On "Just Dealing with it"

It's a rare second post in the same day! Huzzah!

Actually, not huzzah at all...

The warm fuzzies of this morning's post have been replaced by cold frustrations of an un-resolvable issue. And seeing as this blog is supposed to be documenting my feelings, here they are:

I have many issues in my life, but there is one that has been plaguing me for years. It's something that's always bothered me and made me feel guilty about myself and my thoughts. And this isn't even one of those private issues, it's the kind that everyone knows about. Every time they bring it up and I say it isn't resolved yet, I feel even worse. So bad in fact, that if others are around, I'll repress the feelings and joke about it to hide the frustration. But if I'm alone, I instantaneously melt into tears.

The real problem is this: it's actually impossible to resolve. I've looked at it from every angle, sought out inner and outside opinions, and tried everything I could, but it's just one of those things that can't be sorted out in a healthy way.

So what am I left with? Just dealing with it. 'Just dealing with' it is less painful and less trouble than would be caused it I tried to solve the issue. Sadly, 'just dealing with it' doesn't make me feel any better.

How can I hope for happiness when I'm in such a hopeless situation?

On Family

I never thought of myself as a family-oriented kind of person.

I grew up with very little access to my extended family (the closest being two hours away and we saw them once to twice per year) and rest were in Nova Scotia. I got sporadic visits from them scattered throughout my childhood, but nothing that was enough to form a real bond. Another issue was that my Mum is the oldest of her siblings, and I'm the oldest of her kids, so most of my cousins (save for one or two) on her side were too young for me to really have any fun with. My Dad on the other hand, is the youngest sibling by ten years, so when I was growing up, all my cousins on his side were already adults.

On top of that, both parents had full-time jobs and social lives, leaving our family bonding time to supper (it was the rule that we all eat supper at the table together) and the occasional family outing. Really, we didn't spend THAT much time all together. It was usually either the kids and Dad, or the kids and Mum.

And on top of THAT, my sisters and I did NOT get along. Ever. Actually, it's not that we didn't get along, we just fought constantly, especially me and my middle sister. I rarely played with my littlest sister, because she was 5 years younger and just not worth my time (lol).

I have distinct memories of taking piano lessons with my middle sister and we fought so much that my dad pulled us both from the class and announced that we were never allowed to take piano lessons again. Even when I begged him to let me go back alone (my sister wasn't interested in going back), he still refused. I've also been told by a friend of mine whose mom was a Girl Guide leader, that my dad told her that even though my sister and I were in the same troupe, she was to NEVER EVER put us in the same group/team/pack/etc.

If you add to that the fact that I was bullied and ostracized by my peers, is it any wonder that I grew into the hermit I am today? I just wasn't instilled with the family values that a lot of kids in my generation have (I say my generation because I think the current generation is losing family values thanks to technology, but that's another story completely). I've always felt that I'm the only one I can count on, so why expose myself to the indifference of others.

So all my life, I've felt alone and unsupported by my family. That sounds dramatic, because of course my family loved me and did what they could. I just FELT alone and unsupported in general because I was mostly cut off from my extended family, not terribly close to my immediate family (except for my Daddy because he's always been there for me.), and I didn't have a supportive group of friends to act as a surrogate family.

As a result, family has never been a priority in my life. Sad, but true.

That, however, is starting to change. Suddenly, I'm not fighting with my sisters anymore. I have a slew of cousins that are old enough to hang out with and that are awesome. I also have a kick-ass bro-in-law (with a kick-ass family of his own) and three step sisters (and a step niece) and a loving step-mother. Also, thanks to some lucky genealogical study, I discovered long-lost family in England (third cousins, thrice removed, lol) who got to meet them over the summer and made me feel like one of their own.

Not only do I feel loved by my family, but I also feel that love for them. And it's genuine caring and affection, not just "they're my family, so I HAVE to love them". I really love them and want to help and support them so that they have happy fulfilling lives and feel that they are loved.

I guess the point of this post is that I'm seeing a change in myself. I'm feeling more confident and secure because I feel the love that's coming from my family around me and I'm sending out more love than ever to them as well. It's something I rarely experienced growing up and I'm so grateful that I'm experiencing it now.

So today, I'm feeling good. I really love my family and feel like they love me back. The little empty spaces in my heart are filling up and it feels wonderful.

On Racism and Stereotyping

I was part of a discussion today on my Facebook was on the topic of racism and stereotyping. I made a comment about the new "We are a culture, not a costume" campaign that is out right now. It's purpose is to raise awareness of racism, in this case, in the form of Halloween costumes (though it's meant to be all-encompassing, not just restricted to costumes). Here is an example of one of the posters:

While I believe that racism has no place in our society (or indeed any), and I understand what they're trying to say, I find that the campaign is a little ridiculous. I think that dressing as someone from a different culture (such as a geisha or gangster) is no different than dressing as a someone from our own culture (like a hippie or a cowboy). It's a stereotype, yes. It runs the risk of being in bad taste, yes. But is it insulting or damaging? Most likely, no.

I mean, if I see someone dressed as Bob or Doug MacKenzie (stereotypical Canadian), I don't feel like that's an insult to my culture!

I like to think that we, as a culture, are able to look beyond the stereotype and not judge based on race or religion. Do look at every Asian and think they're a ninja, or at every black person and assume they're a thug, or at every Southern American and think they're a redneck? OF COURSE NOT! But is it funny when someone dresses as a ghetto baby-mamma, or as a pugilistic Irishman? HECK YES!

Of course, there's the whole issue of "Well, we can parody our own race/culture, but nobody else is allowed to." And I'm just not gonna do there, because I'll just get frustrated.

Here's the thing that bugs me, though. In our ultra-PC society, if I admit that I like stereotype humour, I'm a racist. It doesn't matter that I don't judge people based on their background. The fact that I don't see the issue in someone dressing as a geisha apparently makes me racist now.

So now I feel bad. I try to logic my way around it, but I'm blocked at every turn by our society's PC views.

I just don't understand. Why restrict Halloween costumes to what's "appropriate for your race"? Isn't that another form of racism? Where's the harm in dressing up as a samurai because it's cool? Or as a geisha because it's beautiful? Or as a viking because you get to wear big horns? Or even as something a little edgier like a Nazi soldier or suicide bomber as a joke, or to get a rise out of your friends? Though I admit, that's pushing the envelope... I'd even go so far as to say that a most cultural costumes fall into two categories: tribute or joke. So what's the big deal?

Have we as a society become so suspicious and and distrusting of others that someone who dresses as someone from another race/culture for Halloween or a fancy dress party is automatically ridiculing them? Seriously. Take a chill pill.

Where does this all lead me? To feeling like all my friends think I'm a racist now, dammit! Just because our society is too afraid of hurting someone's feelings to take a joke. *sigh*

Thank goodness I'm dressing as someone from my OWN culture this Halloween or else I'd be really screwed...

On Negative Emotions

As I said in a previous post, I haven't been accustomed to feeling in the last few years. My overly emotional self was restrained by my new-found sensibility. And I'm talking purely of negative emotions here, such as fear, anger, resentment, sadness, and depression (those who know me know that I'm not shy about showing how happy or excited I am, ha ha ha!)

Last night, I had a dream where I was really really angry. Not for any particular reason. I was angry, irritable and cranky and I didn't care who knew it or who it affected. The best part was that I recognized why I was pissy. I had an excuse. Which was PMS. And I felt like suddenly, I had a viable outlet for my bitter feelings.

And it actually felt good. In the dream I was aware of the fact that I had an excuse for venting negative feelings, so I did. I was as nasty and unpleasant as I wanted to be. Not in a mean-spirited kind of way, just in a "I'm in a bad mood so don't mess with me" kind of way.

When I woke up, I didn't feel angry, but I felt refreshed. It's as if that outpouring of pissiness from the dream refreshed me.

I'm wondering if my subconscious is trying to tell me something...Something to the tune of, it's okay to have negative feelings once in a while. It's okay to feel angry, or resentful or depressed if the situation calls for it. Just as long as you don't dwell on those feelings.

I've always been afraid of showing negative feelings, as if being anything but my usual, perky, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed self made me less of a good person. As if by being angry or upset, the terrorist had won.

I'm wondering now if I shouldn't make an effort to release my negative feelings more often (in a healthy, constructive way of course) instead of bottling them up. I guess I've always felt like if people know I have/show negative emotions, they won't like me, so if I'm more or less always happy, they will like me more.

Now that I say (write?) it out loud, it sounds pretty silly. Of COURSE my friends will still love me if I have the occasional low point. That's what friends are for, aren't they? They're meant to be there to support you if you are sad or upset or angry.

I guess I just never saw myself as worth supporting. I'm the supportER, the one who helps others with their negative emotions. I have to be strong for everyone else. I must not show weakness!

Again, that sounds silly once I say (...or write?) it out loud. So the next step in my healing process: recognize and feel negative emotions before logicking them away.

On Hearing the Other Side

Over the summer, I had a rather traumatizing experience. It involved a guy I had a bit of a thing for, and too much "liquid courage" which led to a very awkward confession on my part. I'll spare you the embarrassing details, and just say that I ended up confused and hurt. Not only that, but I was convinced that the whole situation was my fault and that I'd lost a friend in the process. As a result, I was in a funk for a few weeks, perplexed and brooding.

Eventually, the initial hurt wore off and life went on, but it stayed there in the back of my mind, because I didn't understand what I had done that was so heinous to merit what had happened. I didn't have closure, so it remained a proverbial thorn in my side.

Today, completely by chance, I discovered from a neutral third party what had happened from the other side of the situation. Not only had it been completely blown out of proportion (and for once, not by me!) but other than one or two less-than-choice comments on my part (which I fully admit to), I wasn't to blame for the end result. In fact, once I knew both sides of the situation, I found it almost laughable.

It's really amazing what absolution can do for your soul. I'm so used to blaming myself when bad things happen that I can't explain that I just never considered the possibility of someone else being at fault, or in this case, mostly at fault. Of course, I don't hold it against him, because it's not my place to judge and condemn. But knowing both sides of the story is one step closer to knowing the truth, and I know now that part of that truth is that it wasn't my fault.

So now, not only have I learned a valuable lesson, but my conscience is clear in a matter that has been nagging at the back of my mind for months.

And it feels REALLY good.

EDIT: The above situation is the one that caused my writier's block. I think that tomorrow, I'll try to write and see if the writer's block has lifted in light of the resolution of my feelings about the ordeal. :)

On Over-Analyzing

I think I've made a breakthrough.

It has come to my attention recently that I over-analyze when it comes to romance. This is most likely why I'm not getting any.

As my sisters have so hilariously put it, when it comes to men, I'm like Sheldon from "Big Bang Theory" I think that, like science, human interactions can be neatly and logically codified. I believe that if I can secure all the emotional and personality-based variables, then I won't have to worry about being hurt down the road, or even worse, hurting someone else.

I can't believe it's taken me so long to realize how utterly ridiculous this is. Especially with Sheldon right in front of me on the TV screen.

Thanks to some wise words from friends, my inner sage, and some emotional turmoil (Oh. My. God...I'm FEELING!) I think I'm finally starting to learn.

I've been so afraid of losing (or in this case, hurting or being hurt) that I haven't been playing the game. I've been dismissing potentially fantastic men just because I think that this or that personality trait will lead to trouble.

Cher once said, "A girl can wait for the right man to come along, but in the meantime that still doesn't mean she can't have a wonderful time with all the wrong ones." My problem is that I haven't been allowing for those wonderful times for fear of them going wrong. The perfectionist in me is insisting that in dating, like all other things, I must be excellent; I must do this well and better than other people because I'm smarter than your average bear and above all that dating nonsense.

Clearly, this is extremely delusional and must change.

Another related issue is that my views on dating are too black and white. Either I meet someone who is perfect for me with whom I can enjoy a healthy, long-term relationship, OR I find someone for a night or two who I don't have to get attached to. Something in my overly-analytic mind is not recognizing the fun and usefulness of short-term dating.

This leads to a lot of time alone, pining for guys that I think are perfect for me, but, in the end, not at all interested. Sadly, it's tough for me to let go, because it's so infrequently that I meet a guy who I think is perfect for me. I have a hard time accepting that this seemingly perfect man doesn't agree with my analysis, ha ha ha.

Another really amazing thing about the way I think is that it's only in the sphere of dating this this problem occurs. Anyone who knows me will know that I don't care about the future. It's too far away to fret about, so why bother? I'm always jumping into situations without looking and having adventures, not knowing if they'll be good ones or bad ones. So why can't I seem to be the same about romance?

In the end, I just have to accept that I'm NOT smarter than the average bear, that dating someone imperfect IS acceptable (because really, who is perfect?), that dating IS an adventure just as much as travelling the world, that I'm NOT Sheldon, and for heavens sake, I have to remember to FEEL instead of analyze!!

On D.O.E.S.

Some of you may be familiar with the acronym "DOMS" - Delayed Onset Muscle Soreness. It happens when you have a good workout, then a few days later, you can't function for the pain.

Well, this evening, I experienced "DOES" - Delayed Onset Emotional Soreness.

I whipped out my laptop to do some writing on my novel, which I've been ignoring these past few months. To be honest, the last time I worked on it, I had a bit of a heartbreak happen. Actually, that's a little dramatic; less "heartbreak" and more "extreme romantic disappointment" And I haven't looked at my novel since.

This evening, I sat down to write, and found that I just couldn't. My head was heavy, my emotions were numb and my imagination had gone out to lunch. "This is strange," I thought. "I usually love to write and perk up at the opportunity to create prose" But the ghost of the past clung to my manuscript, and it seemed like I was looking at my story through a thick fog. I couldn't see my characters, nor my plot, nor any of the brilliant ideas I've had recently.

I sat stared dumbly at the screen for awhile before I closed the document and walked away. But I couldn't settle. My mind was waterlogged. I went out for a walk to clear my head, but walking alone in the dark just gave all the demons an opportunity to come out.

After months, I truly felt the disappointment from that ill-fated night when I last worked on my novel.

Not just that, though. More thoughts formed. Thoughts and questions.

"Why do I let men treat me this way?" I thought. When really, I realized, It's not the men, it's me. What I should really be asking is "Why do I let myself be affected by men?"

THEN I realized just how much I repress my feelings of hurt. Not just over men and love, but over other hurts in my life: my job, my social life, my relationships with certain people...

My usual reaction to hurt or disappointment is this: analyze it, whine a bit, brush it aside and laugh about it. I turn my pain and fear into a joke. I figure that nobody wants to hear about my pain and insecurity.

And yet, I want to hear other people's problems. I want my friends to come to be if they're sad. I want to help and soothe. I'm Leah: the strong shoulder and cool voice of reason. No matter how bad the situation, I'll do my best to listen, offer advice, or just be a hankie to cry into.

It seems taken this persona too much to heart: "I can't cry about this! There are people so much worse off than me and I need to be ready in case they needs me. I must, under all circumstances, retain the image of cool, collected and chipper. Optimism must not fail!" So my own emotions get pushed to one side in the form of a joke or passing remark, too unimportant to dwell on.

But despite all this: I remain as vulnerable as ever. I fall in love easily, I forgive at the drop of a hat, and I make friends for life. I leave myself wide open for hurt, but refuse to acknowledge it.

I know that it's good to be vulnerable, to allow yourself to feel. What would I be otherwise if not jaded and emotionless? And yet, I put up that analytic facade, to convince others that I'm not ruled by emotion, that I'm in control.

But really, I'm just denying that I feel, dammit! Where's the good in that?

So here I am, reeling from past hurt that I never properly dealt with, a hurt that is blocking my creativity and ability to write. And if anyone asks about it, I'll probably trivialize it and make some joke. Because I have to keep calm and carry on...

On Music

I always have a handful of songs that really speak (sing?) to me. Not just songs I like or even love, but songs that I can listen to on loop for ages without getting tired of them, because they strike a real chord in my heart.

Sometimes, it's the lyrics that hit me, but sometimes, the lyrics are second to the music itself.

Here are a few of the songs that I can think of right off the top of my head (though there are more) that never fail to make me feel a welcome surge of emotion:

This is the newest one, "Shake it Out" by Florence + The Machine. I stumbled across it one day on a friend's Facebook status update and from the first listen, it really struck me. I'm still not completely certain why. It's not the lyrics (though they are fantastic); something about the music itself makes me feel good. This song, in my opinion, is a triple threat: great lyrics, great music, and a great video:

Next is a fantastic song by Sigur Ros, an Icelandic post-rock/ambient band that I've gotten to really like of the past few years. None of their music is really "mainstream", but choice tracks have been featured in films and trailers here in North America. I love this song because to me, it's the music equivalent of young love. It doesn't make me think of my own young love (I have plenty of songs for THAT), but of a love I might have in the future which is as pure as young love. Something that I can hope for. The lyrics are in Icelandic and "Hopelandic" (nonsense phrases that sound like Icelandic), so I have no idea what they actually mean, but I do know that the title comes from "hoppa i polla" which roughly means "hopping into a puddle":

I really could go on forever with songs that touch me, but for the sake of brevity, I'm limiting this to the first three that popped into my mind. And so, the final selection for the evening is actually related to the previous one.

Jon Birgisson is the lead singer of Sigur Ros, but last year, he went solo under the name "Jonsi." One of the songs not included in his solo album was called "Sticks and Stones" from the soundtrack to "How to Train Your Dragon" (heard in the end credits). I immediately loved it. If my childhood brain could be heard, it would sound like this song: excited, imaginative, full of colours and feelings and good intentions, not to mention half incomprehensible (the song is in English and Icelandic). And I admit, my brain still sounds like that sometimes...

It's amazing how well-crafted music can make such an impact on a person. I hope I will always be susceptible to falling under its spell.

Emotions can hurt or heal, and music makes both easier.

On Coincidences

A friend recently told me that life's deja-vu's and coincidences are a sign that your life is on the right track.

I don't know if that's true, but I just had a doozy of a coincidence involving a chance (as in, not through facebook) online meeting with an old classmate.

All through my life I have had extraordinary chance encounters, lucky moments and happy coincidences.

From lucky meetings in far-away countries to getting re-acquainted with old friends through new friends. From sudden scholarships and inheritances right before major trips, to receiving a surprise government check in the mail JUST when I need it.

And yes, often the scale of the coincidences are so enormous that I have a hard time wrapping my brain around them...But they're almost always happy or amazing ones.

And so, with this is mind, I hope that these wonderful coincidences continue to happen in my life and that they ARE a sign that I'm heading in the right direction.

On Being Thankful

First of all, sorry for the absence. It's been a busy holiday weekend and I haven't been home.

Okay, onto tonight's musings:

This Thanksgiving, I wasn't particularly thankful. This sounds kind of awful so let me explain. I'm constantly thankful for the things I have in my day-to-day life. I'm always thankful for my friends, family, *relative* good health, the roof over my head, the food on my plate, the sun, moon, stars, etc...

But I had nothing to be extra thankful for that I'd want to highlight on this day for giving thanks. My job sucks, I'm still single, and I can't get up off my lazy arse to do anything productive.

So why should this day be different from any other day?

On a whim, I decided to hit up Netflix for a couple of documentaries. The first, "Bowling for Columbine", I'd already seen when it came out, but was interested in seeing it again. As with the first time I saw it, I was shocked and appalled. But then, that's Michael Moore's modus operandi. He's out to shock the world. I believe he has an agenda of some kind, though. He seems to be a sensationalist.

Even so, it made me thankful that I live in a country that doesn't need to lock its doors, or carry firearms. I'm thankful that as a young woman, I can walk alone at night and not be afraid for my life. I'm not saying that Canada is perfect by any means, but I think it's one of the greatest countries on Earth and I'm grateful that I was born and raised here.

The second documentary I watched, "The Last Days" was on a completely other level. It is an Academy Award winning account of the stories of 5 Hungarian Holocaust survivors. I have read a few first-hand accounts of the nature of the camps, but NOTHING could have prepared me for the photographs and footage from the camps, and the stories that were told by the survivors.

I watched in horror as the survivors described their lives as the Nazi occupation spread across Europe and their subsequent treatment in their hometowns and on the way to the camps. One woman recounted the moment she saw a small child's head being bashed against the side of a truck, then tossed in the back, and said "That's when I stopped talking to God" I burst into tears and wasn't able to stop.

I sobbed like a baby throughout the accounts of each person's experiences in the camps. The documentary alternated between the videos of the interviews, and actual footage of the gas chambers, crematoriums, piles of emaciated bodies, shorn heads, overcrowded barracks, firing squads, and massive firepit graves. I cried so hard I couldn't breathe, and didn't stop crying until after the last of the post-Liberation footage/photos were shown, and the happy endings of the survivors started.

I cried for the Jews in Auschwitz, Dachau and Majdanek, but I also cried for all the other atrocities that modern man, who should know better, has committed in the last 100 years. For a moment, I felt personally responsible for the suffering of the world that has been caused by man's cruelty towards man.

All through this, though, I felt an overwhelming thankfulness that not only do I live in a free, democratic and tolerant nation, but that my mind is open and enlightened enough to know right from wrong. I know that regardless what a man's race, religion, nationality, sexuality or lifestyle may be, that he has the right to live and prosper as much as I do.

I know that not all humankind has reached this point yet, but I'm thankful that I, and so many others, have and are working to spread the word. I don't think that cruelty and intolerance can ever be completely eradicated, but we can certainly try to make it scarce and unprofitable.

And so, on this almost-not-so-Thanks-giving, I am thankful for my amazing home nation and my sound, compassionate mind.

On My Brain at Rest

When I have pressing matters on my mind, it naturally drifts to something that permanently floats around in the back of my thoughts. When it comes to hobbies, I have many that I can choose from if I have free time.

One of those things for me is language study. It's something I love to do, and will gladly do if I have free time.

Tonight, I had my first night off since the weekend and I was pleasantly not busy. I didn't have to clean anything, do laundry, do any work, and no episodes of favourite shows to catch up on. So after eating, I had the evening to myself.

My first thought after "What should I do now?" was invariably LEARN STUFF! So went through my inner bibliography of languages I know and want to practice (French. Latin), know a little and want to continue with (Gaelic, Italian, Korean) and don't know but want to learn (Finnish, German, Spanish). In the end, I pulled out my lappy top, downloaded a language pack for Korean and got to it.

Within 1/2 an hour, my brain hurt. This would be my first non-roman-alphabet language, and it was a lot harder than I thought. When doing Italian (the other language I did with Rosetta Stone), pronunciation was a breeze, and the grammar was easy to understand with French and Latin already under my belt. But Korean? Geeeeez! The grammar wasn't too bad, but trying to follow the pronunciation with only a toddler's undertanding of the alphabet is freakin' hard!

Now, I picked up some rudimentary vocabulary and phrases when I lived in Korea, but so far, it isn't helping me, ha ha ha!

Here's the best part, though: now that I know it's going to be hard, I want to do it MORE!!! I'll be damned if I let a little thing like learning a new language beat me! How VERY DARE it make my brain hurt!

So yeah, this is what happens when Leah has free time and wants a rest...An epic battle between brain and language!!! God help the poor soul who marries me and has to deal with this on a regular basis. :P

On My Perspective of Men

I'm about to admit something that I haven't really even discussed with the world at large. I've always been sort of a little bit embarrassed about it all.

Men terrify me.

In particular, men who hit on me (or I feel as if they are).

The worst is men who hit on me who I'm not attracted to.

Even the ones I AM attracted to make me all nervous and awkward.

The exceptions to this rule are few and include members of my own family, and those male friends who are as close to me as family. Or religiously celibate. Or gay.

I've tried to be rational and think about how this ridiculous behaviour came about. The best I could do was this: I'm afraid of men I'm not attracted to hitting on me because I'm afraid of having to turn them down some time in the future, especially if I consider them a friend. Turning someone down usually involves hurting their feelings (unless things are crystal clear from the start), and I can't bear to hurt someone's feelings. So the options I'm left with are hurt feelings, or grin and bear the awkwardness.

Yep. That's the best I could come up with. Pretty sad, eh?

I'm fine with men in a casual group setting, but in a very small group, or alone, I have a bad habit of going into "fight or flight" mode. Regardless of the reasoning behind it, I'm left with a socially debilitating neurosis. I'm automatically frightened of a huge chunk of the male population. And considering how much I complain about being single, THAT'S UTTERLY FOOLISH!!!

So there you have it. Leah is single because she's afraid of men. And so far, there isn't a damn thing she can do about that.

How do I manage to get into these situations?!?!

On Making Choices

There are some things you can control in your life, but they aren't many. You can't control how people act towards you, or how the weather goes, or is the bus driver is a jerk, or even how your own body behaves, or your emotional impulses.

What you can control is how you think of things; the choices you make. For example:

I can't control what job I get or how much I get paid, but I CAN make the effort to put myself in the path of getting a better job.

I can't assure that my novel will someday be finished and published, but I CAN will myself to write each day, finish the manuscript and send it out to as many publishers as it takes.

And I can't make a man love me, or even be attracted to me, but I CAN keep my emotions under control, go out and meet new people and make an effort to look nice.

So now that I have an understanding of what I can control and what I can't, what now?

WILL

That's all it is. Will power.

So my problem is this: what's stopping me? Why am I so comfortable accepting the crummy way things are when I know for a fact that I can be doing things to make it better? Am I simply lazy? Do I have to hit rock bottom first?

This is definitely something I'm going to have to think about in the coming months...

On Attraction

Attraction is a funny thing. It can be immediate, or it can grow over time. It's the second kind that I don't think is given enough credit, or really much of a chance in today's instant gratification society.

And after 26 years on the planet, the laws of attraction still surprise me. It comes in so many forms.

My first encounter with attraction was pretty boilerplate. In my early teens, I fell for a dashing, sweet-voiced classmate. Unfortunately, that ended when he turned into a shorn-headed, tattooed, druggie, rapper wannabe. C'est la vie.

But then, in high school, I was pursued by a tall, lanky, awkward-looking fellow who was a full two years older than I was. I was terrified. But I gave him a shot and we ended up dating, and even though there was no hint of attraction when we first met, he changed in my eyes from lanky and awkward-looking to Prince Charming. I thought of myself as the luckiest girl on Earth. That feeling faded in the years after we split, but I can still feel it if I think back to those times. That's a comfort in these long, lonesome single years.

Also, I have a couple of guys who I've maintained a pretty constant level of attraction to, despite years and changes. I think of them and feel like even if decades pass, I'll still feel the same way about them.

I recently experienced falling out of attraction so abruptly, it gave me whiplash. He's still as good-looking as the day I met him, and I still find him to be very handsome. Unfortunately, his personality and behaviour towards me (whether done on purpose or not) was so ungentlemanly that I just stopped being attracted suddenly.

On the flip side, I recently developed feelings for a fellow that I was not remotely attracted to when we first met, but have since been won over by his personality and friendly interactions with me.

It's so easy for a girl to say "I want a guy who is tall, dark and handsome. Witty, sensitive, romantic, chivalrous, funny, etc...", but you really can't tell who you'll end up with in the end. If you pay attention, that is. I mean, I'm sure that there are plenty of girls that go for their "ideal man" even if he's a terrible match. And that's unfortunate. It's so much more fun to explore the different kinds of attraction and where they'll lead you. Most of the men I described above are in some way quite unobtainable to me, but that's okay, because I'm so fascinated by my attraction to them!

And it feels good to have someone to daydream over ever now and then...

On Essays and Teaching

I never really realized just how passionate I am about essay writing until tonight. I mean, I've always liked writing them, and I've always received very high marks for them with very little effort, but I really got the chance to go over someone else's from a teacher's point of view tonight.

My cousin, now in her first year of university, asked me to review fer first classics essay. I proceeded to rip it to shreds (from the organizational aspect), write a little blurb about the importance of using an outline, add a brief explanation about each part of an essay and it's function, AND attach an old university essay of my own with explanations of the parts.

I tried to make it as easy to follow and non-condescending as I could. I really just want her to succeed because she's my cousin and I love her. But I wonder if I'm being too prideful by assuming that she needs to be "taught" about how to write an essay.

I've been a little hesitant about teaching (outside of school, that is) and offering advice ever since I had an incident a few years ago. After spending months learning about the wonders of life and enlightenment at the Buddhist temple in Korea, I wanted to share my new-found wealth of information. What followed could be considered an epic failure where the family member I tried to teach completely rejected me, saying "I like my blissful ignorance. Leave me alone."

Brokenhearted, I went back to the monk who taught me and explained what happened. I asked him why someone wouldn't accept the knowledge I was trying to give them. He replied that you can't just go and teach someone, because it's almost always prideful to assume that what you know, others want to know. It seems to others that you're flaunting your intelligence or smarts, which you may or may not actually be doing. You must simply live your life in the way that you learned. Others will see it working for you and ask to be taught. Then, can you effectively tell them what you know.

It kind of blew me away. Now, I try to wait until asked before going off on an educational lecture. But I still wonder: how much is too much? When should I turn off the "teacher" mode?

Either way, I hope that I can be a help to my cousin. I hope that it results in a good mark for her first essay and good essay-writing habits for the academic years to come.

On Disappointment

I'm very disappointed in myself tonight.

I was SUPPOSED to spend the day cleaning my apartment. Instead, I made pancakes, went to the bank, watched Torchwood and ate junk food.

Not only that, but I spent money today when I didn't have to. It wasn't a serious amount, and it was for food, but it wasn't essential either. This is kind of serious as I'm now working a job where my pay is so crappy that more than half of what I make in the month goes to pay my rent. I'm just able able to pay my bills and eat, but I've fallen behind with my student loan payments since I lost my long-time job in August.

And I couldn't even get my arse off the couch to do my dishes and tidy my living space...which is free.

Sometimes I really wonder where I'm going in life. On the inside, I'm very content. I'm a generally happy, compassionate and tolerant person. But outwardly, everything seems a bit of a mess. I'm unhealthy and out of shape, lazy, continually broke, eternally single, in a job that pays peanuts, and I can't keep my apartment clean unless I have an excuse (such as guests).

But I have no real desire to change these rotten aspects of my life. Why? Because I'm content. I'm surviving. I have a roof over my head, clothes on my back and food on my plate, what more do I need? It's a proven fact that once basic needs are met, material things have little effect on one's happiness. Since I have the basics and AM happy, I fear that this inner security has led to outward complacency.

What am I doing wrong? Because clearly, there is something wrong with my values or virtues if I can't get my life in order. Now, don't get me wrong; I try. I have a job that I think is meaningful and where I'm in a position of respect (it just doesn't pay much), and I'm making an attempt to not be a hermit and get in shape by taking an affordable taekwon-do class. And the odd time, I will clean my apartment for the sake of cleaning it. But it's not enough. I dream big, but I'm not inspired to improve my day-to-day life.

I've tried various methods, especially with money matters, but the fact is that I chafe under strict lifestyle rules. Budgets and plans, diets and organizers, and countless numbers of good intentions and promises to myself have all been tried and failed miserably.

Is it worth it to upset my inner calm by sorting out my outer failures? Is it even possible?