Dear Diary: Time To Make A Plan

I came in to the campus just to write a Financial Accounting test today. And I sat it, and finished it, taking about 98 minutes out of what would have been an available 120 I think, although that may have been stretched out from 90.

I walked away from the testing hall with a bit of niggling frustration over trying to remember whether it was IAS 37, 38 or 39 which dealt with events after the reporting period. I've never been good at remembering arbitrary numbers and codes like that. I let it fade gently from my mind, and my thoughts settle on something else.

I need to stop not having a plan.

This morning I told my dear Stars that over the past few days, I've come to the conclusion that it's important I come around to admitting that coming to Ireland was a mistake. "And so I've said it," I told them. And so I have. It was a mistake to come here. It may have been a mistake I needed to make, in the situation I was in, needed to make and then learn from. But it was a mistake. Which is the English human shorthand way to say, I suppose...

I need to stop trying to justify this and figure out how to recover. Write it off, sell it for what scrap I can get for it.

What now?

It's strange how much difference that makes to my perspective, when none of my options have really changed.

Well... If I'm not assuming I have to stay, I need to have a plan to go. Plane tickets, dates, an address of someone who'll let me stay with them for a while when I arrive back in Canada, either for rent or otherwise. All of it flexible, ideally, so that if I do manage to get a paid internship here with a company that'll put me through my next year and offer me a place with them, I can pivot to that.
Huh. Using the word pivot that way on a personal blog makes me sound like a corporate dickhead. Well, not pivot, then. Switch to it. Adjust to land there.

So. Refundable plane tickets. Those exist, I'm pretty sure. How much time do I want to give myself? Couple months? If I don't have an internship set up by mid-June, I don't think I'm likely to get one, so let's say late June maybe. April, exams are in May, June. Alright. I can work with that.

Today while I was walking to the campus, I listened to some episodes of the ACCA student podcast, including one episode on Clever Job Hunting which I listened to more carefully than the others. One of the things it says is about networking - that it's important to build relationships up before bringing up jobs at all.

Well, there's the kick, isn't it? Don't look desperate, ever, especially when you feel desperate. Don't ask people for awkward things. Smile. Shake hands. Talk small. Make friends.

I've never been good at that. I hate feeling like I'm confined to safe, inoffensive subjects. And I'm quick to get annoyed with people's bad habits. I have to admit, though, I get it. Swooping in and expecting the attention of people who don't know what makes me great looks pretentious, entitled. Because it is. I fly around the world, leaving places and people behind me, looking for a break... And then who's there to help me or vouch for me?

Anyway. Book a ticket to leave in June, then. Get through the rest of my classes and exams. Shift emphasis away from menial work for the summer - it seems even mushroom harvesting positions are looking for people who intend to stay longer than a year. Keep throwing out applications as I can bear to for internships, try to learn about companies that might be a gateway for me, here or in Canada. Maybe look into the US a bit, but since I've no claim there and no degree so far, don't expend too much effort on it.

Wrap up the story of the tabletop campaign. Does everything just go to hell because the death of Isabet Carol was only the first sign of things going very, very wrong, and the PCs didn't actually investigate enough to stop it? Sounds plausible, and may offer them enough closure to satisfy. It would be nice to have a tabletop story actually end in a way that feels like an ending for once.

Continue the conversation with Fanshawe and maybe other colleges in Canada, look at continued study... Maybe. I'm tired of going to school, though. Look for work in Canada, yes. If it's something that can get me starting to do work that aligns with my strengths and studies, great. If something that aligns with EA, even better.

Alright. Go and set it up, then, Serp.

Why do Monsters Make Me Happy?

Hello, world.

My slump seems to continue. I missed several classes again last week. I overcame some reluctance-towards-everything in order to attend a session I had booked almost a month ago with my counsellor on Friday. I spent just about the whole time venting and ranting and voicing my assessment of the great streak I had been on for a while, and the restfulness, and then restlessness, of my disengagement since February 19th.

The next day, I went back to the gym. I had a headache, that ebbed and returned while I was working out, and part way through my strength exercises, my willingness to exert myself gave out. My muscles seemed to be doing alright. It wasn't pain or pushing near the usual shaky intolerance that made me stop one of my sets at eleven, and the next, when I elected to try it again, at ten. It was something closer to boredom, or apathy, or reclusiveness.

I saw the coach who had originally set me up with my work out as I was heading up the stairs, and he asked cheerfully how I was, but I had nothing cheerful to say back, so I only waved. It was nice to see him again, since he was a positive acquaintance and very energetic and understanding from the beginning, but it was uncomfortable to be seen.

I noticed the other day that I had completely forgotten to pay rent to my landlord in February. In a fit of profound embarrassment, I immediately sent him an e-transfer for two months' rent to cover February and March, and filled the comment box and another email beside it with my apologies. He was gracious, and made nothing of it except to thank me for the messages. This landlord has been uncommonly good to us. I count that a dear blessing.

The kitchen continues to be wretched. The stove covered in grease and burned debris, the floor just dirty enough to be slightly sticky sometimes, and slightly slidey with a layer of dirt which is not secure on the floor at others. It is an unhappy, weighing thing to see.

Friday night my roommates had friends over. I have been trying to sleep at night again, and have been having some limited success, sleeping in late evening and remaining awake five hours before waking up on my own. However, I cannot measure my progress very well when I am not left to myself to wake up. I woke Friday night to the sounds of people, coming and going and loudly talking. I did not have the energy, or perhaps simply did not have the will, to move. I only lay in the darkness, awake and tired or perhaps sometimes vaguely approaching sleep again for a while before the voices roused me. Someone laughs. Someone swears, and my tension ticks up another little notch. I do not know how long I laid there before I found whatever I had been lacking and moved.

I should note, it was not paralysis this time. Sleep paralysis feels very different. I was stuck between rest and motion, not between my nerves and the waking world. It was very tiresome, but was not claustrophobic in the same way.

Eventually I stirred, rolled over, groaned, and turned on my laptop to check the time. About 1:30 AM. My thoughts grew darker, but were still tired and predominantly wordless. I wrapped my housecoat around me and staggered out to boil some water and fetch a snack, casting dark, empty looks toward the corner where those two roommates and their guests sat or stood or lay variously on and around the couch, talking loudly and not seeming to do much of anything else. I did not talk to them. I did not have the grace or the desire. In the short term, I was already woken, and in the long term, I no longer felt any inclination to believe my words would make any difference at all to their behaviour. Perhaps they do not understand the affect this has on me, but I have tried to make it clear to them before.

The loud speaking continued until 3:30 or 4 or so. The next morning, the area was scattered with pieces of chips, an empty chip bag, a large empty vodka bottle. The common area thus decorated was slightly worse than usual. Since then, the bottle and bag have been tidied away, but the pieces of chips have not. A few days ago, I left out a note on the counter that only said, "The STICKINESS on the floor is GROSS. Please CLEAN it." It has shifted around and been pushed toward the section of cabinets I reserve for myself, and the marker has been smudged with wetness and the paper spotted with grease, but so far as I can tell nothing has been done.

This afternoon I confronted one of my roommates in the kitchen, toneless, dark, not feeling enough of myself to give of myself. I greeted her and said, "Does it not bother you to see the kitchen like this?" She said quickly that it does, and that she would clean it tonight when others were not in the house. I heard it listlessly, almost feeling this gambit were unfair. I told her that if she did not, I probably would, and that I had a friend I wished to have over tomorrow.

I do not particularly believe her, but I will look to see whether anything is done. She also told me, the other day, when I sent out a text to the household and the landlord complaining that the thermostat had been turned to 78 degrees, that the landlord had set it so after she had complained of the cold, and it automatically reset to 78 if they changed it. I heard from the landlord in response to the same message that he would put a lock box on the thermostat.

I went out and bought some groceries, mostly frozen things to heat in the oven. The freezer I share with another roommate is mostly full. I send her a text message offering to make room if she needs it, and saying she shouldn't worry about it if she needs to rearrange the freezer or anything. I have generally gotten on well with this particular roommate, although she is rarely here. The kitchen bothers her more than it does me, and she has a boyfriend she can spend time with away from here, so I suppose why wouldn't she?

While at the grocery shop, I bought Monster energy drinks again, and had one as soon as I got home. I had been feeling deadened, disinterested, wondering whether my slump had degraded into depression. Shortly after the drink, though, as generally and bizarrely seems to happen, I felt... better. Cheerful, in a way I have not been. Why does this happen? What is it about the energy drinks that sloughs away the misery in a way nothing else does? I find it... concerning. I have a sense that I ought to be able to feel this alert all the time, without having to rely on a drink to trigger it. Why is it that they make me happy, even if I still feel tired and sleepy? Do I really feel my fatigue more as emotions than fatigue? I do know that nothing saps my energy like getting upset, but I didn't expect it to work so thoroughly the other way around. I know tiredness manifests as a form of sadness, but I do not expect energy to manifest more as happiness than as perceptible energy.

Music From the NES Era

An interesting person responded to a personals ad I'd left on craigslist with an email including this:

Question. Favourite NES-era video game soundtrack?

And that... Led me down such a personally fascinating trail of consciousness that I want to share it here. So I quote here my answer, just as I wrote it to him:

I like the specificity of your question. When you ask specifically NES era... Oddly enough, my reflex answer is: Actraiser! Never actually played it, but watched someone play it, and the music was really good. ^^ However, as I suspected, and a Google search confirms, that was one gen later, on the SNES. Well, in that case, Mr. Mario is certainly good, but I have to give it up to the classic, the legendary, the original... Legend of Zelda. In my highschool music class, I played one variant of the iconic overworld theme on my trumpet for one of my tests. I think I earned some serious geek cred for that with some of my classmates. 

Of course I have, since you said NES era, been thinking exclusively about the NES as opposed to other games released in roughly the same era but on different platforms; there were a lot of DOS and Sega games with good soundtracks too, like the first three Sonic games, Wolfenstien, Commander Keen, just to name a few... 

And then, a memory so obvious, so huge, so personally important but so removed from general public consciousness that I didn't think of it at first, hits me in the side of the head. 

No. I do have a favorite soundtrack from that era. It was a DOS simulation game, released in 1994-95, simply called "Wolf". 

Playing that game encouraged and developed a lot of early formative attitudes in me about environmentalism and respect for animals - as they are more complex, more intelligent and wiser than most of us humans give them credit for, or did back in the 90s anyway. 

And it was under the influence of that game that I had an early sense that I was what I would later understand to be part of the human subculture called furries, more specifically the therian or otherkin sides thereof. 

It was under the influence of that game that I experienced what was possibly a visual hallucination one night in my childhood when I knew with utmost certainty that I had not been asleep... that was one of the reasons I pursued a belief in magic and mysticism with vigor and desperation into my preteen years, hoping that I might somehow see again what I had seen once... until doubt and self-loathing finally managed to half convince me that I had been wrong, and that my faith was not merely misguided, but childish. Only ever half convinced, though, I continued to attempt to test and practice magic as I understood it, and I have some pretty amazing stories about it. 

My insistence from the age of around five before I knew any better than to make such assertions that I had the soul of a wolf earned me the nickname of "wolfie" and contributed to earning me a place as the most bullied child in my tiny home village of 700 right up until I turned 18 and left. 

The music was very soulful, and took obvious inspiration from native american musical themes. I think I have the soundtrack saved somewhere, I can show it to you if you like. 

Wow. For such an innocent question, I sure managed to follow it into a deep, dark place.

What's The Point, Then?

I went to see my doctor this morning. It was not exactly an effortless task to do so. I woke early, stumbled through my familiar stupor of exhaustion; for once a little more reasonable - I actually did not get a full night of sleep last night. I spent quite some time stomping around trying to find the four or five books I haven't read yet by my favorite author that a friend gave me at Christmas, and failed, so reluctantly chose something else. I pulled on my clothes, drank some juice and went out to wait for the bus.

I let the first one pass me by, purely because I didn't even realize that route went where I wanted to go and would have taken me there faster. But nevertheless, I caught the bus I expected to catch, arrived on time, signed in, was weighed, and the doctor saw me with little delay.

I told her about my troubles, my worryingly overemphasized exhaustion, here for the third time in as many months for a prolonged and inexplicable stay, and answered her questions. No, my mood doesn't seem to be particularly out of the ordinary, though it does suffer from the fatigue, as I have less patience when I am tired. My sleep has been more or less as it always is so far as I can tell, except that it doesn't satisfy me, and I need more than a regular full night of it not to feel exhausted when I wake. No, I haven't noticed any other symptoms of sickness, save that my muscles feel weaker and seem to heal slower, but that seems to be just a symptom of being overtired. My digestion is bad, but it always is. My back is sore, and seems to bother me with flashes of pain more often when I straighten up from crouching or bending, but that isn't new, just getting worse.

My iron levels, red blood cell count, and various other suspect factors were tested not even a month ago, and all came up normal. My fatigue does vaguely coincide with my menstrual cycle, but I have never suffered nor heard of PMS that made sleep stop working properly.

Her expression when I continued to ask if she could offer me any explanation that the evidence before us did not contradict bore a mix between concern and offense. She explained patronizingly that there was some concern about "over-investigation" and that she could not be expected just to prescribe some medication and send me on my way for every hardship. I did not appreciate the implication that I was just fishing for drugs or a miracle patch.

All the obvious answers having been exhausted, and physiotherapy being expensive for someone without employment medical coverage, she told me simply to keep doing the exercise I am putting a good deal of effort into doing already, but to do it more often, and dismissed me.

And here I thought that what doctors were good for aside from being the only people allowed to prescribe medication where it is needed, was knowing or having access to databases that would allow them to find out explanations for maladies beyond what is at this point common fucking sense.

Now my temper is smouldering like a coal, making the inside of my head uncomfortably hot and stuffy. My temper is worse when I am tired.

Hey.

I thought since I've been thinking about trying to blow the cover way off of my unintended internet secrecy, maybe I should write a greeting to anyone who clicks in search of more information.

I grew up in poverty in rural Ontario to a narcissistic mother and a father who was, and remains, a resourceful practitioner of simple sciences (heating, plumbing, welding, building makeshift insulated chicken shelters for winter out of old freezers and other junk, you name it) and a natural hermit. They've been split up and lived in two different places since I was, I think, two years old.

For most of my childhood, I split my time between their two households: one an old house on a hill on the outskirts of a village of 700 people, at least according to the sign; and the other a farm of sorts in a swampy wood - or a wooded swamp, whichever you prefer to think of it as, 10 km outside of that town.

I was bullied horribly through elementary school and high school, and grew up longing to travel and tell stories, to inspire and to educate. As soon as I graduated high school, I left home on an airplane and went overseas in search of love.

Since then I've traveled around quite a lot. I've hitch-hiked, and I've also taken a week long bus trip that stretched a great big diagonal line across Canada including a two day layover in Winnipeg, where I spent the night on the roof of a multi-level car park with a drunken hobo sleeping on my clothes.

For the last few years, I've settled a little bit in London. I guess I'm trying to find some sanity and repair the broken parts of myself so that the next time I head out, I won't be running away so much as charging out into the fray. This time, I hope I'll be leaving behind a safe, happy home base that I'll feel comfortable coming back to.

I know what it means not to have an established place to go, and I can tell you that having no place is better than being trapped in a terrible place. I know how it is to scavenge and scrounge, to keep a supply of water bottled from public fountains and bathroom sinks, get food only where I can get it for free, and I can tell you that you might be surprised the good food and respect you can get for nothing more than a little humility and the willingness to ask for help.

I have never begged strangers for anything, except directions, change to use a payphone and a token to ride a bus or a train.

I have sat with an instrument on a sidewalk and played for tips, though.

As my day job, I work in a thrift store operated by Goodwill.

I'm not entirely sure what I'm doing with my life yet. Hopefully, whatever it ends up being, it will involve a lot of poetry.

The Art of Frugality

Of Poverty I was Made, and I Know the Art of Frugality.

Excerpts from a conversation on July 10th

My secret on saving? Well, primarily, I suppose, it's a combination of two things. Firstly, keeping expenses low, and secondly, putting my savings away in a distinct account and treating it as different from the rest of my budget - once I put money into my tax free savings account, I do not take it out again unless I really need to in order to cover necessities like groceries, rent and laundry. I try to put $100 into my savings account every paycheque, if I can, which is twice a month. To be fair, a large chunk of my savings also came from my tax refund this year. Goodwill employees get a free tax preparation with H&R Block, and my refund was modestly impressive, perhaps in part because I was only employed for half the year, and that only part time at minimum wage. I suppose I can claim it is to my credit that I was responsible enough to save the extra money instead of finding some personal fancy to spend it on.

I could also share some of the things I do to keep expenses low: I entertain myself with low- to no-cost hobbies like watching YouTube, playing inexpensive video games and collecting images from various sources, then making them into tokens compatible with the Maptool program (I'm sure to most other people, it would be boring busywork, but I enjoy it). I buy cheaper brands and types of food supplies and do some cooking with simple ingredients. I keep a casual eye out for decent sales on practical necessities like toilet paper, soap, shampoo, etc, and buy non-perishables when they are very cheap even if I don't need them yet. It helps that I work at a thrift store, where I can find a lot of useful things at low prices, like clothing, utensils, dishes... even furniture and a vacuum cleaner.

I also, incidentally, have a habit of collecting potentially useful things when I can buy them for a dollar or two at the Goodwill where I work, including: shoelaces, pencils, soap, spare earbud headphones, an extra USB mouse, greeting cards and notebooks (I have long since reached the point of confessing to myself that I collect stationery not so much out of a genuine belief I will use it all but as a little hobby because I like to), gift wrap, and generic presents or gifts suitable for friends of mine.

Heck, I'm a scavenger by nature. That helps too.

I rarely buy clothing or shoes, because I recognize that I have enough of both, and I have a habit of preferring to wear my clothing and shoes until they are ruined, in order to feel I have gotten full use out of them. An exception is socks, which I buy occasionally from the thrift store and have a large collection of stored away for the future, many of which I have never worn. There is a reason for this. With socks as well, I like to wear them out, and so there are a large number of pairs of socks I am doggedly trying to wear until they get holes in so that I can get them out of circulation. There is another reason. From time to time, especially before I started taking my mood-balancing medication, I used to wear a brand new pair of socks as a way to treat myself if I was having a hard day and wanted to go easier on myself than normal, or just felt in need of a little bit of luxury. I still occasionally do this, which puts a new pair into circulation. I only ever choose to wear a pair of socks I have never worn before with careful consideration. There's just something special about it.

I think one of the vital things I do is leave myself a buffer in my budget for little treats and shortcuts. New socks are wonderful, but sometimes one needs more to cheer one up, like eating out at Subway for a meal, or picking up a coffee at Tim Hortons during my lunch break at work. I strongly suspect that some people fail by telling themselves they won't spend money on these kinds of extras, and using it all up, then finding that the temptation is too great and spending money they don't have anymore on extras anyway. Then they feel guilty. Why feel guilty? I give myself permission to get treats from time to time, and I budget accordingly, saving a fair amount of my day to day budget for little pick-me-ups and also unexpected needs - like having to replace something that breaks, or buy cough medicine and throat lozenges, for instance. And if I turn out not to need it all, great! That just means I have more money for next month, and maybe I can afford to get something really neat! Or make a donation to somebody or something I want to support.

Sinking, Stewing, Waiting, Procrastinating

Hi, blog.

I, uh... I'm feeling pretty down on myself right now.

I've decided to start looking for a place I could move into on my own and afford by myself for a while but that Robby could also join me in after a few months. But I haven't started looking yet. When I'm not at work, I'm lying in bed, watching YouTube videos and doing largely useless things. My floor needs vacuuming, but I haven't done it yet. My clothes need washing, but I haven't done it.

I've started talking to people about the route toward more interesting duties and positions within Goodwill. Maybe my ambitions are making me scared again, and the fear is making me shut down and stop everything. I certainly am afraid. Of the risk, I suppose. I would like to move up, learn new things, make more money... But I'm afraid, so I haven't done it yet. What I have done is kept working, and otherwise remained mostly passive. I'm probably burning myself out.

My body... feels... weaker, these days. I become sore more easily. I am less eager to walk places. My left wrist often hurts at work. I feel fat and I feel as though I waddle slightly when I walk. It's probably due to poor diet, I suppose. I think I am fairly active at work, where I am always on my feet and usually walking about.

Three times I've phoned the psychologist who originally prescribed me my psych pills, seeking a follow-up appointment. I have received no calls back. I am beginning to think I may have to depend instead on getting a "family doctor", who may be able to make appropriate judgments on my drugs that the clinic doctor is not allowed to.

I've saved up a fair bit of money over the past several months, perhaps one advantage of my passivity, though I'm sure I could save money as well or even better and be more active by choosing activities that aren't costly.

I feel... weak... and uninspired...

I'm in another little rut, I guess.

I will wait for a way out.

Eventually I will pick up a search for a place I can afford to live by myself, with a kitchen I don't have to share, where I can be naked in my living room if I wish, a cheap place I can make my own. Maybe even still conveniently close to work, although I am starting to think a longer walk to and from work could do me good.

Hold out hope for me, readers.

Return to Mud

I've been depressed and tired.

I'm on a new medication for anxiety and obsessive compulsive disorder that a psychologist I saw at Victoria Hospital prescribed me, but I am not convinced it's doing anything. It may even be contributing to the problem for all I know. Or possibly that's more to do with the adjustment to my thyroid supplements that came at about the same time.

My moods seem, if anything, even more swingy recently. My room is becoming a mess again after I cleaned it. The plants I was watering have begun to wilt and fall over, the roots coming to the surface rather than good strong stem all the way down. I think I even saw some whitish mold starting to grow in the pots. Robby suggested moving them to my room where they should get more direct sunlight from my window than they do from the living room one, because that usually has a sheet over it. It's a good idea. I'm just waiting for a time when I have enough energy to feel like I can and want to do anything beyond work, which is continuing to wear me down. And of course I am still plagued by anxiety about whether I am performing well enough to be valuable, rather than just another replaceable part.

Our roommate's girlfriend didn't really keep interacting with me during her second week here, and didn't even clean up much beyond the first whirl of activity, so things are back to their old habitual ways of constantly falling into mess. Not that I can say I'm doing a lot about it.

The worst parts for me are that late into the night I can hear my boyfriend talking online, through my bedroom wall, and the ceiling creaks and thuds above me both late at night and early enough in the morning that it's hard to get a good night's sleep and I can rarely get back to sleep for a little extra rest if I wake up early or just tired.

That and an increasing feeling of hostility between me and our other roommate, over whom I have no influence, and who tends to mess up the kitchen and not clean it.

That and the internet is constantly choked and hideously slow. Sometimes service will pick up for a while only to lag to crap again in the middle of something, or disappear so completely that pages or videos won't even load. Our upload speed is abysmal, so we can't properly share things with our friends online. There is hopefully something that could be done about this if we harassed our ISP about it enough, but Robby is understandably reluctant to do so. He's bogged down, too.

Throughout all this, some really good, neat things have gone on. I've just recently finished a really good book, I started a new Let's Play of an old game I used to love, and even sketched a few nice pictures a while back. Robby has been supportive, loving and sexy. We kiss a lot more than we used to. But somehow I can't seem to hold on to the good energy of any of those things. I keep dreaming about bedbugs, and feeling trapped in a room surrounded by hostility and mess and invaded by noise...

I want to be living somewhere else, with just Robby and me, a slightly smaller, cozier, quieter place, with more counter space in the kitchen. A place we control together, co-operatively. A place that is ours.

Becoming Spring

Hello, World.

It's nice to see you without your snow on, for a change.

Last week, for the first time in several months, I chose to go for a very long walk just because I felt like it and the weather was nice enough to be worth walking outside in. My legs got a little sore, but it felt wonderful to have done. The slow and late coming of spring has been noted by many, and every day I'm at work I hear people talking about how tired they are of winter.

I look forward with quiet anticipation to days when I can sell my boyfriend on a walk down a nearby forest path, or a picnic in the graveyard. I intend to try a little gardening, too, once the ground is done being frozen. I will finally be able to get some use out of those seeds I bought at the dollar store last year.

Yesterday, I bought a long, low set of shelves (three planes) from work for $8, and carried it home by hand. Finally, my books are arranged on shelves rather than in boxes, and I have been greatly appreciating the change in atmosphere. It also takes up less space and is much more accessible. I expect I may end up reading a fair bit more with my books now always flaunting their titles at me when I glance up from my laptop. I also look forward to reading aloud to my online friends again during our Skype calls, something they claim to have much enjoyed. They tell me I have a very nice reading voice and encourage me to consider making more use of it, perhaps even doing some reading or voice-acting professionally if that can be done with my limited technology. I hope I remember to try.

I did a fair bit of cooking today, making two meals for my Robbit and myself: pancakes, and a baked chicken dinner with boiled carrots and mashed potatoes. It's probably the nicest home-cooked dinner we've had in several weeks, if not ever. I even got around to cleaning the most accessible parts of the counter.

I woke up early and well-rested today, and I remember feeling afraid that I would fail to make use of the day. I didn't want to face the responsibility for choosing how to spend my own time. But I guess I didn't do too bad, looking back, huh. I'm probably still insane, but I'm a kind of insane that can be pretty functional sometimes, maybe. Don't know how I feel about that. It's an annoying obligation, the responsibility that comes with ability. Oh, well.

I've been supporting my Robbit through some tough financial times due to a problem getting finances for rent from Ontario Works for the month of March, which is late now. He's getting behind on some things, which I'm sure has been a stress for him, on top of the difficulties of convincing himself to job search and such.

Oh! Also, I want to mention this, so that I can remind myself when I come back and re-read it. During that long walk I mentioned, I had a rather inspired idea. I'm going to keep the details to myself for now, but it involves writing. I really hope I get it finished so I can share it. It would be so lovely if it happens.

Frustrating Day

I spent the last several days with my love, recovering from a deep abyss of sleep deprivation and fatigue that I'd fallen into over the previous week or two. I started staying up all night over my Christmas holiday, and couldn't seem to break the habit. I've had troubles like this all my life, and unfortunately, the more important it is to get to sleep at a reasonable time, the less it happens, because the importance only creates urgency and anxiety, which does not induce restful slumber, but only adds to insomnia.

I started prioritizing sleep, and thought I'd managed to get it back into pattern. But now I'm back home... and although I've been in a muzzy, confused haze of blah all evening, now that night's come and I should be sleeping, I'm wide awake and my chest feels coiled tight like a spring, and alert as a hunted mouse. Through the haze, I suspected there might be something I'm avoiding facing, because I felt an urgency to keep myself occupied; moreso than usual, though I have rarely found it easy to really relax. Now, after a shower in which I briefly wandered off into relaxed fantasy, but only became tense again at the thought that tonight, it's actually important I get to sleep, because I work in the morning... I think I may understand why my body is registering this sense of panic or grief.

A couple of days ago, my boyfriend called me after work, while he was getting to the bus to get home, and told me that he was being retired along with all the other seasonal staff at EB Games. The higher ups were determined not to keep on any of the seasonal staff. On the upside, he had made a fantastic impression and was now at the top of the list of people that his branch would call on if they needed someone... But that still means that after his last couple of scheduled days, the last one being tomorrow, he's out of work until he finds another position - with EB Games or otherwise. Now, at this point, I think he's proven sufficiently that he can find work, and I don't need to worry to much about his ability to support himself in job searching and in the mean time... But it does mean that according to our plans, I won't be moving in with him for another five months at least, probably half a year, and I have been looking forward to it with aching intensity. It has been extremely annoying having to wait. The place I'm in is certainly not all that bad, but it doesn't have my boyfriend in it, and the place he's in is rather awful. We will be able to save a lot of money living together, too. Everything is inefficient now. Spending time together takes too much arranging. Ensuring that Robby is well fed, heck, even cooking for myself, is complicated by not having my own kitchen (I share mine with my landlord). The next few months may be tighter for finance, with my after-Christmas hours scheduled to be reduced, and Robby's earning opportunities completely unknown as yet.

Aside from all that, in parallel, I think I am deciding to be done with the Pup again... And having once taken him back after such a final decision, I think and hope that I will not be so foolish again.

All things considered, I suppose I do have fair reason to be stressed. That helps. Feeling that my pain is significant even from an outside perspective helps me to forgive myself for getting caught up in it, and forgiveness is the key to freedom...

I do not know what to say now.

Goodnight... Though I do not know when I will sleep, or how many more nights I will be restless.

Relief

Good news! I won't be homeless next month!

I called my landlord last night, who said he doesn't mind if I stay so long as he gets his rent as appropriate (it's $100 more per occupant not on the lease). I made the offer to my roommate to pay the same amount I had been paying while staying here and taking on half of the rent, $450, even though there is now another person to carry the rent, and he accepted that. "But just one more month".

At the same time, my roommate's girlfriend's mom is a realtor, and she has offered to help me look for places. She also started mothering and reassuring me immediately that my roommate would make sure I had a place to go before insisting I leave, that I would be able to find a place in the time I have, she knows I can do it. Things like that. It kind of makes me blush to get such maternal care. With such a source of help, "just one more month" should be fine.

So I told my friends about it, played some games and stayed up late last night. Part of my night also consisted of reading this page, which a friend of mine linked me to, and gaining some further insight into my relationship with my blood mother. Many of the points are very much applicable to her, to greater or lesser degrees. Not all. I suffered little physical abuse, for instance, and if my mom ever got pleasure from my pain directly, as opposed to from a sense of self-importance to which my abuse was merely a means, rather than an end in itself, then I didn't notice. I think I would have done.

I went to bed at about 4 AM, and woke up at half past noon, feeling happy and hopeful again. I have no regrets. Relief has come!

Anyway, I have some landlords to call. Good morning, bloggers!

Quiet

In the last few hours of my work day, I found good feelings again. The fog seemed to lift just after Leah asked me to sweep the carpets at the end of the day. Though she ended up arranging to borrow a vacuum cleaner from her sister that worked better than any of the ones we'd had in the store before. They keep getting lost or sold or broken or something.

I told Helen about my worries about not having a place to live. She seemed kind of shocked, and insisted that we'd find something and I wouldn't have to go back to the Center of Hope, but I think she was saying it because she didn't want to believe in the reality of that happening to someone she knew.

I walked home feeling feeble and regressed. In my mind, I am lucid - I can think fine, and can describe how it is I'm feeling... in text, anyway, speaking comes difficult... But I feel like a lost toddler, trying to be brave, but confused and scared. My sense of self seems to float, disconnected from things. I have an impulse to reach out to people, but also an impulse to hide and retreat from them, especially if they might not have time for me. I am keenly self-conscious, and afraid of doing something wrong.

For the moment, I feel okay, but very delicate; I am held together, but not very strongly, and I feel I could fall apart very easily; I am balanced for now, but I could very easily fall.

I wonder how long this will last, and what will happen next.

And I prepare myself to move back into the Center of Hope. I have so nearly accepted it as inevitable that I am almost determined for it to be the next part of my story.

Indomitable

My feet are still recovering from the intense soreness of wearing unaccustomed shoes for six hours, most of it spent walking at work and walking home from work. My boyfriend was laid off yesterday and I have no idea whether our rental application for the house we want to live in together will be approved in light of this. I'm not sure whether my own job with Goodwill will end with my end of probation assessment like Robby's did, or continue. And yet. I'm smiling today.

I was smiling even before I got online and discovered that the solo play-by-post D&D game I've been participating in for two years on and off has reached a head in the most awesome of ways. I was smiling while I was walking home noticing that the seam in the left side of my left shoe was starting to hurt my flesh and thinking to myself I wouldn't be terribly surprised if I took it off to see blood there.

Somehow, this time of trials is only waking me up and making me feel strong and ready for the adventure. I have faced worse than this, and I will face this too. I will be there for Robby and help him find work again. I will support us in the interim, whether we have to look for a different place from the one we were hoping for or not. Even if I lose my own job... I'll find another one. The stakes are high. The race is staggering. The stage is set...

And I am afraid...

And I will be victorious.

Beautiful Fog

It seems I'm quite conscious of my own desire not to let a full calendar month go by without coming back to post here. I kind of like that. Perseverance? Good habits? One way or another, it seems like a positive thing. I work tomorrow, and it is becoming very late. I will get less than six hours of sleep. But I'm okay with that. I'm not worried, even though my scheduled shift is longer than most. It took a while, but I've become quite comfortable with my work, and far less worried that I'm somehow not doing it well enough. My co-workers, by and large, seem to like me and consider me a good worker.

Tonight I went out walking, just to be walking, as I haven't for a while. Along the path just South of the river, a path that is fairly familiar to me, I wandered through banks of deep fog under a full moon, and felt as though I were wandering through myth, a marsh world of old Irish fairy tales. For a moment, a fallen leaf across my path looked like a giant slug. A skunk skittered across my path, and stopped, startled by the presence of this big creature, to look at me, and I think I heard it hiss, though perhaps it was the sound of it stomping against the pavement, before continuing on.

The fog was beautiful... And oddly, I felt no particular need for it to feel unnatural or magical. The whole matter was evocative but felt very down to earth. Happy, peaceful... My life has become like this. Though I am restless, and worry from time to time about when and whether I will end up doing more with my artistic and idealistic ambitions, I am content with my life right now. I work easy hours for low pay, doing something I enjoy with people I have developed a fond working familiarity with, for the most part. I can afford to live simply with a few luxuries, and my life has been such that I can very much appreciate what I have. Bunny boy and I are planning to move into a classy apartment together come this October, which will be no more expensive than our current separate living arrangements, but I have little doubt it will be much richer. He has said that he has a hard time imagining anything short of sudden, tragic death ending our new, flourishing relationship, despite the fact that it has had its own challenges and bumps. This is only one of many marks of the goodness of this match. Even my relations with Pup are not as stressful, if only because I feel I can accept how stressful they sometimes are, which puts me in a position of confidence and calm from which I am much better equipped to comfort him.

If I feel the urge to write again soon, you know I'll be in touch. Until then... Serenity.

One Man's Trash

I stayed up all night again. This time it isn't Puppy's fault, though he contributed, for the last few hours of it. I wanted to make sure to be up for an event that was happening today right on my block: the Impact Junk Solutions Open House. The company is a garbage removal service, but it seems that when they pick up trash that isn't as trashy as usual and may be of interest to someone, they stash it in their warehouse and occasionally let anyone who is in need of furniture or other household goods come with their cars, trailers, or on foot, and take away anything they would like from the collection of thrown-away items. I've been needing furniture since moving in, so naturally, I went. I was not disappointed with what I found. The staff helped me load some furniture I could not have carried into a shopping cart to trundle home and back.

Not everything made it inside in one piece, sadly. A nice chest of drawers I'd found took too much shock to the joints while I was awkwardly maneuvering the heavy thing down the stairs by myself, and the frame came apart, nails and screws having been jarred loose. One of the nubby plastic legs also broke. The drawers themselves and the rollers, though, are completely sound. I think with a hammer and some new nails, and perhaps a pair of pliers, I can salvage it and return it to stability and usefulness, though it won't be as pretty as it was, due to places in the sides where the nails ripping away tore chunks off the edge of the particle board.

More successful was the transport of a rather tall and skinny little wooden desk, with four drawers in it. It lost a strip of surface false wood texture on one side of the top, and got slightly scuffed, but is still very pretty and perfectly stable and solid, as a desk should be. I brought home a short, shabby office chair and a thick pillow to raise the effective level of the seat, too, and now I actually have a functional chair and desk for my ridiculous excuse for a laptop... and for a better one, once I am able to get one.

One more piece of furniture was amongst my loot, a squat, slightly bulky end table with a single hollow storage space inside, accessed by decoratively carved double doors, made to look like dark red wood and also good and stable.

Other items I brought home (that made it without breaking):
2 candle holders
1 large red candle
1 plastic basket
1 woven basket
1 dollar store travel mug that seems new
2 large stacking paper trays
1 square cookie tin
1 nearly new board game of uncertain entertainment value called "HearMeOut!"
5 garish pink striped bedsheets
2 garish pink patterned pillowcases
1 long peach curtain
2 other bedsheets
1 other pillowcase
1 small pink throw blanket
11 saucers
9 large plates
4 small plates
2 teacups
2 shot glasses
6 bowls of varying sizes
1 segmented snack dish
1 juice pitcher
1 small ice cube tray
1 matching set of salt & pepper shakers
11 drinking glasses, assorted plastic and glass
2 small kitchen storage containers
1 wine glass
1 lid that doesn't seem to go with anything
1 lightbulb that happened to be in a box of kitchenware

All in all, I feel rather accomplished, and am quite happy with this haul of stuff. Most of it clearly worn, all of it free, almost all of it definitely useful to me. I think I will probably use the garish pink striped sheets to make triangular bandages for first aid, and then if there's ever a need, I can tie people up with garish pink striped arm slings.

P.S: Apparently there was so much stuff I inevitably had to forget to list some! I also got a box of assorted coathangers, probably around 30 count, and a bar of Irish Spring soap, still in its box.

Moody Blues

I have been in a bad mood for a while. I have not gotten to training yet... My on the job training has been delayed a week due to a store that apparently decided not to host an awesome promotion, and there therefore being no on the job to train in.

Also, my ex who I've been badgering to come and hang out and help me practice my script, by reading along while I say it without looking and letting me know if I miss anything, has yet again decided he had to bail because his damaged back is giving him problems and he doesn't want to spend much time out and about as a result. This is profoundly frustrating. At this point, the most useful form of practice would really need the participation of someone else.

I've been generally angry for quite a few days, and often can't pin down a particular reason why. Just little things: There aren't enough groceries, I'm impatient to get to on-the-job training and the company doesn't seem to ever follow through with anything, even sending me a phone number they said they'd send me... Maybe I'm PMSing? Puppy's having a meltdown and saying that while he loves me and is satisfied with me, he's pining for a feeling of choice and control over his relationships, the feeling that he has more options than this crazy girl who dropped out of the internet and came on to him or being alone. And given that he's Aspie and has a very hard time knowing how the hell to maneuver social stuff, he feels entirely stuck as to how to accomplish that sense of choice and control over his life.

I find it damn near impossible to take this gracefully in my recent state of mind.

Grr. Rargle. Ruff ruff ruff. I am a raging bloody tempest, sulking over here in a corner. I am a berserker queen who has been denied cake. Life sucks and I want a happy. Why I can no has!?

The Sweet Delays

My training with the new company has been delayed a week, unfortunately. I suppose this gives me more time to practice my script, but I am disappointed and restless. I was ready, and am. I want to start NOW!

I went to see my ex and his girlfriend in hospital after she damaged her leg slipping on the ice. It was nice to see her again. We've only really met once before. In the hospital waiting room, the two of us together softly sung a single chorus of Mordred's Lullaby. We sing beautifully together, and I hope that we will do it more in the future. It was a magnificent moment. She turned to me with bright eyes and a grin and said, "So, you're a Heather Dale fan, are you?" Someone she works with mistook us for sisters.

It should say a great deal, I hope, to forgiveness and peace, that I and the present girlfriend of my ex, who is part of the reason he is my ex, do such things.

I also went out intending to buy notebooks, which I did, and highlighters, which I could not find in the dollar store, and a city transit map, which I did not buy because the line at the transit office was so long. And because I was already starting to have a panic attack.

Now facing the real prospect of a job I can, and will, excell at, even though I have not started yet... I think forward, to costume design, and street theatre, and activism. Once I can afford it, I will participate. I have been thinking brave and beautiful thoughts along those lines of late.

And... I found myself back at torture and thick in the panic of fear, of dread, to the point that I started to feel physically ill, and clung to the most peaceful and comforting and nonaggressive songs I could find on the iPod to bear it out. I stopped at Goodwill on my way home, still in that panic, thinking to talk to the awesome, sweet geeky young lady receptionist who has often cheered me up, though never out of something like this before... and ask if there was a quiet place I could cry and curl up and someone I could talk to. Several times I almost bailed, choked out an "um" to beg her not to call any particular attention to my need or make exception, or to take anyone away from potentially important work to see me.

I ended up talking to her in an empty office for I'm not sure how long... perhaps half an hour, perhaps more, spilling my terrible difficulty: "you know... don't think of a pink elephant? ... Don't think, try really really hard not to think of... pushpins. Or better, paper clips. And the remarkable depths of human ingenuity. ...And police brutality. And the fact that apparently masked protest is illegal in this country."

Knowing I will soon be able to afford to build costumes, schedule time on activities without my continued involvement in them hinging on whether I find a job that needs that time slot at some point... The risks of what I know I will do, what I know I will nerve myself to do, what I dream of doing, what I will condemn myself for a coward if I do not do... It all comes much more real, and I'm sure it will come much more real yet.

I will cry beforehand so that I can keep my eyes and my mind clear and alert and ready when vital moments come.
I will get my flinching done ahead of the act.
Or after it, I can curl up and weep.
Anytime but during.
Of course, I will strive to do so in the safest and most harmless of ways that can still have dramatic effect, and with all due caution. I only fear for that even the most peaceful of dissent can and certainly will be criminalized in worst case scenarios. For which I absolutely must be prepared.

Prepare for the worst.
Strive for the best.
Expect the most likely, but prepare to be surprised.

The time talking to my friend the receptionist greatly helped me. The fact that I was able to approach her and ask for the moment of help, and follow through, in a public setting, is a definite mark of progress. Overall... today has been a very good, empowering day.
Be proud of me.

I don't think I feel happy.
I feel... like a weak and struggling creature. Growing slightly less weak.
I feel wholesome. I do not feel victorious, but I do feel brave, albeit terribly frightened. I feel resolved, and open, and I feel I have allies.
I feel comforted.
None of these things are happiness. But they are good things.

A Perfect Day

Someone decided on me that today was going to be a perfect day.

I got an email that tells me my potential employment process with another promising company is moving forward, though this time I'm not going to tell you readers which one. I have been welcomed to the team. I don't consider myself to have the job yet... not until I'm all the way through training and signed up. But now I have some confidence it will happen.

I made a big pot of soup which I am calling "Green Soup". Two packages of chicken noodle soup, a stalk of broccolli, two huge carrots, three onions, a couple handfuls of frozen mixed vegetables and a substantial bunch of spinach, brewed up in the pot with salt and pepper and oregano. I didn't expect it to mellow out so nicely, I expected that the huge mass of vegetables would make it either bland or bitter, but it seems like I got it to work out.

I'm listening to Jethro Tull for the first time in half a year, and sharing some old, old stories of my life with my Pup, who I am now calling Whelp, and emoting tickle-attacking him. Earlier, I watched a bunch of the 40K Rejects series by miniwargaming, after being so cracked up by the Whelp's impression of Sgt. Slaughter that I had to hear it for myself.

And walking home, some black guy I'd never met and I shared an amusing moment of conversation, starting with my giving him an amused look for singing along with Bruno Mars's Lazy Song which was playing in a restaurant we were both passing. He offered me a bus ticket, or rather, asked if he could get rid of it by giving it to me. He observed that I sounded authoritative when I told him, "Don't need it, got a bus pass. Thanks, though." I said I was just watching videos of a sargeant shouting at his recruits, so maybe that was it, and even dared to try my own impression, "MUH-REENS! CLEEN YUH SHOOWZ!" Came out well, and he did an exaggerated march for a few steps, playing along, before we parted ways.

Earlier this morning, I helped a friend of mine to feel better despite the heavy grief of losing a family member... partly by telling a bad joke at a perfect moment.

And somehow... somehow... I don't even feel like something terrible now has to happen to make it all crash down.
It's got to be some sort of miracle.

Slogging Grinding Living

Yesterday...

I went to see my patron yesterday. When I finally got on the bus, having elected to learn the hard way where to catch it closer to home than I usually do, I sat next to a teenager with a bunch of My Little Pony... comic books, from the look of them (I didn't realize there were MLP comic books) and a BRONY hat. He was in his later teens, I'd guess, and he stood out a bit on the bus. I was impressed by his courage, wearing his fandom so openly on his sleeve, as it were, and so feeling it only appropriate I raised my hand to bro-hoof with him, and he responded in kind with a smile. Not a word was said.
Pup wasn't online when I went to the library for my hour and a half that allows me to use instant messengers, so I reconnected with a couple of other friends. I checked out Freecycle.org and ended up spending my evening going out to get some free clothes from a lady who, I presume, was clearing out her wardrobe. An undershirt (at least, that's how I'm wearing it), two button-up shirts, and a sweater that I wore home that evening, helping me endure the brisk cold under my jacket.
Thanks to my patron, I have a full pantry again and was able to relax on the way back home, listening to Muse and hoping I would be able to sleep well. I felt tired and grateful.

This morning...
(except from my diary)

I'm waiting to wake up one day and feel inspired rather than weary and tired... Feel ready for something, look forward to the day. It hasn't happened yet. Or rather, perhaps... I think there was once, maybe, a month or so ago? ...