I don't know what's wrong with me, but lately I'm so hungry I need to eat everything in sight. No, I'm not pregnant. I've tried increasing my iron intake with a tiny bit of mollusc-type fish such as oysters (shhh, I'm still a vegetarian) and increasing my fruit and vegetable intake, and I already consume a jar of peanut butter every few days, but none of these things have helped. It's psychological hunger, I'm sure, because there's just no reason I should be this hungry. But in the meantime, NONE of my pants fit. You might think I complain about this often, but actually usually SOME of my pants fit.

I've been thinking about food all day so I might as well let it out.

When my piece of squirrely bread popped out of the toaster this morning I smothered it in oily peanut butter. It was crispy and fluffy on top but warm and soft on the inside. I know that sounds ridiculous but I LIVE for morning toast when it's done right. Of course I chugged two cups of coffee. Then at recess I scarfed a banana because I was starving. The adorable little lady that works in my classroom got me a cup of coffee from the staffroom and even though it was burnt I felt like I was desperately hungry for it. Then it took SERIOUS willpower not to eat a bunwich and cookies from Quejos on Main when I got off at one today. Instead I went to IGA and when home, proceeded to put smoked oysters in a big grean leafy salad with chopped up strawberries, drizzled the whole thing in light balsamic dressing, and sat down to watch Prison Break on netflix (meh, the show sucks). But I had to hold myself away from all those separate ingredients or they'd have been gone before they touched a plate. Being exhausted - it's Thursday after all - I napped for an hour. When I woke up (not two hours after lunch), the people next door were barbequing and my stomach was jealous and rumbling so I consumed another piece of squirrely bread but this time drenched it in butter and apple jam. Not YET satisfied, I fixed up a bowl of pina colada yogurt with a chopped up banana, a handful of almonds, and a cup of frozen blueberries which proceeded to melt into the yogurt. It disappeared fast and I still craved sugar so I ended up picking out the dried marshmallows NOT from my lucky charms cereal as you were predicting, but my safeway brand hot chocolate mix, for about five whole minutes. I'm disgusting, but that's not the worst I've ever done. Anyway, it's 4:30 and I'm still hungry.

And YES I eat mostly healthy food, but it doesn't matter what you eat when you're trying to fit back into your pants - it's all just calories. Ugh. Sometimes I just sit down at night with the peanut butter jar and scoop till it's gone. I figure I'm a lot like Bridget Jones only I'm tall so I can partially hide the effects.

in other news (or rather the same news)

I finished report cards! Now I'm feelng giddy today because I know how to be independent. Mind you, I don't spend a lot of time alone anyway, but the point is I can, and I am tonight. I've been so worried that without others around I'll either sleep my life away in self-pity or binge-eat my way to obesity while I scour the internet for horror stories of diseases I show symptoms of (don't end a sentence with a preposition). I actually have done a bit of all of the above lately. But other people aren't the answer. Willpower is. I'm working on my willpower muscle.

I ran into John the other day, or rather, he walked into Our Town and saw me sitting there with a friend, tried to turn around and walk out, but then determinedly walked straight ahead without a word. Most of the negative feelings about our 'falling-out' have subsided and now I imagine in my head that we're both laughing at how ridiculous it is that neither of us can even say hi to each other. We used to be close, and I'm not lamenting that we're not, because I'm over it and I'm not lonely or sad, so now it's just funny. It's funny because I imagine he realizes how ridiculous it is to pretend like I'm not there. I giggled inside a bit, and when I think about it now I laugh out loud. It's really silly, and not in the way that I think anyone is being silly or dumb, it's just that life can be really silly. I guess when you find life sillier and funnier than before, things are looking up.


I'm dating someone I can't see myself coming to a mutual emotional understanding with (preposition). Do I wait it out or end it now? I feel like ending it now, but I like him so I probably won't, and what if he'll open up down the road? Dave says he won't. Dave thinks he's 'not deep.' I can't think of a better way to put that. I keep thinking shallow but that's not it.

Cons: He doesn't read much, he doesn't seem to think about things on even a slightly neurotic level, he doesn't have much interest in music.

Pros: He's a teacher, he's funny, super easy to talk to, (fucking) good looking, he likes me, he runs and plays volleyball, he calls frequently and wants to hang out, he thinks I'm weird and likes it, he seems to appreciate my awkwardness and has no trouble de-awkwardizing situations. OH and I didn't meet him on the internet and he isn't a roommate. That last one is enough on its own, I think.

Lastly, since I'm feeling writery, I should buckle down and continue my junior fiction sci-fi novel. I didn't intend for it to be junior fiction but fuck it, I'm not intelligent enough for anything bigger. And kids need to read. Especially those sci-fi nerds.

Paragraphs! There should be paragraphs below. Stupid formatting that I still can't figure out.

Lately

I ran into someone I used to date, and play volleyball with, and go to teacher-school with. Surprise surprise, "Sam" and I started hanging out again. It's easier for me to rekindle old flames than to start new ones, but I actually had nothing to do with it this time. This guy pursued me, and I tried to keep him at bay, but alas, I was flattered, and now suddenly I live alone, so I agreed to hang out. It's been a few weeks but I have no expectations. My feelings have been under lock and key as though I can no longer have feelings for people. Something in my mind turned on a little 'be careful' switch - melodramatic cliche? I care not. Actually I don't like to be careful; I like to like. Like really like, because most of the time life lingers on the side of boring, and I prefer stories worthy of movie scores. Not lately though, since I don't have time to be bored. The Labour Relations Board just ruled (out of nowhere, as in NO ONE saw this coming) that despite being struck work, all term one and two report card marks have to be in by this week and not only do I not really know how to write report cards (and less than a week to get them together is difficult for experienced teachers), but my job-share teacher has misplaced the original mark book I lent her, and is claiming she never saw it. I might have a nervous breakdown? Back to Sam. I budged a little this week because he's been trying really hard to get me to trust him. It's hard, because he seems like a well-loved flirt, and ugh, I hate flirts, and well-loved people. They're used to being loved for simply being charming, and yet (most) still (seem to) have this obvious desire for everyone to shower them with attention. Besides, the last time I dated him I decided he was a flake. It's also hard because Dave strongly dislikes him. He says he'll tolerate him so that I won't be bummed, but we shall see what tolerate means. So anyway, Sam came over the other night and told me not to panic but that we had to write last minute report cards, and then promised that he'd help me write them (I have double, because I work in two schools). Something inside me melted a little (yes, yes, cliche, yes). It was like he knew me better than most, and that's what always gets me. When someone seems like they know you, like they've observed you, like they want to be around you despite or because of their observations, it's heartwarming. Plus, it's really the nicest thing someone could offer right now. Obviously he has his own reports to write, and I'm so useless that I don't even know how to open the program, even though both my job-share teachers think I've done this before. SO then I decided to like him at least a little for now. Not too much though, as he semi-rejected my idea of hanging out tonight in favour of drinking with hockey friends, which he half-assed invited me to but then changed his mind. Well now that I've unravelled and discarded anything you approved of in my description of him, I shall go to bed.

delete, undo, redo, etc

I'm moving into Lindsay's. They need a subletter for four months, and I need new walls to stare at. I've lived in this place for a year and a half, so time to move on. Even besides the cold, the mice, the strange variety of roommate memories, I feel I need a new start. It'll be a weird cramped new start, because I'll be living on Lindsay and Scott's futon for a few weeks while they get ready for their own adventure, but it'll be fun, and Strathcona is nice, and different. Two words on the "do not use" list in both my classrooms. But for reals, I recently read in the Globe and Mail that studies show people who often change things up are the happiest.

So then I'll hang out there for four months while I complete my first year of almost no sub work because I'm happy to report I now teach a grade 4/5 class two days a week, and a grade 6 class another two days a week. Bonus, having two jobs part-time, since I can wave goodbye on Tuesday to my crazy little ADHD kids and then wave goodbye on Thursday to the staff that's proving difficult to get to know. And I get to teach lots of science, between the two schools.

However, I'm fairly sure living alone will be a challenge. Even though I don't like the situation I'm currently in, it's nice to talk to a human after work everyday. But Dave promises to come over, and I can finally say I am the Elaine to his Jerry. I haven't felt this content about us in eight years. Sometimes fall-outs create stronger friendships elsewhere. My pity party heart still hurts from what I see as being twice rejected - romantically with one person and friendship-wise with another - over the past month and a half, but it's refreshing that it's little chunks and not some old drone of lonely jealousy.

And to top it all off, I came clean with my folks. It all just spilled out at Sunday brunch. I started blubbering away about living with the guilt of being a loved one they think is going to hell and all the girls in my family started to cry. Everyone agreed that they don't think of me like that, and all they really want is a relationship. So little by little, I'll get to know them.

I know I close off every blog post like this, but can't you all write about yourselves in such detail? I don't want to be the only self-obsessed nut.

So if you're still reading...consider joining me on this: I want to sign up for singing lessons, and for that adult beginner ballet class, and the bar workout at Mount Pleasant, and guitar lessons. Why not try it with me...

This blog totally peaked two years ago.

Sometimes I'm so excited I don't know what to do with myself. It's almost always after a 20 oz coffee, but very very occasionally in the last four minutes of a 30 minute run.

Today I woke up in the small sun-drenched front bedroom with light green paint and white trim. There's no door on our closet, just a handmade curtain my mom once sewed out of a flowery white sheet. The room's door handles are smooth old brass and there's a damp wood smell all rolled up with the salty ocean breeze and it's intoxicating and nostalgic. The stuff of my dreams. I rolled over listening to your steady breathing, and imagined for one moment that my sister and I still lived here as kids sharing a bunkbed. I pictured my mom frying bacon and imagined she'd soon hurry us into our Sunday church clothes. It's not the city, so we'd have to go to the little chapel down the road by 7am and getting up that early on a weekend used to make us feel sick, so we'd try to eat before leaving, but not too soon before mass that we couldn't receive communion. It's not very reverent for Jesus to be swimming around with your bacon, obviously.

The thought of a steaming breakfast was enough to make me crave morning coffee and so I plopped up out of our warm bed. Shivering, I grabbed my house coat and snuck quietly towards the squeaky door, pausing with an irrational bout of anxiety. This house is 100 years old and the land was lived on generations before that. There's an old chief buried in the front yard and though I don't believe in ghosts, ideas are powerful. I've spooked myself out thinking about the rest of the one-floor cottage being empty, unlike the old times when there were six or eight of us all scrambling for the bathroom or the outdoor shower.

Tiptoeing around, I made a quick black coffee and downed a few saltine crackers. Lacing up my old runners, I listened to make sure you were still sleeping and then carefully opened the original french doors of the house. Leaving them open for the breeze, I jumped the stairs and flew off jogging towards the train tracks en route to the ocean.

Down the narrow dirt path, flinging branches out of my eyes - as all the local residents of the east side are hunched old couples - I finally burst onto the gravel beside the water. The beach is rocky at this point, and the fall temperature is brisk, so I'm alone this morning. Even during the summer the wind can be cutting, but it's storm season now and the clouds are gathering, whispering to the waves to foam and surge.

I can feel this old spirituality gathering in my heart and I shove it down before it takes my breath away. It's beautiful, it's intense, it's godly, but it's not god's. It's my moment and there's no supreme being, we just lucked out. Our senses evolved to enjoy this planet, and there's no reason we're here, we just are, it just is. It just is a surreal moment and I'm lucky I'm alive with two legs and an appreciation for beaches and storms and running, and that you're in my bed waiting for me to come home.

secrets of life

Confidence is exponential. Happiness too. Work 12 hour days when you're alone, take holidays when you're not.

Movies and their Music

French horns are magical. Every movie score piece with French horn is better off for it. Low bass too, and particularly low strings, like in the opening of Game of Thrones.

Game of Thrones is exciting, but typically cast - man-heavy - and the girls are too gorgeous for words. Ugly men on the show are great, let's have some women to match!

Harry Potter 7.2 was wonderful, except that they skimped on the drama of the Snape storyline in favour of non-stop action. I wanted that particular part to be big and powerful and it was mediocre.

Similarly, in HP 6 when Hermione is suffering heartbreak, the music is so beautiful, but before it has a chance to intensify, it's over!

As Kirk's dad's ship explodes in the beginning of Star Trek, the music is heart-stopping. THAT music has perfect build and intensity.

The Lion King - Hans Zimmer's best.

Picard plays a flute piece over and over in one STTNG episode where he lives a whole life on another planet, having kids and growing old (and he never again gets a chance for that family he always wanted). Anyway, that flute piece is for me so nostalgic.

Best music in Battlestar Galactica - Gaeta's Lament.

Best music in Lord of the Rings - Pippin's song.

Think it.

I have a really great story to write.

GF and I generally respect each other's musical choices, I think. However, like our respective life views, my favourite music is emotional, dramatic, slow-building, sometimes chaotic, and ultimately intensely powerful instrumental pieces - aka drama/heartbreak/adventure movie scores. His preferred music is invigorating, optimistic, and screaming-with-happy energy - aka ridiculous metal bands.

Having said that

I've come to realize recently that life is too short to force yourself to read what others want you to. It just never works out for me.

So I read this book recently, The Brain that Changes Itself, by Norman Doidge, and aside from his scathing anti-PETA, pro-monkey-experimenting attitude, as
well as a few chapters on psychoanalysis that seem rather unsupported by research...I think I've found a replacement bible.

The most enlightening and most scientifically interesting book I have ever read, as well as hardest to put down since Harry Potter 7, or The Glass Castle, etc, I recommend it above all books. I feel I can rightly say I ate this book right up. Drop everything and read it. Daily, I find, it's changing my life.

If I write a particular story that I want to write, it will be less of a task and more of a tale of the life I wish I were leading. Not that I wish I were a writer, but that I wish I was the main character. Space travel, adventure, etc etc.

Unsubstantiated claims really irk me, partly because in my experience people who make them act like they know 100% of all the facts but they`re just spreading popular rumours. The ol`butter debate, for example. I don`t particularly like margarine either, but I don`t know where people get these stories about back in the day when everyone started having heart attacks because the general population had shifted from butter to margarine. I couldn`t find any stories that drastic. Studies have shown a link between margarine and increased cholesterol levels, but then butter is very high in saturated fat which is also really bad for your heart. And the margarine I buy doesn`t have trans fat anyway...

Not to mention, don`t milk products seem gross still (my keyboard doesn`t let me type question marks). At least as gross as vegetable oils anyway (question mark). And who says butter is more natural (qm). Who`s making these claims about dairy being natural and healthy when it comes from a life-long-stationary cow tit (qm). Vegetable oils are gross too, but then I just see all food as being equally disgusting. It all rots outside of stomachs, it all digests inside of stomachs. Blech.

The end.

Written in the Margin

This coffee is bitter salty and I hate cliches.

why the fuck can't i format on here anymore?

neverending found prayer

miles to go before I sleep i am aweary like I've never seen the sun before death, the last great adventure i've always known i'll die alone poor banished children of eve le seigneur est avec vous in my head, my head, my goddamm head, amen

Last night I had a really satisfying conversation with John. One of those positive reassurring conversations about the world and how we're managing to swim through it. A few days back I had a similar reassuring conversation with Dave. There's just something about those two that puts my mind at ease...I don't need to live with them anymore but I still depend on their advice and I still crave their presence in my mind.

Conflicted

I want to write, desperately, since I was little, and this is the way to start.

But:

I am critical of much writing, including my own
I suffer from too much shame
I overshare and delete, day after day
I feel contempt for some people's desire for popularity, and thus have little desire to be known.
I have strong urges to disappear off the internet forever. I recently cut out 100 facebook friends and there are more just itching to be hacked away at.

Even this feels like oversharing. I need to get over all these neuroses and just live already.

My mom has pneumonia and that hippie doctor of ours has given her medical tape with which to cover her mouth so that she "recycles the air in her lungs and receives the natural antibiotic benefits of nitrous oxide." I know it's hard to get a family doctor in this city but I'm glad mine's near retirement, even if she did deliver John.

I have many hobbies

But I scrape the edges of them with half-assed attempts and toss them aside in frustration because I'll never be good enough.

I'm bad at painting, arts and crafts, and the piano. I'm almost ok at singing and writing. I'm ok at volleyball. I'm good at watching and reading sci-fi and fantasy, running, teaching.

But wish no more, my life you can take,
to have her please just some day wake.

This was Christmas

On Christmas Eve, Michelle and I got all dressed up for midnight mass, curling our hair and trying on her dresses. Not that I value anything at midnight mass, but it's tradition, and it makes my parents happy to see me show some respect in their house of god. I ran into multiple ex-best friends at the back of the church, and we made awkward small talk while I tried to ignore my long-held guilt for my 2003 abandonment of North Van along with our plans to be life-long, child-bearing, next-door neighbours. In the pew, Mich and I harmonized every carol, but Chris was away on a cruise, and Greg never showed up, so I took to pretending it wasn't Christmas. I cringed through two hours of crazy cultish chanting, still mouthing the occasional prayer, until we sang Joy to the World and walked into the fresh, cold, secular, outdoor air.

At home Mom was prepping French Canadian meat pie, escargot, crackers with brie cheese, and chocolate shortbread, and my dad served us up wintery alcoholic drinks and put on the Elvis Christmas record. Even though Greg and his wife and newborn had fallen asleep downstairs, four of his friends showed up to celebrate our traditional post-mass snack feast. I faked enthusiasm for our conversations about teaching, explaining for the millionth time why it's hard to get a contract in the public school districts compared to their catholic school teaching jobs..

At four in the morning we finally stumbled upstairs. I slept in my old bed with the wind blowing through the window, looking up at the big evergreen trees and feeling nostalgic. I slept most of my life in that bed and all of my dreams and stories came from watching those trees. I tried to sleep off the guilt and that weird sinking feeling from being at home.

It was a Christmas morning like most. Breakfast, eggnog, stockings, presents. Michelle headed off to Michael's before dinner was ready, and that left an exhausted Greg and his wife, and my parents and I. At dessert, I finally decided enough was enough. I had been invited to Gary's parents' house in Langley, and since my parents were headed out to visit my grandma, I caught a ride to the seabus, and skytrained it far away from North Van.

In one year...

parking ticket, towing fee, speeding ticket, busted brakes, busted tires, leaky door, month-long indoor puddle, water damage, moldy carpets, dented passenger side...

I should probably give up driving forever.

Getting off work at three, when everyone you know finishes at six, is like a massive guilt-trip about not exercising enough.

I'm sitting across from Michelle, admiring her long blonde curls and smooth pale skin, marvelling at how she never ages. She's 28, but passes for 18 most days. Right now her eyes are wide and her narrow shoulders hunched; she's nervously listening to Michael, sneaking glances at me and my brothers to see if we're listening. We're listening, we're stoked. She has a boyfriend for the first time in years, one who's nervous to talk to her, to meet us, to impress my parents. He's even keen to capture the attention of my brother's inlaws who are nice enough to invite him to dinner with all of us. So for this nervous excitement I already love him. I'm convinced he's the one.

Chris decides to text his fiance about me borrowing her snowshoes tomorrow morning. I watch him tap a speedy message on another new iphone, his brow furrowed and his hazel eyes tinged a strange yellow that's more obvious in this restaurant lighting. I've asked him to see a doctor about this yellow, but he insists they'll say it's from computer screens, and anyways, he passes off my advice as paranoia. He's waiting for my reply, but as usual I'm tuned out until I hear him saying 'Kate' over and over. He wants to know how often I run, since snowshoeing can be a bit of a hike. I groan and tell him I'm not built for uphill movement, but he insists I'm in better shape than he is. He's proud of his exercising excursions, always trying to prove his abilities, being the youngest of us. It's not like he needs to tell us he's fit, everyone else shudders at the thought of physical activity. This makes me think of Greg. Once striking, he's gained a few but retains what I see as his cherub looks. He has beautiful brown eyes and long dark eyelashes above chubby cheeks which in high school were so chiseled he was mistaken for Johnny Depp. He turns and gives me a hug, asking 'what's up Kit Kat' and I notice he's the only one not dressed up. He's grabbed a big black hoodie with bright white lettering, such a contrast to his wife's careful accessory matching. She's looking rather perky next to her newborn, these supposed sleepless nights aren't showing. Damien's asleep with his long fingers against his face, his tiny body still drowning in oversized baby clothes. My parents, on the other side of the table, are cheerful, even radiant. They're telling Laura's parents stories about retirement and teaching, grandma's latest tale, and what preparation we still need to do for Christmas. They're sweet and content and I'm happy for them, for all of them.

I can wait.

On a lighter note, the phrase "all good things" has been running through my mind since John's decision to move. Coincidentally, that very week I received a lovely figure of Jean-Luc Picard dressed and styled as he is in the TNG series finale, and one of my favourite episodes, "All Good Things." Such are the coincidences of life that used to confirm my belief in god.

All Good Things

My roommate is moving out, because his spirit is old, and mine is not, and he is conventional, and I am not, and he seeks independence, and I do not. Mostly, he is moving on, and I am not.
I'll miss us terribly, but that's the way life goes. You're in sync with someone and then it just ends. But you build some character, make new things happen, move on. And then one day you walk by your old house or you hear a song that you listened to all year and everything sinks a little lower in your stomach because things are different. I wonder why memories have such power over us.

Lih's moving in, so things will be ok. Good even. We play volleyball, we run, we have all the same friends. In fact, I'm almost as excited as I am bummed. Weird.

If the dawn is on the horizon, it's arrived with a crippling slowness.
It's cold and quiet yet, and morning is too far to taste.
We'll doze back into dreams and wake to reopened wounds,
But at least the night is passing, and now we wait.

tisk tisk. Somebody left a tub of ice cream here, and after combining it with the brown sugar and maple syrup I found, I feel like death. However, I did 8mph on the treadmill for half an hour, after four months of no gym time. I like to keep a nice balance of fit and disgusting.

I feel so much affection for my friends that I might be crazy. Last night I was bursting with feelings and almost squeezed the life out of everyone at a birthday dinner. Suddenly I felt like I didn't recognize myself and I had to get really quiet because that was less obnoxious.

I also miss my two best buddies from when they lived together...our movies, car trips, slurpees, singing, just always laughing with those two. John's gone this week, but it's just the beginning. And the other one, well, as someone said last night, it's the end of an era. I guess so.

More has come than gone, and everything is slowly on the up and up, but nostalgia is so thick, so overwhelming...a poisonous cloud creeping up around me. I fear I'll always slip into it. I know there is good to come, but what's come and gone is so much more real.

I only tweet on blogger:

Feeling guilty for choosing my fireplace, piano, leftover wine, and the first disc of the Office season six over drop-in volleyball...

A comforting bit JY is so proud of:

I love you means never having to say I'm kidding.

Overheard

Girl: So, about my sociopath friend Derek,

Boy (interrupting): Most people would just say boyfriend!



ha.

Night Terrors

I'm writing this while John and I lounge in our new living room. He's admiring my typing speed and talented multi-tasking abilities and I'm pretending I'm actually multi-tasking instead of fully focussing on this.

Two nights ago he woke a full house with four short blood curdling screams. Of all the middle-of-the-night terrors I've heard from him, this one was the worst. I bolted awake, gripped by terror, my heart racing, immediately thinking he was outside my door being attacked. Then, as usual, it immediately dawned on me...it was just his night terrors, amplified by the vent between our rooms in the new house. This time, it was his poor girlfriend's first (though long expected) experience, which I later learned made his terror worse. I laid there for a few minutes calming down, and couldn't help laughing myself to sleep. Yeah, I feel awful for the guy, and I really feel his terror and anxiety, but fuck is it funny shit to hear your best friend screaming because he thinks there are spiders, mice, or murderers in his bed, when really it's his sweet little girlfriend trying to calm him down.

Saturday

A four year-old boy charges through legs and under tables. I notice him because he's moving so fast, whizzing by all the meandering families and snail-paced seniors. He stops five meters away from me, carefully places his piece of pottery down on the pavement, and speeds away again. I can tell he's not fooling around, and his destination becomes clear when I see a Cobbs bread mascot dancing by himself to a trio of fiddlers. The little boy beelines his way into the mascot's arms. Startled, Mr. Cobbs catches him roughly but holds him tight in a bear hug. All of us crowd members nod and laugh in surprise, because the boy started so far away, and we wonder how he could see Mr. Cobbs at all, and why he chose to care about his small pot which he's now forgotten in the blissful arms of a life-sized stuffed doll. Then comes his mother. She's large and loud and dressed like a woman who has no time to choose what she wears. She's chasing him, pulling him away from Mr. Cobbs, pushing his arms through the straps of his teddy bear back pack. She places him on the ground, engages in a conversation with crowd members, laughs with them about chaotic children. I gasp quietly as she unzips his backpack to reveal a leash. My hand covers my mouth and my eyes dart around, because I don't want people to know I'm judging her. I'm representing my work and I don't want complaints, and besides, I don't actually want to judge her. But he's on a leash! And he was as free as the wind, motivated by the thought of a hug, inspiring to a hundred people, and now so bitter about being locked up. He's beating his fists in the air and running on the spot and his mother is holding him at bay while chatting up other parents whose kids aren't on leashes, whose kids have candy and colouring books and balloons and aren't running on the spot. Disappointed to see such excitement stifled, I go back to my jumbled mix of texting and selling and waiting for one o'clock.

M: You're a pot stirrer, a soup spoiler.

P: Am not!

M: Are too!

P: I thought we were past this.

M: We were, or, you were. But you're at it again.

P: I'm just living.

M: No, I'm just living. In fact, I'm just trying to live. You're trying to excel.

P: And I'm succeeding.

M: You mean you're failing.

P: You can only succeed if you try.

M: But what you're trying for, you're failing at, because you're trying.

P: You've got to get off the couch.

M: You've got to get on it. And then everyone will share it with you. Instead, you're couch-friend-less.

P: I thought you were over it.

M: Things take more time than you're willing to give. And since you're flaunting this, I hate you.

P: But I'm just living.

M: No, you're causing pain. You're causing pain, because you're desperate.

P: No, I'm just living.

M: And that's why you're bad. No empathy.

P: I'm actually really good, if you would get to know me.

M: It's been long enough. One day, karma will find you.

Home Sweet Home

So John and I are moving to a ground-level basement suite on the other side of Main this time. I couldn't be more relieved to have found a decent place in the same neighbourhood and not be moving to Commercial or south east Kingsway or the boonies. I'm sure I'd get used to it, but let's face it, I don't like change.

The place is bright for a basement, especially if we keep all the blinds and maybe the door open. It's small, a lot smaller than what we have now, with one small bedroom and one larger bedroom, a small bathroom, and a connected living room/kitchen both of which are pretty nice. Mostly I'm super stoked on the location, the small deck out the front, free laundry, and saving rent money! And of course not being stressed out with John all of August. I just hate it when my buddy's not having fun.

So, see you at our house for my birthday in September.

More movie scores. Here's one by Umebayasi Shigeru from the movie In the Mood for Love, pretty rad. Click here and scroll down to July 29th. I'd post it on here if I was more computery.

Twitterage

The night is always darkest just before the dawn.

Warmed me heart

This is my adorable ex-boss and his adorable wife. You know those dog signs in North Van? He's the artist. These two are still so in love.

A few years ago Dave tells me he was cutting grass in a typically beautiful West Van park. It was springtime, the park was in full bloom, the sun was shining, and the wind had drifted up from the ocean. He was weed-eating under a group of cherry trees when the wind picked up and rushed through their branches frantically sending masses of blossoms everywhere. He stopped the machine and watched as they fell far and wide in slow motion, completely surrounding him, only broken up by long bright rays of sunshine. He calls it "the perfect moment."

For years now, when the sun shines or the wind breezes by, I ask him, "is this a perfect moment?" And then he gets his disdainful duck face on and tells me I'll never see a perfect moment.

This weekend, however, I had a few similar, not perfect, but peaceful moments. I was in Gene Cafe on Saturday after walking to the library to get a book on tape for work, about to go to Amanda's, drinking the best drip coffee I've had in years. I love that place with its bright white walls, windows everywhere, wood benches and tables, weird little boat shape. It was pretty empty inside, and outside some Irish dudes with pretty voices were putting on a little concert. I just sat there and absorbed it all in, feeling so calm and content.

Then late yesterday a few of us went for a brief swim at Third beach. I floated on the water for just a few seconds and everything from my childhood Crescent Beach days came rushing back. We lived near the beach, swimming every day and then going back at night - me and my little brother racing to be the first under water. I mean, I've gone beach swimming since then, but not yet this year, and I guess it's always the first swim that brings the nostalgia. It doesn't make me sad though, just reminds me that I feel connected and peaceful around beaches, especially in the water.

Well, everyone keep your eyes out for the perfect moment this summer. Maybe it'll happen around mid August...

JY

If anything productive or good has come from recent years, it's John. I don't know what I'd do without my best bud, and it's not just because he's always there and he always answers his phone, but because he's hilarious and I'm funnier with him; our friendship chemistry is through the roof and life is easier and calmer. So thank fucking god for John and all our mornings and evenings on the porch to come.

Temporary Geek Flag Flyage

On Amanda's advice. Except I don't like writing lists about myself, so goodbye to this post soon.

Last summer I saw the new Star Trek movie three times in theatre and then got it for Christmas...I couldn't tell you the total now.

When I was ten my parents took me to a Star Trek convention where I met Marina Sirtis, aka Deanna Troi. She signed my Women of the Next Generation poster, which is hanging above my closet.

In grade 12 I dated a boy who owned the same interactive VHS Star Trek board game. For Christmas he gave me a poster of the scale of the universe, which hangs right beside the lovely women above my closet.

My little brother Chris and I had a few outside games we regularly cycled through. One was baseball with a stick and tree stumps, and the other was walki-talki Star Trek.

At the same age I owned a communicator and phaser, and costume TNG shirt. My sister had a tricorder which I desperately wanted.

Band class became my favourite in grade 6 when we played John William's trilogy - Jurassic Park, Star Trek, and Shindler's List.

On a Whistler band trip I was part of a 1200 person orchestra. I remember being overwhelmed with excitement at being part of such a powerful sound.

Band class in high school was what I lived for. My grade 12 year I begged my teacher to let us play Gladiator for months, and two weeks before the end of year concert he pulled it out of his folder and I nearly died. We also went to Disneyland that year, but Gladiator was more important to me.

I used to own a whole closet of Star Trek books. My favourite three part series I read and re-read one summer on the beach by our cottage. Accidentally, that happened to be the summer I listened to the Lion King score repeatedly, and the two have forever merged in my brain.

Every Christmas and Thanksgiving after dinner, my brothers turn to me and go, "Star Trek game?" And me and my sister and brothers and their girlfriends play the interactive board game or Star Trek Scene It (When we were younger it was the Star Trek version of pick up sticks, except the sticks were clustered inside a Warp Drive). My parents kind of roll their eyes and go cuddle by the fire and shush us every time we start yelling at each other.

Well, the moral of the story is that my two favourite things are movie scores and tv shows set in space. Please, someone else fly a geek flag and help me out.

Woah America

Some of this is shocking...like who knew a twix bar has the equivalent saturated fat of 11 strips of bacon? (psst: let's be somewhat skeptical of this article for not showing serving sizes. Who's really gonna eat a whole pizza? aside from me...)

The 20 Worst Supermarket Foods in America


And while I haven't been to some of these restaurants I can imagine Canadian equivalents, except for maybe The Cheesecake Factory...

The 20 Worst Restaurant Foods in America

Subbing Quotes

Yeah yeah, we've all heard kids say shit. Here's some more:

So that's my sharing! Any questions or comics?

Did you know, when the teacher's away, the substitute teacher is in charge? So that's you.

Barf barf barf! She barfed up her Filet o' fish!

But you're only 19.

Umm, so do you parents make ice cream?

Are you related to Charlie Chaplin?

Shouldn't it say Chapwoman?

It's not Mr because I think she's a girl!

I have the same sweater as you!

I have the same shoes as you!

Have you been hugged today?

Here's a picture I drew of you (at least once a week)

So what did you do on the weekend? Lots of parties?

Why aren't you married?

But you're taller than Mr S.

We're dating (kindergarten...)

We have a play date and we're getting bubble tea and telling ghost stories!

They call me Mr Potato because I've had every kind.

I don't think I can finish this Math test because I have to go study for French.

Actually this work is optional, so no thanks.

I just need to use my textbook for this test, I'm pretty sure it's allowed.

Check-up

Yesterday I had a doctor's appointment, and while my doctor seems like a flaky hippy, she's someone who's been in my life since I was little, and that's pretty comforting.

All in a half hour, she:

-ordered a blood test for Celiac's
-verbally confirmed my self diagnosis of Raynaud's syndrome
-(in an effort to improve my posture and instill confidence she thinks I lack) whistled when I took my shirt off
-left me with the usual advice:
- breathe through my nose to warm my hands
- urgently study posture charts; remember to stick my butt out for a naturally straighter spine
- visualize deep breathing with my lungs on my back
- reach up to the angels and heaven with my head
- remember that our bodies are from God and for God (she thinks I'm my mother's daughter)
- read the history of Genghis Khan and take the example of his empowered ruling daughters
- remind my boyfriend that he is a lucky man

Well, that last one will have to wait. But thanks anyways Doc.

Funny #2

(sorry roomie)

On Saturday afternoon, three friends and I went to a movie. We took my shitty, 15 year-old grey/brown (4-door) boat of a car, as we have been doing for 9 months now, since I got the car last summer. My dear old roomie (of nine months) had his backpack with him, so we put it in the trunk and continued inside, watched the movie, and went home. Three hours later, after parking on the street outside our friend's apartment, dear old roomie wants to go home, and needs to borrow my keys to get his backpack. He takes the keys, leaves, and calls me five minutes later.

J: Which key opens the trunk??

K: The big black one.

J: Yeah, I can't jam it into the trunk.

K: What? Well try the front door then. You have to maneuver it carefully though.

J: Ok.

J: It's just not working!!

K: What?! Do I have to come out there? Ok, geeze, I'm coming, just wait.

I open the front lobby door and dear old roomie is attempting to jam the key into the trunk of a 2004 2-door, sleek silver honda civic parked in the lane. I couldn't help exploding with laughter and by the time I redirected him to my car and opened the trunk, I couldn't see much because the tears were clouding everything.

J: I'm glad everything's so funny to you.



hehehehehehe. Only everything you do, dear old roomie.

Watching My Bloody Valentine

D: When I'm Mayor, ladders will replace stairs for the benefit of everyone's upper body strength.

K: But what about the little old ladies?

W: They can take the ambulances!

W.H. Auden

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

Office Talk

Cal: Have you ever felt like an apostrophe?

Me: Ahh, sorry?

Cal: Well today I'm feeling a bit like an apostrophe.

Me: Oh...

Cal: You know, small, squished between two things, way up there.

Me: Insignificant?

Cal: Exactly! My truck's gone and Ed didn't come in today. I feel like an apostrophe.

Passerby: Better than a colon!!

Better than a period!!


Don't worry Cal, apostrophes might look insignificant, but they signal possession and sometimes verbs, and those are crucial things.

Running

I have a bit of a history when it comes to running.

When I was little, my parents forced me to join every possible extra-curricular activity that ever existed at my school. They also forbade me to quit any of them. For any regular school, this might not be as bad as it sounds. My crazy elementary school, on the other hand, was infamous for its obsession with beating every other school at every single sport. This meant that my clumsy ass was benched at every opportunity. I spent hours and hours of my youth sitting on the sidelines dreading the moment our team was far enough ahead that my coach would turn to me and say, "go on, go have fun out there".

Anyways, back to running. Worse than basketball and volleyball and gym class was TRACK practice. I abhorred Wednesday afternoons. I can still smell the bus and the rain and the gravel, and see our principle's bald head sitting at the wheel, rounding the corner to Mahon park. Absolute acidic terror in my stomach at this point. A shaky and queasy me would drag myself to the start line, line up, get down, and move my feet at the sound of the gun. Girls I hated were already half way around the track, and I was a metre from the start line. Now they were finished, and I was a quarter way around, while 50 bored kids snickered at my pace. "RUN CHAPMAN RUN" Mr S. would scream, while he leaned on the bleachers, holding his stop watch and shaking his head. I really wanted to go fast. I just couldn't. I hated every second of it.

Shockingly, 14 years later, I absolutely love running. When I first started, I wanted to give myself "The Courage to Come Back" award. I just couldn't believe I could overcome such dread. Of course, it's ridiculously different - I run on pavement, at my own pace, with my ipod, no kids around, no Mr S, and I AVOID MAHON PARK.

9 months into it, I was running daily for 45 minutes straight - a feat I never dreamed possible. After a few weeks of this, my left achilles heel decided enough was enough. An aching pain and a few paranoid google searches put my favourite pastime on hold. I tried to work out at the gym on the elliptical, but it was just way too boring.

Then about 2 months after this, I went for a run for 15 minutes, and it was a seratonin overload. I almost don't want to describe it, because my lame-ass writing skills just won't do it justice. Basically, wind in my hair, post-rain scent in the air, sun and clouds lounging in the sky, the adrenalin of going fast, and my fav tunes on the pod...best 15 minutes of the past 2 months.

Morals of the story?

A) Screw childhood trauma.
B) Don't give up what you love. Just give it some rest, and then work on it. It's bloody worth it.

Funny.

#1.
On the phone:

J: We've got to get a move-on renting that U-haul.

K: Yeah, ok.

J: We always leave it to the last minute.

K: True. Let's try to make sure there are enough seats.

J: What? Why wouldn't there be enough seats? There'll be enough seats, don't worry about that!

K: Really? Fine. You know what, you guys deal with this.

J: Ok, I'll get on it.

K: I mean, I'm flying there anyways.

J: Right, ok, I'll do it right now.

K: Ok, bye.


J referring to moving August 1st. Me, a trip to Calgary.


#2:
At work:

While patrolling last week at 9pm, I drove by a baby holding an orange street cone, waving at me and crawling over a curb, out of a ravine.

#3:

Waking up to John turning off the TV, dismayed at my lack of interest in Pee Wee Herman at 2 in the morning after 5 hours of drinking.

#4: Over breakfast:

K: He wouldn't care if I was staying where I was, and you were too.

J: Yeah.

K: He's just jealous.

J: Yeah, jealous. But he's got layers! He's like a jealous onion!