A dry season in the Sahara. The problem with hormones is, once you turn ’em on, it’s like the switch gets broke. They get this mind of their own. I’d prefer not to fuck my mode and just avoid sex entirely unless it’s for the “oh, YOU might be a sidedish of WOW” kinda manly potential right now. Continue reading
Oh, Those Sticky Mindfucks
There’s an oppressive pall out there today. Low, bland clouds, void of distinction, interest, or drama. Ominous for us Vancouverites who are seasonally affected, as daylight hours have already quickly ebbed away by four hours in just the last two months. There’s another 6 or so to lose, and countless certain dreary days that loom.
Winter and I aren’t on the best of terms. It’s safe to say I loathe it. When I’m older and in the money, I’ll certainly be a in-Mexico-from-January-to-March type. I dread the depressive grey. My hydro bill for December and January could be a teaser for any marathon horror movie session. HOW MUCH? EEK! Fuck Climate Change; if it lights up, I’m plugging it in.
As if it’s not a moody enough day, I might add that I’m not entirely thrilled that I started therapy yesterday, by the way. Oh, that. Continue reading
On Summer's Last Real Weekend
Sigh. It’s the last Friday in August.
It’s bittersweet. It’s that time of year when I’m enjoying the rare rainfall, thinking about the quiet solace of the colder months. We Canadians, we hibernate. More reading, more nights with a glass of wine and slippers nearby.
Soup. I could write an ode to soup right now. Steamy, wet, by the cupful… But, um, I won’t. Suffice to say, I miss soup.* Continue reading