29 October, 2013

oy

this is a most recent example of some of the conversations i have in my head:

moi: maybe you should shower...

moi: maybe you should shut the fuck up!!!



ok, ok, i'm studying, i'm studying already. wish me luck, eh?

28 October, 2013

all about my bits (with assorted asides)

one of the great things about losing weight and getting in shape and feeling powerful and toned and all sorts of muscular sporty things that would have normally annoyed the living crap out of yours truly but now no longer do since they are starting to pertain to me, is that wearing a bathing suit is not the torture it used to be.

exhibit one.

there are no more exhibits. i am no exhibitionist... well, not much of one, anyhow. i do tend to walk around in next to nothing when i am home, because i figure if anyone's taken the time to buy a telescope and train it on our windows, well, they worked hard for whatever they get. but seeing as most of our neighbours are either ancient and riddled with cataracts, or morose 9-5 government workers, well, it likely means there ain't nobody out there checking out my bits. but if i'm wrong, they're more than welcome to them.

today i am studying (as evidenced by the glass of wine by my side, and the third blog post of the day. i have also updated my photo on all sites that give me the option of having a photo. i'm actually shocked i haven't alphabetised my belly button lint or polished the rugs, but you know, i'm studying for an exam...). this means i have done a little bit of studying (i am VERY obstreperous whenever i try to reason with myself and as a result i think i'm about to give up), but a whole lot of other stuff. like reading old blog posts that i am now sharing with you.

and just in case you're worried, no, i'm not turning into a muscle-bound jock, i'm just giving the proverbial finger to my tennis elbow, my osteoarthritis of the hip and assorted other age-related ailments. and, for the record, i like liking how i look and i love how i feel, and it's been a good long while.




N.B.: given tom's concerns about the health of my neighbours, i thought i'd mention that our building is set far enough back from the other buildings (particularly the government worker hive) that people would have to be particularly dedicated to really get an eyeful, so whatever is seen, if anything is seen at all, it is hardly on a scale to inflict any sort of physical or psychological damage or saddle me with a lawsuit.

what's happening?

today, at the end of class, c was gathering up his belongings and heading out.

moi: have a good weekend.

c: it's MONDAY!

moi: oh. so it is.

in my defense, i am heading home tomorrow after the midterm and staying until sunday. but still...

on the road again, third bit: amsterdam

having had his fill of lieges waffles and belgian brew, mister monkey took off for poland the following morning, leaving me and c to spend one last day in brussels, mopping up the crumbs of sights and sites. alas, the day was one of rain and wind (a deadly combination that throttled c's umbrella literally within an hour of its purchase) and after a half-assed hearted meander through the leftover sights, we gave up, found a cafe with wi-fi and drank until our train came in. and so it was, that when c and i came into amsterdam centraal, it was indeed a dark and stormy night, and the streets around the station were littered with the sad carcasses, skeletons and various other remains of umbrellas whose lives had come to a premature and violent end, may they rest in peace.

thanks to c's foresight, our hostel was within a 5 minute walk to the station. this one, oddly enough, had no age restrictions even though its main floor was a rambunctious pub staffed by various british, aussie and american expats who were likely engaged in "finding themselves" (oh, do allow me this snark; it's merely jealousy because i never had the guts to do the same at their age), populated by youth in various stages of hairiness, drunkenness, cheer and/or travel ennui. it was loud but friendly.



over the next week, c and i spent 4 days on our urban sustainability course with a bunch or surprisingly friendly* architects, and several days doing day trips on our own. and whoa, what a ride it was.


*the ones that started with our cohort are, for the most part, rather standoffish: they will respond to your hello 8 times out of 10, but rarely offer one themselves. one gets tired of this. i mean, we're all of us busy and important; get over yourselves. 


we visited:

java eiland



IJburg




utrecht




delft




rotterdam (meh, again with the looming glass buildings - not a reason i go to europe, no matter how well designed they may be)




as well as spending some time wandering the beautiful streets of old amsterdam.




so how was it, you ask breathlessly (it's this boundless enthusiasm for my words that makes me love you, my little poultries, even if it is almost entirely in my head).

let's just say that i've seen many gorgeous places in my life, places i want to visit and revisit, places that spark my imagination and soothe my soul, but there are very few places i would want to live. amsterdam is one of those places. in amsterdam, in holland as a whole, i found my place. why holland? why there, when even the thought of living in the US or poland (both lovely places) again makes me shiver with a profound sense of wrongness, even though both are close enough to home, either geographically or culturally? i don't know. but i know that i felt like i could make my home in amsterdam with no difficulty at all.

some reasons (most of which are ridiculously shallow and don't really explain the real underlying reason which is that i want to be there. the end.):

1. they eat at a normal time. i could never live in a mediterranean country where attempting to have supper before 8pm is considered uncouth. i can't eat that late. my stomach thinks it's stupid and i listen to my stomach.

2. they drink milk instead of pop. no explanation needed, other than to say that i fucking love milk, and all you naysayers can stuff it. i may be the only mammal that drinks another mammal's milk, but this mammal likes it. a lot.

3. they ride bikes everywhere all the time and don't wear spandex to do it. nobody should wear spandex to ride a bike unless they're taking part in the tour de france, most certainly not to ride to work, where the outfit is likely to shave entire seconds off your commute. unless you're a triathlete, spandex makes you look like an asshole.

4. their bikes are simple, sturdy, free of frippery and shocks and turbo-charged wingnuts and whatever else most bike shops try to sell you these days. they look like a child's drawing of a bike. they are the platonic ideal of bikeness. i like that.

5. the place isn't littered with churches and overfed greasy-faced clergy, unlike the country of my birth, where i have been known to cry after seeing a veritable procession of pudgy pompous priests walk by  octogenarian beggars holding tin cups in their arthritic hands, standing in the cold outside the gold-encrusted churches. yes, it's never that simple, but sometimes it is.

6. my mom occasionally calls me on my german tendencies (i.e. unlike her, i am very organized and love rules. i am not what you'd call an outside-the-box thinker), and the dutch take the sometimes rather cold and clinical traits of the germans (no offence, germans, but you know it's true) and soften the edges with warmth. i like to think that i also take my organized and rule-loving side and temper it with the warm fuzziness of my own brand of charming nuttiness. if you think i'm wrong, don't tell me; it might break me.

7. they are tall. how nice it is to walk around a place and not feel like i'm godzilla tromping through the countryside, crushing cars and people underneath my giant feet. if i attempt to shop for clothes in poland, the haughty salesladies look me up and down and send me to the "specialty" section (euphemism for "jesus h. christ, you're fucking HUGE!). unlike me, polish women are tiny, beautiful and dainty. in holland, i felt i was a perfectly acceptable size.

8. they are RIDICULOUSLY good looking! all of them! their menfolk, yes, sure! but not just! their children look catalogue-ready! their women are stunning! their men are gorgeous! even their elderly are handsome! and did i mention how good looking their men are? no? because they are. good looking. their men are. yes. oh yes.

9. they aren't fat: the only overweight people we saw were obviously from the wrong side of the atlantic. it's a cliche, but as such, it is rooted in fact, and the fact is - you ride your bike all over the place, you're gonna look good. there were no indigenous muffin tops to be seen anywhere.

10. where canadians tend to largely dress in a practical and uninspired way (parkas, goretex coats, hiking boots, etc) and the polish trip around cobblestones on stiletto heels and wrap themselves in furs against the rain, the dutch strike the perfect balance: practical, weather-responsive clothing that looks damn good. they also know how to rock a scarf, and if there's one thing better than a really good looking tall dutch man, it's the same wearing a scarf casually wrapped around his neck.

11. their design aesthetic.

12. their urban planning ideas, including infrastructure, transit, the public realm, etc., etc.

13. their politics.

14. their ingenuity.

15. their architecture.

16. those utterly charming canals.

17. the fact that you could bike all over the country and not have to climb any stupid mountains.

18. because i LIKE the flatness. i really really do. it's uncomplicated: you could say it's the haiku of topography.

19. the dutch masters.

20. enough already. go do something!

21. psst! did i mention how handsome their men are? seriously! it's ridiculous!




(by the way, c told me today he is really enjoying reading about himself on these here pages, and who can blame him? gee, i sure wish someone would start writing charmingly about me... but he wanted me to tell you that despite having brought a gigantic duffel bag on the trip, he wore the same clothes every day, his words, not mine. i still have no idea what was in the bag, but whatever it was it ate things and made them disappear, swear to god!)


27 October, 2013

the journey continues part 2: bruges

we spent our second day in brussels wandering around in increasingly large circles, realising we'd likely seen all we wanted to see there. when we finally hit the EU parliament, we knew we'd had enough. if we wanted to see shiny space-age buildings looming at us angrily we'd have stayed home, ya know?


and so it was decided that bruges would be the answer, and it was. 

have you ever been to bruges? no? let me tell you about it: it is filled to the brim with bustling chain stores, tourists, overpriced restaurants and did i mention the chain stores*? despite this, bruges is adorable. it whetted our appetite for canals, the tiny and cute houses, the flowers, the water-fronting gardens, the...oh the fucking picturesqueness that came to plague me. (seriously, europe, it's like you're showing off!)

we walked and walked until the golden hour when we walked some more, breathing in the beauty, drinking belgian beer*** (except for c who walked into the store with us and inexplicably walked out with a tall can of polish brew). the golden hour in bruges is especially magical and i would highly recommend spending it there some time with a freshly charged camera. just sayin':



when we came back to brussels we returned to grand place and took night pictures of it, whereupon i realised (again) that i really need to learn how to use my camera properly (at this point i use the stupid function on a very smart camera, which is sort of like using your laptop to hammer in a nail) if i am to have any sort of photographic successes in the night business. here is a terrible shot, look at it with your glasses off and you'll be much impressed with my skill.




* we discovered that h&m clothing stores play the same role in bruges** and amsterdam as starbucks does in seattle and vancouver - there are at least 3 on every block and all seem to be thriving! it became a sort of joke for me and c - "oh! it's the h&m! remember it so we know where we are!"

**it did, however, come in handy when on the first sunny day of the trip my trusted sunglasses decided to give up the ghost and i popped into the nearest h&m and procured their very last pair, a story that later amused/annoyed crusty juggler who told me i sounded like such a world traveller. she told me she liked my shades and in my most blasé voice i answered, "i bought them in bruges. for €5." "i'll have to say that about everything now," quoth she, "'i bought them in bruges. for €5.'"

***this is my new favourite beer (the kriek and framboise are stellar) and i must find it in canada or i shall expire of sadness.


26 October, 2013

an (un)expected journey part 1: belgium

the class trip had been planned for months. the faculty did not disappoint and dished out its usual generous helping of disorganization, steaming pile of miscommunication, assorted grab bag of mixed messages and various delays, as a result of which i found out i had gotten into the course the day after i had made peace with the fact that i had not gotten into the course (followed immediately by a rather frustrated email to the person in charge of admissions and a phone call to my mom telling her i'd visit her instead of europe). so yes, confusion. followed by happiness. and then, my typical reaction to anything remotely traumatic (journey, large party, planned outing) i.e. what the everliving fuck-knuckles was i thinking? i don't wanna do this! can't i just cancel? back out? call them and tell them i have dengue fever? mumps? ebola?! fortunately, after 41 years on this earth i have finally figured out my emotional modus operandi  and know that like the temper tantrum by a 2-year-old, one must merely wait out the storm. the bonus of my pre-everything freak-out is that my expectations on going into whatever-it-is are so low that i am bound to be pleasantly surprised. and so i was.

we landed in brussels, took the train into the city and knew immediately that the atlantic had been crossed: trains, such as they are on our side of the pond, have nowhere near the sex appeal of their european counterparts. nor the availability. nor the range.

brussels was nice, though a little looming and stark, charming bits interspersed with monolithic EU architecture. perhaps the sun would have imbued it with more charm, but alas, rain was on the menu. we meandered, wandered, looked and gawked, stopping once to eat hot liege waffles that singlehandedly made the visit worthwhile: 1€ for a piece of carmelised chewy dense and madly satisfying heaven. after some hours of walking around we met up with my classmate c, and headed to our hostel.

at my advanced age, this was my first time staying in a hostel. in fact, an exception had to be made because the cut off age was 35. c had to write an email explaining how utterly cool mister monkey and i were despite our advanced decrepitude, going so far as to tell the the blatant lie that we did not even mind 23-year-olds (c is 23)! turns out there was no problem - our flatmates were korean, quiet, and predisposed to even earlier bedtimes than yours truly. we found within the first day that men are preferable to women, as there is far less grooming and juggling of bathroom space (not everyone is as low maintenance and fuss free as i am*). the room was neat and new, the pillows and duvet feather-filled, and the sheets freshly pressed (oh for a laundry press on this side of the water! how i miss the feel of a pressed pillowcase on my face...), and everything was just hunky dory, with the notable exception of youthful sports enthusiasts having a very loud conversation about futball at 3am right outside our room, right beneath the poster asking for quiet in the hallway, and who appeared completely baffled when i opened the door and requested that they shut their gobs (not in those exact words).

the grand place in brussels is the crowning glory of the city, dripping with gold-encrusted curlicues and garlands, charmingly overwrought and utterly unexpected. it's a vegas showgirl, old world edition, and we were suitably impressed, especially on day 2 when the sun chose to appear:


let me just add that there was cheese, good cheese; there were amazing baguettes, fabulous croissants, all things that europeans take for granted but that bring tears to the eyes of these jaded and broken north americans used to a steady diet of prefabricated shit. so yes, we ate and lo, it was good.

tomorrow, when i'm undertaking study-evasive manoeuvres, i might write about bruges, though there's not much to tell other than: go there immediately.


*scoff not - i went on this 10 day trip with nothing but a carry-on, while c, the most casual of dressers, lugged with him a hockey-sized** duffel bag filled with god only knows what: he only brought one pair of shoes!

**very big. almost big enough to fit a smallish corpse, if one were so inclined.

21 October, 2013

back on the wrong side

after a near dozen hours of sleep, i awoke to find myself here. on the wrong side of the atlantic.

the trip to brussels and amsterdam was incredible and i promise to write more. right now i'm just trying really hard to come up with a plan of action that will get me back to the right side, permanently (what?! i have €25.82 in my wallet plus a randstad regional transit card that still has, like €1.47 on it!) plus i must get these pyjamas off, regular clothes on, and school into.

best part of the trip (ok, hard to choose, but from a completely non-trourist but entirely psychocentric point of view) was that once i wept uncontrollably over one of the dakotas (who can blame me? apologies if you're from one of the dakotas. i'm sure they're not that bad), and over the atlantic (it's so BIG! and unfriendly! and wet!) and then a final time in brussels after having soundly bashed my head into a street sign (physical pain opened up the floodgates and i stood there sobbing on a public street corner, while mister monkey did his best), i stopped crying entirely. and not just crying, but even feeling like crying or any flavour of sad. oh, there was that one moment when we toured the utterly slick and gorgeous utrecht school of architecture building that i was overrun by a tidal wave of a vicious anger at north america for our terrible tendency to trade quality for quantity and wallow in a made-in-china sea of mediocrity, eating sub-par flavourless food, using poorly designed... everything, buying heaping mountains of cheap shit that falls apart in an hour, and generally living a BIG FAT life, rather than the good life we have been indoctrinated into believing we are living.

so apart from that i faced incessant rain with serene equanimity, ubiquitous homicidal cyclists with cautious respect, crowds with sharp elbows and overall remained balanced, sweetly sweetly balanced. oh, there were surges of love - love for amsterdam itself, love for maastricht, love for other gorgeous places, but otherwise i was calm, and loved every minute of it. it felt like a vacation for my brain and heart - barely a thought was spared to the devils that plague me here, at home. i didn't think, i sort of opened up my brain and let thoughts float through passively, if that makes any kind of sense (this is the best way i can explain it because that is precisely how it felt - that instead of thinking, i was being thought).

so now i'm back, hoping the calm remains in the face of the endless parking lots, single family bungalows, strip malls and overweight populace... perhaps a PhD then? might be worth a thought, no? ideas for thesis (i have one, and i shall tell you later) that deal with urban planning might be appreciated. drop one into the tithing basket on the way out. thanks!

p.s. i did miss you, my poultries, you were often on my mind!

08 October, 2013

when bad dreams happen to good people

night brain and i have an understanding: night brain provides the entertainment and i go along for the ride, rarely scream (except with glee) and for days afterward i ponder the weirdness that takes place in my head when i sleep. night brain enjoys the attention; i relish the fun. even the stuff of nightmares becomes entertainment in the deft hands of night brain. here i am, someone who refuses to watch horror movies because i don't like to be scared, yet in my night brain universe i joyfully leap into abandoned warehouses, chase (or get chased by) deranged killers, stalk danger and spit in the eye of menace.  if anything, my nightmares are usually* of an emotional nature - loss, sadness, betrayal - these are the things that make me wake up shaken, and it really doesn't happen all that often.

the thing that boggles my mind (day brain) is how aware i have always been of the landscape of my dreams. i know which path will take me where, i know exactly which street to take to end up in the marketplace that shows up again and again in night brain's productions. i remember the map of my dreamscapes years into the past (while i forget the name of people i met 3 weeks ago, heaven help me). i love this. i love being able to think about my dreams and have a mental GPS of that most unreal of places. overall, i enjoy my dreams: they are detailed, sensory, exciting and engaging.

imagine my surprise then when several nights ago i fell into a dream that was clearly intended for someone else. all the symbolic shorthand was wrong; the feeling of familiarity clearly a poorly executed copy-and-paste job; the characters fumbled their lines with an evident lack of motivation, failing to elicit any emotional response other than a feeling of wrongness, and not the right kind of wrongness. the couple who were supposed to be old friends of my parents were complete strangers, and while the dreamworld rarely plays by the rules of reality, this felt off. it felt like accidentally putting on a pair of shoes that belong to someone else - worn in, but in all the wrong places. worst of all, the place was not on my map. it was not on any map that my own maps referenced. it was dead wrong.

i shouldn't really hold it against night brain - day brain having been so addled lately, it is hardly surprising that the effects would trickle down to the lower regions of consciousness, but man, when you can't trust the landscape of your dreams, what in the whole of fuck can you trust?



*barring the years of dental nightmares which i left in the unclaimed luggage department of the past and walked away from, never looking back.

in a universe far far away

a long time ago i lost a job i hated, went into shock, and then into a provincially-mandated and funded self-discovery program wherein i was supposed to see who i was and where it was that i needed to go. this is that story.

nice to know that some things haven't changed, and some have. a lot.

07 October, 2013

42

if the meaning of life, as i strongly believe, is to make more penguins* then what do those of us who have opted out of penguin-making have? well, i for one am perfectly happy** with no overarching meaning. just as i am happy to have no god or fate of big fat sky fairy of any sort guiding my actions, throwing stones or roses under my feet based on its mood of the day, i am perfectly happy to live an existence whose entire meaning, or lack thereof, rests upon my own shoulders. yes, tis a heavy burden, but you know what? at least then i have nobody but myself to blame when things go bad.

wait, that doesn't help, does it? and yet, strangely, it does. i like the idea of being responsible for my own meaning, for being responsible for my own choices. today, as i walked home from school, it was this very notion that managed to yank me out of a deep funk - the idea that things simply happen. they aren't meant to happen, they aren't fated to happen, they don't mean something, they just happen. what i do with it is my own damn choice. for some reason it lifted a rather heavy burden from my metaphorical shoulders and made me feel far more optimistic - that the road is a mystery, that it is littered with surprises good and bad, and that there isn't some Special Path that i need to be looking for, that wherever i am, is where i am meant to be, because i am my own meaning.

you know what, kittens? boring to you all this amateurish philosophising might be, but hot damn, i am finding it really pertinent. at this rate, i might just psychoanalyse my own damn self out of this depression. i wonder what the end result will be? a better, slicker me? i know for a fact i'll have better ass muscles with all the running i've been doing, and if nothing else, strong ass muscles can come in very handy on the rocky path of life.

over and out.



*i blogged this in the mist-shrouded past that will evidently remain shrouded in the aforementioned mists because i can't find it. the gist of it is based on a really depressing nature film narrated (natch) by sir david attenborough, wherein penguins huddle in big groups for the duration of a particularly nasty and stormy and loooong winter, holding their eggs on their feet, taking turns inside the marginally warmer huddle, with the express purpose of protecting their eggs to let them hatch in the spring, thereby making more penguins who will then repeat the whole dismal process, just to make more penguins.

**well, with the obvious caveat of me not actually, at the moment, being perfectly happy. but it's a minor quibble.

03 October, 2013

the anatomy of sadness part deux

one rather important aspect of depression that i forgot to mention in the last post (other than loss of focus and crazy ass forgetfulness, evidently) is the temporary loss of one's internal compass.

i am a big believer in cultivating intuition or gut feelings or what tom calls "inner promptings." one of the most dangerous effects of depression for me is the loss of my ability to trust myself. when the world is coloured with the darkest and foulest crayons in the box, when hope fails in things both big and small, it is difficult, if not impossible, to make decisions based on that small inner voice, because all it ever says, in varying shades of panic and doom, is "we're all gonna die! it's all going to hell!" and you know that can't very well be true, especially when you're trying to figure out something as simple as what you want to have for lunch*.

and since i've been trying very hard to strengthen my working relationship with my gut compass, listening to it, coddling it, making sure it is comfortable and feels loved and acknowledged, it is incredibly stressful when it goes off the deep end at precisely the same time that i do, though hardly surprising. all metaphorical talk of duality aside, i am it, and it is me; where i go, it goes, so off the deep end it is! and then when i return, when i manage to crawl up the side of the pool and drop exhausted and dripping on the tiles, it takes a longish while to re-establish that trust again. there is residual wariness, a left-over feeling of unease that those inner promptings are still not entirely trustworthy, still water-logged, if we're to take this entirely unexpected and odd analogy way past its expiry date.

during these islands of calm, these days of relative normalcy, i try to take my intuition out for a test drive. small little trips, nothing too taxing. i ease into it. if i'm to be able to trust it again, we need to make sure we're on the same page, and that we've wrung out the water, unclogged our ears, washed the chlorine off our skin (whoa, waaaaay pst its expiry date, that one, but why the hell not?).

i suppose the flip side, the gratitude side, is that depression is giving me insight into how important that internal compass is. and so i can pile this knowledge up along with the other epiphanies, those small rounded rocks that i've been gathering along this journey.


*maybe i'm wrong, but "we're all gonna die! it's all going to hell!" doesn't strike me as an appropriate response to "shall i have a sandwich or a salad?" but you know what? that is precisely how depression works. at least in my own head.

02 October, 2013

the anatomy of sadness

today i walked to the university in the crisp october morning air and something happened that i did not expect at all. as i passed a neighbourhood church i noticed the small playground set someone had put up for the children. as i looked at it, i found myself thinking that it was a sweet gesture, something good and pleasant.

this left me reeling, because as far as i can ascertain it's been a very long time since i've seen anything as something other than dark and dismal. the thing with depression is that it creates the polar opposite of a silver lining - it suffuses the entire world with the kind of despondent darkness and sense of foreboding that is routinely used by the makers of horror films to make the serene seem sinister. (happy families in the park harbour horrible secrets; the sunlight on the river is cold and hideous; the future holds nothing but bitterness and ashes.) not wanting to frighten this fledgling feeling, i looked away and kept walking. as i crossed the footbridge and looked at the calgary skyline, i realised that i didn't hate it, that what i felt  was a sort of noncommittal neutrality: yup, there's a city. even the fall colours seemed, if not beautiful, then at least non-offensive.

now i know that this is far from over. i know there's more to come as i work through whatever the hell is eating me up (ideas? thoughts? send them my way! awesome prizes and give-aways for the most original notions!). one thing i've found in this go around is that i get breaks, moments of normalcy; hours, sometimes whole clumps of days pass by without my wanting to turn some sort of OFF switch on myself. these function in much the same way that breathers work during waterboarding - moments required for the continuation of life, if only so the torture can go on.

the first time i got three days of normalcy i bounced downstairs to my fabulous roommate's basement man cave office and announced that i was back. yeah. no. not so fast. that night i stayed up crying and thinking poky sharp thoughts. now i approach things a little more cautiously, but i have learned to take what i am given and use it to regroup, reevaluate, reestablish the fact that i am in fact a human and not just a quivering bundle of out of control misery. today's moments of hope seem... well, hopeful.

then again, september is over. but surely it can't be as simple as that!

01 October, 2013

"the one"

i would apologize for the darkness of the last post, but i suppose it's all part of the journey, blah blah blah, and so on, not to start sounding like a crystal-wearing head case, though even they can be right about certain things.

it's amazing how many insights start pouring in once you open yourself to learning things about yourself and others and the world. it's also amazing how many things are interconnected: how many feelings and ideas and aches and pains we all share. once you open up that document called "epiphanies" barely a day goes by that you don't throw something in it. small things, mostly, but small things can add up to large.

and so i come back to the crossroads analogy of several posts ago. indulge me for a minute (oh lord, like you haven't been doing exactly that for, like, ever!). i have always despised the idea of "the one" in love. as in, "i met him and i'm sure he's 'the one'" because it narrows the focus of our lives so much, and puts ridiculous pressure on relationships. i think relationships can feel right, or righter, or all manner of wrong, but i am firmly and staunchly opposed to the idea of there being one perfect person for each of us. it's patently ridiculous.

last night, a friend made me realise that what i've been looking for is "the one" answer, and in answers, in choices, in roads, just like in love, it's ridiculous to expect to find "the one." hit me like a tonne of bricks, it did. and eased off the pressure tremendously. you can decide one thing and it can be the right decision for the moment, she said, and then later, you can change your mind. small words, big impact.

and so here i am, not at a crossroads at all, but at one of those insane intersections with no particular direction and all the time in the world to go here, or there, or hell, maybe even turn around and start from scratch. and no, the idea of an insane intersection doesn't exactly inspire a sense of peace and well being, but the fact that i am under no deadline does.

this friend and i have been talking a lot lately, writing a lot lately, learning so much lately, about each other, about ourselves, about life and stuff. it's not an easy journey, but it sure is nice to have someone there who will listen to you cry, someone with whom no judgment enters the conversation. and although you have only been there in the ether, i must say, my little poultries, having you along for the ride has also brought a tremendous sense of comfort. and for that i thank you.