I Like Being This Person.

Wait. I just said I like being this person. What happened?

And then, everybody laughed. My lovers and I had been talking about norms, policy-building between us. How to stay in touch across time zones - fewer hours than across the ocean now. Planning to reserve one convenient hour to connect to one of our busiest people.

We were talking about leadership. In our group of five, three are far more followers than leaders by preference. Maybe, maybe that's more two, and the third is on the fence. Two of us are more leaders than followers - and I'm one. I'm the louder one, the one who draws attention to it more often, who usually asks what telecommunications program we're using to voice chat, and suggests something to watch or to play, takes responsibility for remembering things we agreed we have to talk about.

But we have another leader, who usually stays quiet, who spends more time watching and less time saying what he sees. He gives careful prods but not ostentatiously. It's not his way. And he and I, it seems we work together well. Me the circus ringleader, he around the shadows at the edge of the ring of light. I asked again that he remember to remind me, if my shouting becomes too self-serving - I don't want my trained assertiveness only to serve my own preferences. And I'll try to give him time, and bite down on my jealousy when it has a problem with sharing the spotlight.

I asked him to tell me out loud that it was alright that I was louder, was showier, was the ringleader kind of leader that I am. Whether we really do work well together with this being a prominent part of the nature of our double act.

Good. Because, I like being this person. And I wouldn't want to have to go without it.

Wait... What happened?

And then, everybody laughed.

You're healing, he said.

Okay, crying. Crying again.

I'm on my second day of being back on my thyroid medication. There was a gap there for a bit, while we got more. But I'm just over the extra hormonal stress and mess of my period, and although I expected things to be harder while I was off my medicine for a week or so, and then back on again... All I've really had to cope with so far that's seemed worse than usual has been some waves of tiredness in the middle of the day. And I eat, and drink, and get excited with my loves and I listen to upbeat music, and they pass. And honestly, I have been getting short and broken sleep a lot of the recent nights too.

I've been here a month and a half, in the house of someone who wasn't surprised to see me, who wasn't pined after secretly for months on months - we've discussed my coming to see them for a long time, and they've said yes, that they would welcome me with open arms, and they have.

Our apartment is our apartment, they tell me. Ours including you (meaning me). Our food and drink is your food and drink too. You don't have to keep asking me whether you can have it.

Our apartment, then. It's a pretty place. Well maintained, simple and somewhat small but high quality and close to their work. I keep it tidier than they ever did - I asked first. We've discussed the matter many times, and I've gotten consent over and over again to go ahead and turn their lives upside down.

We watch heartful TV together. They've been showing me This Is Us. I've been showing them Steven Universe. They're started to show me My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, and I've had a bit of fun riffing on it and analyzing it.

With some prompting from me, they started to shift their focus away from the idea of signing up for a code college which would require them to be at a physical classroom for months and pay up thousands of dollars later down the line presuming they can find better work after the schooling. They're taking on some courses on Udemy instead for now - there was always some fear that they wouldn't be able to stick to it, but I'm here to help now. To ask what they're learning, and remind them to study regularly... but not too hard. ♡

We're doing it together. I'm picking up a Udemy course too, and suddenly I have a six month plan, to end in a working store website and all the experience it took to build it. This morning, a Saturday morning, we each spent a few hours on our different projects, in the same living room, taking time from time to time to hug and kiss or give back massages.

I send them to work with packed lunches. We can save money that way, and still eat deliciously. They don't mind - they like the food I give them. I keep our apartment clean, and cook, and when they can't walk on their own, I'm there to help carry them.

And I'm working through this course, and from time to time I just spend my day watching YouTube videos, but it's okay. Because it's not all the time. In my spare time, I get to reach out to people all along the edges of my online social network. I got to spend a half hour not long ago telling someone struggling with grief that they were not as alone as they felt.

And I still fret, sometimes. Of course I do. I worry that work that isn't done in a hired position isn't real somehow, isn't worth as much... but I know that isn't true, it's just... just one of the things that gets passed along through the deepest social memes and habits. And I don't have to know that all by myself anymore. My lovers will tell it to me over again as many times as I need to hear it.

I've been starting to look through listings for a house for us to move into once the lease here ends.

My Stars want me to stay here with them.

Everything is different now.

And I'm starting to think... Maybe I really don't ever have to go back.

Blood

If you're someone who's likely to be disturbed by blood, menstruation, sex or complicated questions about gender, it would probably be better not to read this one. Have a good day.

An aggravating feeling of helpless rage at the smugness of an authority that doesn't give a damn about anything I say and has power over me through the very nature of the systems of which our world is built, the only allies against it very far away and unable to intervene to help me in my present, and for all I know unable or too busy to intervene before I run out of time and die.

Seems familiar.

I have, for the last hour or so, been holding an internalized mental argument... with an anthropomorphic personification of human evolution. And feeling increasingly like a sulky, powerless teenager under its authority.

-----

I woke up this morning covered in blood, soaked through the sheet under me, into the mattress, all over my loins and thighs. Grumbled to my feet and wrapped in a towel and tried to get to the bathroom to clean off without leaving drops of blood on the hall carpet. I had made my regular preparations for my period, it's not like this came out of nowhere and I wasn't expecting anything. But what the hell? Usually those steps are enough.

Wash my legs, empty my cup, clean the little drops off the bathroom floor (at least that just wipes clean) and come back to my room to strip my bloody sheet off my bed in a cold room stinking richly of copper and rust. Laundry earlier than expected, then. I don't have any spares. Sad regret at not following through on my thought to buy another mattress protector when I started using the first one I bought as a blanket against the growing cold followed me to school. I can't expect the next unknown tenant to be willing to sleep on a bloodstained bed, so it's only fair after this to put some of my deposit towards replacing the mattress, which is a punch to my sensitive budget awareness. I know better than this, and the cost of buying the second mattress protector would be so much less. But I just hadn't gotten around to it. Too many other priorities too intensely felt. Too late now.

Well, at least I did put myself to bed early and got what should be a reasonable enough amount of sleep to function well at school. But in class, it took not only an energy drink but the engagement of an actual exercise to perform to keep me from repeatedly closing my eyes and realizing after a while that I hadn't opened them and was paying more attention to my desire for more sleep than the lecture. On the upside, I guess, it's familiar material that was covered by my Cost Accounting class at Fanshawe, and didn't require much mental presence to use as review rather than new learning.

And while I sat in class, warmth leaked into my underwear and jeans in little blossoms. I could feel it. What the hell, seriously? It's only a half hour walk, and only an hour of class. School bathroom, emptied my cup again and looked over the damage. Mhm. Stained the patches on my jeans. Well, that's fresh enough it might wash out if I deal with it before it dries. And if not, well, I was kind of planning on re-patching them anyway. Damn, though. I don't usually have heavy periods, and this is insanely fast. One of my old friends used to tell me about how heavy her periods usually are, and I was glad I didn't have to deal with it. This sounds like what she told me. I don't think it's a medical emergency, but it's really weird for me.

Feeling exhausted, scarcely better than on Monday when I hadn't slept at all, after a morning headache I attributed to dehydration from blood loss (and seemed to be validated, since drinking lots of water really helped). I felt and feel drained in a way that seems profoundly more literal than usual, and responded as I had on Monday by returning home to rest, frustrated intensely at the impact on my attendance in classes.

As I walked, I wondered why my body was investing so much into conception this month, such that it was leaving me deprived of strength for other things, like actually being restored by sleep and being awake in class. I reflected that all the masculinity and determination I pulled up yesterday and that wonderful feeling of swagger and confidence just couldn't seem to be supported on a body spending so much of its strength to wash out and replenish a womb, which was not made for battle. I felt I would like to be able to talk to the part of me that regulated that and ask it what the deal was, why the investment, and if I could have some kind of warning if this was going to happen again.

Well, I hadn't been expecting this to develop, but my imagination is vibrant and has a lot of material to draw from.

The personification looks back at me with patronizing eyes.

"You get all pumped up on passion and infatuation and don't expect to conceive. Just like you, Upstart Consciousness, thinking you run everything now, decide everything. I made those feelings, and getting you pregnant is what I made them for.

"You can co-opt the feelings, sure, like you've harnessed everything else. Do what you like, Upstart. I can't and won't stop you. But when you take the infrastructure I spent twenty years building into your very flesh, and millions in practicing, and you try to make something completely different out of it, don't come complaining to me that my lust, my affection and instincts of family-forming and the elation of compatibility that I gave you have side-effects that mess up pieces of whatever weird deviating program you're trying to build with them. De-bug your own mess.

"Silly Upstart. Always wanting the best of everything, without its costs.

"I specialized you to be a garden, rich and fertile. You don't want to plant anything there, fine. But this blood is not meant for you, Upstart Consciousness. It was meant for the children you refuse to have."

And I stare and sit and sulk, enraged at the determinism of my weave and my flesh to anything other than my will. An authority I have no greater established authority to appeal to for overturn. I wonder to myself whether this personification of the very manufacture of me gets its attitude of distant, smug and hateful authority from my mother (the flesh person from whom I directly descend, rather than the long process of descent which is no less my mother), or maybe the other way around. Was this always a part of it? Was this far more a part of my utter intolerance for her than I ever suspected, a hatred that I was built with a body made for childbearing when I wanted to fight and lead?

Confusion and despair and uncertainty. There are times, although as befits the bitter teenager feeling, I may resentfully resist admitting it at the moment, when that purpose flows through me red and alluring. I feel the heat of it and my body's response. Lust craves in me pointedly to be sewn and swollen with fertility, but I revolt and hold my ideals against the impulse, valuing quality of life over quantity and understanding them to be in conflict. I will side with quality, no matter what my biology has to say about it. But deep in my sex drive, I know it is there in all of my femaleness.

Do I hate that? Is that why all of sex seems like rape to me sometimes, in that vague and imprecise close-but-not-quite way? That the ways in which my body is designed to enjoy it seem like an imposition to me, a drug woven into my flesh, a manipulation I cannot escape and a tool to subvert me as an individual, as Upstart Consciousness which thinks that Consciousness ought to rule the world; like the systems of pleasure exist to demur me and not just me specifically, not just Serp, but "me", the concept of being an individual and having self-determination, demur "me" to submit my time and life energy to being part of the biological process, a cog in the machine of flesh and procreation. A stitch in the fabric of generations, to bond and spread its spoor and die and be eaten, digested by plants and returned to the newborns in their day as fruit.

I want more for myself, for all selves as my loves and inspirations remind me. Does this revolt then, this rebellion, seep in bitterness and conflict right down, down, through my muscles and organs and neurons, into a hatred of the very attraction of sex, the hunger and preoccupation and the pleasure it offers to reward me for doing obediently as my body says? Made disgusting by a rejection of blind obedience on principle, a hatred of all the flaws and all of the victims enabled by the processes of just taking your pay, or endorphins, or promotion, and not thinking about whether what you're being paid to do is good. Could that conviction, revulsion, really be at the core of my longstanding recoil against, shame about, not exactly sex, but the love of and desire for sex?

Maybe.

I hadn't considered it before, but at first appraisal, it seems to make a lot of sense. The distaste and shame are still there, after all, after every kind of mental exercise and argument I could think of against kink shaming and slut shaming, after rejecting and rejecting again repeatedly as not having any right to determine my feelings every mote I could find of religious shame, of mere fear-of-judgement, of anything else. But there was some root that none of it has shifted. Is this that root?

My plans for the day had more to do with study and less to do with uncovering dysphoria hidden deep in my psyche, but hey, I'll take it. I will almost never refuse an opportunity to understand myself better.

IT Carlow: Short Notes, The First Two Days

I feel a bit like I've been blindfolded and I'm trying to make my way through the days, but every time I bump into someone I feel ashamed. And it seems as though others are calling back to me, irritably, to keep up, but I just keep bumping into people and it feels as though every day teaches me the same lesson that I'm bad at talking to people... or understanding what I am supposed to do.

- Thursday 13, September (first day of classes)

The first crowded class of our crowded day, I step into the crowded room and spot a scant few open seats. Only one near the front, and when I approached it, the student sitting beside slid her bag over and lifted the folding seat to block me. Incensed, I went elsewhere, and watched...
When another new arrival scanned the room and approached that place, she moved her bag aside.

-Friday 14, September

I have connected with counselling services on campus and may wind up regularly seeing one of the counsellors here on Thursday afternoons. I have also begun reading The Leadership Skills Handbook: 90 Essential Skills You Need to Be a Leader, by Jo Owen. It has made a truly excellent first impression, with wise reminders, some frank insights that I had not thought about before and a great deal of wit. It is broken into very short, succinct sections which makes it easy to cover a whole section even if I only have five or ten minutes, and makes it easy and inviting to keep reading one more bit. Reading the first handful of sections on Thursday really cheered me up by reminding me that the courage to try things even when I don't know how I'm supposed to go about them is a strength, and that I am not the only person for whom that takes courage.

It is too easy to be overwhelmed and caught up in the mistakes, and forget to value the process of learning and finding one's way that demands making some mistakes. Maybe I am not bad at talking to people; being a foreign student, even speaking the same language, is simply hard. That doesn't account for all of my recent mistakes, however, and it still shocks my system and my blood pressure to be intentionally kept at a distance by fellow students at school with gestures of disrespect... even, perhaps, repulsion. I had hoped I was done with that.

Storming Phase

I spent much of today feeling very annoyed with my new roommates. Yesterday I discovered that a jar of quarters I had kept near the washing machines had vanished completely, and I was unable to do the load of laundry I intended until today after going out to get some more. Further, the kitchen counters have been a mess and the sinks piled high with their dishes.

I was soothed a bit when I asked one of the trio who cook together and talk so much together when I could expect them to have cleaned it up, and was told they could have it done in an hour, but when I came back from my errands to find the house empty and the kitchen still a mess I was angry.

Nothing steals away my energy and motivation to do cool stuff like resentment. After plunging away the blockage that had formed in my ensuite bathroom's toilet and cleaning it, putting my laundry on and into the dryer, I just could not find the inclination to study, although I had already been delaying. I watched YouTube for a while and eventually fell into a mid-afternoon nap... only to be woken by the trio chattering gaily away and returning to the house.

Almost nothing infuriates me like the ongoing distraction of unwelcome noise, and being woken up from tired slumber by it makes it even worse. For some time, I turned this way and that, flopping onto one side, burrowing in my blankets looking for my socks, for I'd fallen asleep clothed. I was angry and exhausted, and knew I would not be able to be polite to my roommates. Eventually, at last, I got myself onto my feet and resolved to go out, get myself a coffee (being caffeinated seems to help my mood as well as my focus) and perhaps seek somewhere quiet where I might get something done on the campus. I still fumed away darkly at the feeling of not having quiet space to enjoy within my house, though.

It occured to me to check the area where religious gatherings and discussions generally took place, just in case there might be somewhere there this Sunday evening whom I could plead to advise me toward patience and diplomacy, because I was out of it... but it was closed up and locked with a note on the door about how to book the space.

I found my way to the library, remembered that the homework I wanted to do would require me to have my headphones to listen to sound, and immediately left again to get coffee and headphones. The landlord was in when I returned, mending a cabinet in the kitchen. I had been strongly considering walking in and demanding of the noisy trio that they keep quiet so I could do my studying, but the presence of an unexpected person took all the wind out of my sails. I collected my headset and walked back out to the college, waiting for a moment outside, as the landlord was leaving at the same time, thinking I might mention my frustration to him... But he was bustling around putting his tools away, so I did not.

I checked out the B building and D junction computer labs, but one was full of more students than I would like to be around, and in the other some people arrived talking noisily to one another, the last thing I had patience for just then, so I made it back to the library lab, and set myself down to work.

In the end, I did about 2 hours and 45 minutes of diligent homework, study and organization tonight at the campus, with a break in the middle to use the bathroom and take a brief walk around the halls. They were so empty, I took up karate stance and a couple of steps, then finding the purchase very slippery, ran and slid across the floor a few times just for fun.

The trio were still awake when I returned home at half past eleven. One was still talking on the phone, although doing so in a soft, low voice. I portioned myself some soup I had made yesterday and a toasted bagel, washed my soup pot (finally empty) and returned to my room where I now write.

Once while I have been writing the girls reconvened and started talking to one another more loudly. Braver now and feeling more justified and more capable, I walked out to firmly hush them: "Excuse me; please; quiet. It's late." I was given an understanding smile and apology in recognition. Perhaps things are not so bad. The state of the kitchen, and seeing them only tidy up in time for them to start cooking and fill up the sink with a whole new batch of dishes is still a major annoyance. I will try to bring it up with them later, when I have more energy and more patience.

Amusingly, yesterday while I was out on a long walk, I listened to a couple episodes of the Accountancy Ireland podcast, and one of them brought up the four stages of team building: Forming, Storming, Norming and Performing. Well, I guess this is bound to happen. At the very worst, I should on most days, or at least most weeks, be able to find somewhere on campus where I am able to focus on schoolwork. If it comes to that. I will have a great deal of complaint to make if it does, but I will not be rendered entirely helpless nor allow myself too make too much of an excuse of it if my home environment is unhelpful.

Another thing I did while walking was listen to Oceans again on loop for a while, and think of Eoin...

When it comes to love, you've dipped your toes in the river, but I've got oceans waiting for you...

It even uses a metaphor of catching fish in there somewhere. Heh. Sigh.
Don't let me fool you. I still love you, Eoin.

Dear Memory: Je Pleut

Weather alert: ... It's raining.

For a few days there, it was really cold and windy, and had been snowing a great deal. Yesterday, I think, I walked to the next major intersection and completely wore myself out, because I was sinking up to my mid-calves in snowbank along the way. It's much warmer now, and we have a great deal of melt and thaw and misting rain. It is more like an Irish winter. But there is still lots of snow left.

I... really wish I could talk to you, Eoin. You were in my dream last night, back in Killaloe. The one I grew up in. I dreamed that you had followed me there. I miss you.

I think it's been a little while since I let myself just miss you. It's kind of good to say it again. It's good to imagine talking to you.

I've been doing pretty well. I finished my last quizzes in Intermediate Accounting today, with a 100% and a 83% on my last two. It's... good enough, all things considered. I was mostly doing my accounting work in tax class today, in between paying attention and trial and erroring a bit through reconciliations between net income for accounting and for tax purposes.

I've been singing to myself, from time to time, when my roommates don't seem to be in the house. They come and go a lot, and often together. I have been singing the song I wrote for you, before the silence. I've also been singing "It's Over Isn't It" from Steven Universe. Because it's a really sweet song and I've been rewatching the show. A couple months ago, I couldn't bear to face Garnet. I guess I'm over that now.

Toward the end of the month, there's going to be a week at the school when representatives of other colleges and universities come to advertise their programs, and then a week of recruiting and advertising for summer jobs and career opportunities. I expect to be attending both of them. Especially because... There are some Irish institutions that will be represented there.

I'm making it steadily through my term. I'm doing fine... as far as academic success is concerned. And honestly, I think I'm doing better than I was before in terms of stability too. I've been talking a lot to an old friend of mine I had fallen into an awkward silence with. If we ever do get back into conversation, remind me to tell you about Pyat sometime. I guess that line is inherently more to me than you... but permit me my illusion for a bit.

Reflecting on some things, and at one point being reminded of how I was bullied back in school... I noticed something. Something important. I think something has changed. When I was talking about it, I realized I wanted not to be so angry anymore. I think... I actually believe now, that I don't need to be resentful in order to be myself. In a way that I didn't before. And I think it has a lot to do with you.

I think back again to that scene in the parking lot, and your forgiveness. There's something tremendously powerful in the sight of others. There's a reality that a second perspective lends to things. All the difference between "Am I crazy" and "or is this really here?" is answered by someone else being able to see it too.

No-one else ever seemed to see the difference between myself and the way I've been hurt before, the way you did. And I've been to some counselling. You know, back when I was in Ireland, and continuing to the present. I know it's something that counselors have been trying to condition me to believe for years. And... It's different. It's stirring. To hear myself say it. I could still be just as insightful and amazing if I didn't go hot and cold whenever I remember how isolated I've been.

It's a strange feeling, noticing that difference. It feels... weighty. Not happy or sad, just important, mostly. And kind of... Well, awe-inspiring. I wonder if I will continue to feel that way reliably.

I miss you. I miss you so badly it hurts, and I wish I could tell you how much I want to see you again. I will make it happen, if I can. I just hope you will want to see me again too. It's such a simple thing to say. But the emotions behind it are immense.

One at a time, some fast and some slow, the days march on and on. On Saturday I went to the hospital Emergency area, anxious because the left side of my face was inexplicably numb and tingly. There were some tests. Nothing alarming was found. I came back home. Yesterday I had an exam. Tomorrow I will have two more. I get through it, missing you, looking forward to seeing you again, looking forward to your answer.

The most sensible and effective strategy in general seems to be to act and plan assuming that my plan to return to Ireland succeeds just as I want. That way, my actions will be aligned with my goal, and the future I choose will be reinforced along the way. I'm going to try to enjoy as much of this winter as I can. It might be the last Canadian winter I see for a while, if I have my way. Throughout the coming year, I'm going to have to get rid of a bunch of this junk. I have altogether too much stuff, and it's in the way of unpacking it all and settling in more neatly. There is comparatively so little that I really need, that I really use. I kind of look forward to getting rid of it, although it will take some doing, both physically and emotionally.

Anyway. I... I love you, Eoin. I miss you. So much. And I guess that's about it for me, for now. See you later.

Life Across the Sea

The Irish winter is mild compared to Canada. It was particularly mild when I arrived and for a few days then, and felt like spring, but now it's quite bitterly cold enough to be irritating. Being outside and moving is really not a problem in winter clothes, but inside, my apartment is not heated efficiently enough to cope well at all.

Worse, it's heated by metered electricity and that inefficiency costs a not insignificant quantity of money. At least now I know how to turn it on if I decide not to suffer numbness of my toes and fingers anymore for a while, but if I were to keep it on and keep my room a comfortable temperature with it (it does take a fair while to spread the heat sufficiently through the room) it would cost me 2-3 euros in electricity charges, per day, by itself.

I learned to my unhappiness that I would not be provided any blankets either and the first night I was here, I shivered impotently, huddled against a wall heater in the living room to no avail. The building was colder still while most of the students who would regularly inhabit it were still away on the winter holiday.

For the first five days I was here, I walked roughly three kilometers to the Athlone Castle in the center of town. It is just what it sounds like, a great old stone castle with a cobbled cart road up into it, and up at the top they have kept some cannon and stocks as historical artifacts. Each time, I sought out the St. Vincent de Paul's outlet I had seen existed downtown on Google Maps. Some of those times, it was closed, and its signage calls it Vincent's, with new and unfamiliar branding. However, I did buy sheets and a towel my first trip, and blankets on a couple of subsequent ones. I went back later for some more clothes, hoping to find something to wear to a nightclub, although that's another story; and finally, shorts and athletic capris. Regardless the place, a thrift store is my personal lifeline.

In the first two weeks of school here, I've learned that the Irish are more relaxed about time (less monochronic, as my earlier classes may have put it) and the proper time to arrive for classes is right on the hour. The lectures will actually begin 5-10 minutes later. Several of my classes were cancelled because it was so early in the term, and one was cancelled just because the lecturer did not show up.

I went out to Eddie Rockets (a local diner) and the cinema with some of the other New Internationals. This is not an official term, it's just what I'm calling those students who, like me, arrived here as transfer students for the second term of the year and with whom I was inducted and shown about the school. There are some from Germany, some from France, some from the Netherlands. The film we saw was Passengers. It was not perfect by any means, not an immediate favourite like Amelie, but it was visually absolutely gorgeous, and it was acted very well. I did however find myself internally facepalming at the movie at several moments though (Goddamnit, John, you should know better than this. You do not cross that line until you have had that talk. Could we maybe at some point consider having a romance movie which doesn't depend on someone doing something incredibly stupid and unethical for all its tension? Although, to be fair, he has pretty much descended into a personal hell. The extreme circumstances having affected his mind at least makes sense.) (Look, it's a science fiction movie... We know this guy is going to die because he's not one of the two protagonists who have to pull things out of the fire. Did you have to make him black? Really? Lawrence Fishburne does a fine job, but the adherence to the trope is embarrassing.) (and worst of all... What? Excuse me, what? You can't do that, that's cheating. She stopped moving while immersed in water. You made a point of showing her ceasing to struggle and going limp. No-one else is there to rescue her. She's dead. She is not going to get up from that no matter how much she's jolted around. She's dead, goddamn it.) ...but for the most part, although it was full of tropes played straight and pretty predictably, each one was played sincerely and with impressive style. The eye candy didn't get in the way and was absolutely beautiful. I was actually sitting in a cinema, noticing the tropes but not minding all that much. I found myself thinking... Well, would you look at that. In this moment, I'm damn near acting and feeling like a normal healthy young adult.

The New Internationals who were with me laughed at my comments on the film afterward, and split up, some going home, some heading out to the nightclub Karma. I was wearing thin and anxious, but elected to give it a go. The atmosphere when I stepped inside though did not agree with me, and I was already feeling tense having walked around for some time with a trio who were primarily speaking French to one another. I tried some of my learned high school Canadian French, to the encouragement and appreciation of Sana, but every time I opened my mouth, I felt deeply embarrassed by the knowledge that my ability with the language is so patchy. Perfectionism is not helpful in learning new things.

At the nightclub, the fee was 8 euro just to get in. Then inside there was a bag check that cost another 2. A youth slung himself around a corner hollering, and the throbbing music from inside did not appeal. Annoyed that I was already facing being milked of my money stage by stage, I defied the sunk cost fallacy, turned on my heel and left, stopping to ask the lady at the ticket gate whether I could get my 8 euro back and just leave. She said no. I wasn't going to argue.

Triggered, I walked towards home, around midnight downtown in an unfamiliar country. But then, being triggered is often like that. I despaired that I didn't have Lonely Digger on my mp3 player anymore, nor my mp3 player with me, and more than anything I despaired for being alone, far away from any of my close friends, and especially the closest, she who I dream will travel with me, my Ashlynn. Reaching a peak in my desperation, I sat on the sidewalk, took out a notebook and pen, and wrote. I do not, however, recount that writing here.

Since arriving, I have made contact with the Tabletop Society (board games, Magic, D&D players; a lot of familiar and friendly culture, gathered loudly in one room Thursday evenings), College of Kingeslake (SCADIANS! ♡), the Dance Club and the Archery Club (brought to us by College of Kingeslake on Friday afternoons). There has been much to learn and friendly people to meet.

An international student who has been here since September, Anni from Finland, was a quick friend, greeting me in one of my first classes and inviting me to come to Tabletop Society. It is good to have met someone I am comfortable asking questions and asking to work with me on group projects. She's taking accounting as her elective. Perhaps I can help her with the knowledge I already have.

I'm sure life in Ireland will continue to be new and challenging. Goodness, I didn't even really mention the rustic, eccentric architecture and the plentiful unfamiliar birds and how remarkably green the fields are... It will have to wait. There are things to attend to.

Thinking in Poetry Again

The beautiful, absolute world of mathematics mocks my relentless imperfection...
  And the inexorable call of death mocks my mortal limitations,
reminding me, my time is short; I can do anything, but not everything.

"If you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice"

To what do I set my mind, my very life?

Days slip by unrecorded, my focus on other priorities; on study, scores of 100%, cooking, cleaning myself, maintaining some basic standard of health and happiness, talking with my roommates...

The physical law that there are only 24 hours in each day, 356 days in a year, and only so many years in a lifetime... Although that number is not set, it seems to close in like a ceiling, and cause me great claustrophobia. The x variable glares down at me from an unknown height, declaring with historical empiricality an extremely low chance of anything over 100.

100 years seems so short a time when one thinks of all the things there are to learn, and improve...

Dear Diary... I Quit!

After my vacation... Nothing seemed any better at work. I was just as disillusioned, cynical, sick of it, as before, and more so. There was another incident with one of my supervisors... I think I have largely managed not to speak of those here, though I thought about it. Simply put, two of the supervisors I work under have repeatedly treated me and spoken to me with disrespect I am just not willing to put up with... From the tasks I am assigned to and when, to how they respond if ever I question anything they've done.

Not long before my vacation, for example, I got a face full of really bad attitude just for asking, and trying to do it politely, where my supervisor had been, as I had not managed to catch sight of her on the sales floor for the past twenty minutes. I am not claiming necessarily that she was not there; I focus on my work while I am working, and people can sometimes come and go without me noticing them, but there was a point when I was looking for her actively, to deal with something that required a supervisor, and could not find her. I got no answer, just assertions that she knew what she was doing, for my information. Of course, the problem was that I didn't. Know what she was doing, that is. Or where she could be found.

This example is on the extreme end, but archetypal. I have brought up my issues with management before... The result tended to be that some meeting was had, behavior improved for about two weeks, and then everything slowly returned to the way it had been, disrespect included.

This has not been the only problem I've had with my job, that's made me more and more irritable with work since last September, but it's one of the easiest ones to remember and brood over, and after the newest incident, which I will not detail here, I decided I had had too much already, and was not prepared to take any more.

So I came in on a day I was not working for a meeting with the management. I asked to be placed in the processing room instead of in sales, exclusively and as soon as possible. Several days later when the head manager was available to talk to me, she explained to me politely why she would be unable to transfer me exclusively as I had requested. And I responded by stating politely that I would like to officially resign from my position. I had a resignation letter penned, signed, dated and in her mailbox the same day.

I have worked two shifts since then. After all, it's legal imperative and good form to give two weeks notice before actually leaving. Those two days, I've had a lightness in my step and a glee in my heart. Several customers have commented on my excellent customer service, and one even bought me a coffee. I am very glad to be leaving.

Funnily enough, both of my problem supervisors reacted with shock when I told them I was quitting, and almost immediately asked, "But why?". I kept diplomatically silent or evasive. I'm escaping from my troubles there, no need to make a scene and make enemies. It's not as though it's a secret that I've had troubles with them, but my experiences have told me that they don't accept or listen to direct criticism, so it doesn't seem there's any point in confronting them. It would be a waste of my time and energy.

Instead, I've been fantasizing and dreaming in my head about business ideas I would love to bring to fruition, and how. I don't actually think about college itself that much yet; I'm sure I will as September gets closer. I hope I will keep dreaming and fantasizing and fleshing out my plans, though, up until college and all the way through it. My studies should teach me enough practical skills to get those dreams started. I will likely begin some of the early steps while I am schooling. I look forward to it, and again and again I repeat to myself how much more skilled and more competent I've become. I don't have to put up with disrespect or answer to bosses who won't answer to me. I could find a better place to work, but I think I'd rather make one. I am already reading books that should help me.

The plot is afoot.

A Shot of Proactivity

Hi, dear blahgh.

I did a lot yesterday. I've been doing a lot. I had my troublesome top tooth out, it was a premolar. I've been getting some nasty ache while it heals which sometimes reaches all the way up to just under my eye, probably due to the fact that the cavity in the root opened up an infection right against, or possibly in, some of the lowest part of my sinuses.

I got a referral and went for a psych evaluation. The psychiatrist said that my triggered mental images of being stabbed or otherwise hurt with almost any particularly scary object I see was OCD. It's what he said; not might be, was. I personally am not sure how much confidence to have in his apparent confidence, but I've just started taking the mind medicine he prescribed me. And holy hell is it ever bitter. For now I'm going to presume that means it would be dangerous to take too much of it, so they did their best to make sure no-one would want to. I'm being started on a quarter tablet, then half. I should be taking whole tablets daily within two weeks.

My roommate's Australian girlfriend is visiting and she is awesome. She cleans. She cleaned his room, she cleaned the kitchen. I helped her clean a box full of dishes from the place he and Robbit used to share. Then, because Robby was feeling tired and lazy and I would have been bored walking by myself, she went with me to the drugstore to pick up my prescription for mind meds, and we stopped in to get gardening supplies, which I've been meaning to pick up, and groceries.

Gardening is something I've been really wanting to try for a while, and I'm very excited about it! I planted seven trays of ten spots in those little pre-planting seedling trays made of decomposing cardboard, so you just tear them apart and replant them outside without having to take them out of their potlets. All cucumbers and lettuce, since those were the seed packets I had that suggested pre-planting in the instructions on the back. I'll be trying to follow the instructions as much as possible, because I'm very new to this and I know I don't really know what I'm doing, despite having helped my mom and dad in the garden sometimes while growing up. I'm sure what limited knowledge I do have will be useful, though. I really look forward to having home-grown vegetables during the summer. I hope I can keep a garden somewhat maintained. I imagine having the reason to be outside should be good for me, too.

So anyway, yesterday was awesome in many ways, I got a lot done - I even tidied up my room and went through my shirts to get rid of some by donating them to the Goodwill store I work at. I really do have more than enough clothes, so I got rid of anything that I probably wouldn't wear, either because it's not as comfortable as other options I have, or because it's too high-cut and shows my belly-button if I lift my arms - not that I have anything against that kind of shirt, but I can't wear them at work, and I rarely dress up to go other places, and I have no problem wearing longer shirts when I go out to other places anyway. I didn't toss all my high-cut shirts, but I did pass on a few. A lot of my clothes probably won't be good enough to go out on the sales floor, but I know that the "salvage" they get there (what isn't up to quality standards) goes to do some good too, so I'm sure they'll be able to do more with it than I was.

I was so energized last night due to my good mood that I stayed up late just because I wasn't tired. And then, unfortunately, I was woken up very early by my roommate packing his lunches into tupperwares. It sounded exactly like a kitten chasing the lid to a tupperware container around the kitchen floor, with a lot of scraping and sliding sounds. I'm going to ask him to try to do that in the evening, now that he's working morning shifts and is home earlier than 11:30 at night, so that I don't get woken up that way again.

Roommate's girlfriend is staying with us during weekdays for two weeks. I hope that I can continue to use her energy to spark my own. Maybe I can help my boyfriend out by stealing his bedding and insisting on washing it. He won't do it himself, but I really think that the mess he voluntarily lives in can't be good for him. Maybe I should be more like her, and clean his room like she cleaned our roommate's. I hadn't thought about it this way, but I may be neglecting Robby by allowing him to neglect himself when we both know he's in a rut.

For now, excitement abounds! Thanks for reading, and may you be inspired to make progress in your own lives as I am being inspired to do in mine.

An Empathetic Wish

That I could care for all mankind
as though they were my darkened sons
that lit the day and cast such light
to guide my sight through lonely storms

That I could dream as children may
of peace on earth and guileless trade
through age until my dying day
though naivety is born to fade

That I could live a life unfeard
the scorching brace of hate avoid
and suffer not the shyness
painful memories employ

That I could in my kin inspire
a love that from no heart would turn
Yet failing me, I close my eye
and live in shadows crisp and stern

inspired by the style and themes of Emily Dickenson;
with perspective and wisdom kindly shared with me by The RSA and CrashCourse