OMG ART

I've never been one to *truly* appreciate art. I like pretty things and I appreciate beauty, but I've never understood most types of art. Especially modern art. I just don't get it.

This evening, I caught a random documentary on Art Nouveau, and I saw a piece that I absolutely fell in love with. And I looked up the artist, and I want pretty much ALL of her art. I WANT IT!!!

The sad part is that my very favourite piece of hers is not well-known, so it's not easily available in print. Booooo....

Either way, I want to share this piece of artwork with you in hopes that it makes you as happy as it made me :)

First: the poem that inspired the painting - and can I say, I love the poem as much as I love the artwork. My heart is just so full of happy feelings!!!

THE SONG OF WANDERING AENGUS
W.B. Yeats

I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.

When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire a-flame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And someone called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.

Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done,
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.

(click for a bigger image)

On My Heroines

In my last post, I discussed my childish ways and how I've come to love and accept them. In this post, I want to take this a step further and explore why I'm like this.

Lately, at work, I've been the subject of a little but of playful taunting. several of my co-workers are vastly amused at my level of innocence and naivete about the world. For example, in a discussion of marijuana, I was surprised to learn that a lot of people regularly smoke it. Probably even as much as half the people in the office, and people that I'd not expect. According to one co-worker, she knows someone who works at a place where pretty much everyone does - from the CEO to the drones. Not all the time, and not at work, but at home or on the weekends.

I was completely shocked to learn this, and still don't quite believe it. And I expressed this to them in the lunchroom. In my mind, normal people don't do drugs. Drugs are for the poor people who have made bad choices in life, and for bad people who corrupt good people for money...not nice, normal people. Nice, normal people just don't do drugs, right? Aren't we all taught that as kids?

My co-workers thought this was hilarious. "Oh Leah, you're so innocent - it's adorable!"

I don't mind this mild teasing, of course. It's all in good fun, and I get a good laugh from it as well. But it makes me think about why I'm still living in this fairy-tale world that everyone else, it seems, has grown out of.

Then I thought about my favourite books growing up - many of which are still my favourites. When I was growing up, I was bullied and didn't have many friends. To make up for this, I made friends with the characters in the books I read. I admired them, and learned from them. I wanted to be like them.

I wanted to be patient and compassionate despite being alone and reviled, like Sara Crewe.

I wanted to grow and learn about the Magic on the Yorkshire Moors with Mary Lennox.

I wanted Ella of Frell's courage and spunk.

I wanted to learn how to make mistakes and accept my flaws like Anne Shirley.

I wanted to be a Queen of Narnia.

I wanted to give myself good advice, like Alice.

Even today, although I have grown up and found grown-up literary heroines, none of them have had the kind of impression on me that my childhood heroines have. And, big surprise, many of these girls are the heroines of morality stories. The stories are simple, with simple messages: be kind to all creatures, use your imagination, be good and just, trust your heart, love without restraint, be curious, be open to wonder and beauty...

My habit of re-reading these stories regularly keeps these messages in my mind. They've kept be from getting jaded and bitter. I'm frequently reminded that Magic is real, and it's okay if I seldom follow my own very good advice, and that I can always take comfort that I have a charming nose (even if I don't have raven locks and a name like Cordelia), and most importantly:

“I am a princess. All girls are. Even if they live in tiny old attics. Even if they dress in rags, even if they aren’t pretty, or smart, or young. They’re still princesses.”

On Staying Young

I've never really been one to keep myself in check. I mean, I may care what people think about me when I'm sitting alone at home and reflecting on my own behaviour, but when I'm actually out and about, I really don't think about that. I've noticed lately, though, that an awful lot of people describe me, to my face, as "funny" or "cute" or even "adorable"

My first reaction is that there's no way that a sturdy lass of six feet can possibly be "cute." Cute is a term reserved for smallish things of varying degrees of cuddliness. And when it was my friends saying it, it was one thing. But I'm noticing that acquaintances, and even strangers are using it, too.

The more I hear it, though, the more I think about it. And I think I've figured it out. "Cute" is the reaction to a little girl's personality coming out of a grown woman's body.

I admit it, I sometimes act like a kid. Okay, I FREQUENTLY act like a kid. When I'm excited, I bounce and clap my hands. When I'm startled or scared, I squeak. I watch cartoons without a trace of irony (and usually sing along). I play dress up. Everyone is my new best friend (even if I'm too shy to show it outwardly). I can't understand meanness. I'm completely transparent. I cry if I think I've hurt someone or if I think I've lost a friend. I'm a spaz. I'd rather spend money on ice cream than shoes. I still haven't mastered the use of the "indoor voice." I speak with my whole body. I still believe in fairy tales. I trust just. When music plays, I dance (even while sitting at my desk).

I used to be really self-conscious about this behaviour (again, not at the time, but later and upon reflection), but lately, I've been embracing it. Why? I'm meeting new people who are just like me. Thanks to going to places like Comic-con, I'm learning that it's okay, and even considered charming by some, that adult life is just a facade for a child to function in a grown-up world. Not all adult children are socially dysfunctional weirdos that live in their parents basements!!

So while I still don't know exactly how to respond when someone tells me "You're so cute!", at least I can understand where it comes from. Now, I know that in the end, my silly little behaviours are going to keep me young when so many of my peers are eating All-Bran and watching "The National."

"Growing old is mandatory. Growing up is optional."

A Very Long Emotional Ramble

Over the past week or so, in a desperate attempt to fix all the broken parts of my heart and mind, I've turned to meditation.

Not the kind I learned at the Buddhist temples in Korea, where you sit quietly and ponder emptiness (although there is much good in it), but guided meditation, where you let go of what's on your mind and follow a voice that leads you through breathing and imagery exercises.

I've never really done them before, dismissing them as hokey. However, I've come to a point in my life where my issues starting to have a serious effect on my mental and physical health. And it all started with a doctor's visit.

But I guess I ought to start with the back story:

A couple of months ago, I was told by my doctor that my cholesterol was getting high. Not dangerously so, and not to the point where I needed to be on medication, but high enough that I have to watch out before it gets out of control. And, of course, her first suggestion was that I lose weight. Now, that's easier said than done, as I've been a good 80-100lbs overweight for many years, but with my health in jeopardy, I was willing to explore my options.

The biggest issue is my eating habits. I've come to the point where I accept that I am a binge eater. As in DSM-IV, confirmed by my psychologist, I can't even fucking read about it without bursting into tears binge eating. I can't remember when I didn't binge eat, really. This leads to too much eating, and more importantly, too much eating of bad-for-me foods.

So my first step was to seek the counsel of a nutritionist though the EAP (employee assistance program). She gave me some good pointers, but really wasn't equipped to deal with "emotional eating", so I spoke to a psychological counselor (also though the EAP) who informed me that I was still depressed and when our set number of sessions are up, I should get back in contact with my regular psychologist (who I haven't seen since just after New Years). Great.

So I decided to try something new. To supplement the professional help, I signed up for a few online "self-help" courses on DailyOM which include guided meditation. "Overcome Emotional Eating" and "Say Goodbye to Anxiety". Just for funsies.

So now, we come to the point I wanted to make about meditation. When doing one of the guided meditation exercises, I was a little surprised at what I saw. The exercise asked me to visualize my "Heart Centre" as a comfortable room that I felt safe in. So I did. I was then encouraged to invite an "ally" into the room. Someone who made me feel safe and loved, real or fictional, physical or spiritual. It didn't matter as long at they represented safety, love and support. This is where I surprised myself. I wasn't able to think of a single entity, but of several. And an odd company they were: my dog, Avalokiteśvara, a dear friend of mine (whom I feel is one of the few who truly understands my current struggles), and the Mother Goddess.

The most interesting part is that throughout my guided meditations, I find that the Mother Goddess pops up more often to me. Usually as a protective force. The strange thing is that I don't really subscribe to any Pagan religions, or any religion for that matter. But for some reason, from my spiritual wanderings of the past, She has stuck with me.

It seems I can't really trust God to really stand with me in my times of trouble, though He did throughout my childhood. He was too lofty, too majestic, too grand and powerful to bother with little old me. The Mother, though, seems to be more earthly and ready to care for Her children. Maybe because it's easier to imagine Her infused into earthly things: the oceans and trees and everyday things. God sits on his throne in Heaven, but The Mother walks among Her creations.

And so, with Avalokiteśvara for a teacher, my friend for support, The Mother Goddess for blessings and protection, and my dog to just simply lay his head in my lap, I've created an interesting rescue team for my troubled life. At least for as long as I'm attempting this whole guided meditation thing.

I don't know if it's helping me at all, but it's certainly brought up some interesting thoughts/emotions. Like just how much I'm hurting. It's really not all that surprising that I've been hiding away at home and avoiding the world in general.

To be perfectly frank, my life for the past year or two has been pretty bleak. Aside from a few important events that I drag myself to, frightened, kicking and screaming, my life at home has consisted of pretty much numbing myself. My average weekday is this: go to work so early that I don't have time to think in the mornings, work all day (very busy, intense work that needs more or less constant focus), get home, sit in front of the TV/computer, eat until I can't eat anymore, pick up whatever needle work I have going, turn on a movie/TV show, and knit/sew/stitch until bedtime, with occasional breaks to eat more and walk the dog. That's about it. Weekends are more of the same, minus the work part.

I binge to feel the pleasure that I'm convinced that I lack from anything else (usually at the same time as I'm watching/reading something so that I can not think about the fact that I'm bingeing), then ignore the world by distracting my brain with media and my hands with handiwork.

It's really kind of pathetic when I think about it, and awfully maladjusted. But the worst part is that I can't seem to find the strength in myself to stop. I tell myself that I'll face my fears, then fall into a tub of ice cream. I mean, I'm thankful that I'm not in worse shape, numbing myself with drugs or alcohol, but in a way, it's almost worse. I'm NOT ruining my life with substance abuse, I'm NOT trying to "end the pain" and escape through death, I am a functioning and productive member of society. I'm just hurt. Hurt and afraid. And so far, not able to muster up the gumption to be anything else but hurt and afraid. Why? Because I'll live. I'm not in any danger, nor putting others in danger. I don't need intervention. I need help, but who on this God forsaken planet doesn't?

Sorry for being so depressing, but this stuff has been on my mind a lot over the past week...

On Romantic Love

Over the last two weeks that I've been in Toronto, I've done a lot of waiting around. Mostly in the waiting rooms of the hospital. To pass the time while I wait, I've been reading. So far, I've re-read the first three "Anne of Green Gables" book. Of course, I've read then before, but now, I've moved onto the next books in the series, which I never read growing up. Right now, I'm on "Anne of Windy Poplars" and so far, it's made up of excepts from the letters that Anne writes to Gilbert.

A lot of the subject matter in this book revolves around love. Who loves who, who is marrying/engaged to whom, etc. And of course, Anne's love for Gilbert and their "dream house." As a result, I'm forced to think of love. Not the "love for mankind" that I'm already well-acquainted with, but the romantic sort of love.

Anne's letter to Gilbert, although they're fictional, remind me of a time when I was young and in love because I was quite the same. I wrote love letters and imagined an idyllic future with the man of my dreams. Of course, teenage love can't last forever, and it all eventually ended; luckily, with no regrets, and without the marring of happy memories. But I remember being so thoroughly in love, that it was my whole life. As a young girl, I really didn't have anything else other than school and a few extracurricular activities to occupy my mind, nor did I have any emotional baggage, so love was more or less the more important thing in my life. The best part was that without grown up worries like rent and bills and past romantic let downs, I poured out my love more freely. I was able to love without fear. And as a result, I was sublimely happy. There were bumps in the road, of course, but nothing that wasn't easily forgiven and moved past.

Now, I worry that I'll never be able to love like that again. I'm not 15 and carefree anymore (not that I'm old or anything). But at 28, I have all the burdens of adulthood that I could barely imagine a decade ago. There's work to be a done, a house to be kept, bills to be paid, pets to be cared for. And worst of all, the emotional baggage.

The past 10 years have been mostly a disappointment, romantically speaking. A series of unrequited loves, one-night stands, long-distance (and ultimately useless) romances, meaningless flings, and more heartbreak than ought to be allowed. Not mention a couple of creepers. And despite all this heartache, no real relationships aside from one brief interlude with a guy that I slept with for a few months and prematurely called my "boyfriend" for a few weeks before I left for Korea.

I mean, heartbreak wouldn't really be so terrible if I had something to show for it. But I really don't.

And now, I'm so bogged down with fear and disappointment that I'm afraid I've reached a point where I've just given up. I'm terrified that no matter how my fairy-tale sensibilities crave true love, that my pragmatic, world-weary mind is not willing to be open to it. I don't know if I'm even capable of feeling chemistry anymore, let alone allow myself to be vulnerable enough to give wholeheartedly to love like I did all those years ago.

Again, when I say "love" I mean, romantic love. I love my friends, family and pets with little issue. It's just the romantic kind I have so much difficulty with.

I realize that this rant may be driven by all the hormones I've been taking, coupled with the fact that in that last two weeks, my dreams have been filled with significant past lovers and crushes. Nevertheless, it's been on my mind. And it worries me.

On Bad Luck with Friends

*** Disclaimer*** I want it to be known that these are a very general statements I'm about to make. This is against nobody particular, and if you're already my friend (and you know it), you do not figure into this post. Please don't cause drama because you think I'm dissing you or anything, because in all likelihood, I'm not.


I feel like for the last 5 years or so, I've had terribly bad luck with friends.

I make new friends, but can't seem to keep them.

I find I have little in common anymore with my childhood friends.

And the friends that I do have things in common with live oh so far away.

I can't make friends with girls. I'm sure there are reasons, but damned if I know what they are. Maybe I just don't want to deal with drama, or I don't generally like doing girly things.

I can't make friends with boys, because in my experience over the last few years, they're just after sex. Or they just like to party and get drunk.

Even my dog, who is supposed to be "man's best friend" is little more than a very cute, often amusing, destroyer of my house and my serenity.

I'm becoming so isolated that I just don't care anymore. I'm found nothing but indifference or disappointment in society (for the most part) and I just don't want to be a part of it.

It's gotten so bad that going out socially makes me so nervous that I just don't want to do it at all. Although I make an effort when it's an extra-special occasion.

I was hoping that getting a dog would help, but I'm mostly too frustrated and stressed by his misdeeds to really go out and enjoy it.

The worst part is that I'm never really bored or lonesome (except occasionally for male companionship) because I'm happy being alone and doing things I like to do such as writing, crafts and various research/study.

The problem is that I look from the outside in and I'm pretty sure that this is not healthy. Also,I see myself as I assume others must see me, which is weird and antisocial. Or just a bad person.

I can't help but feel, though, this it is my fault. That there's something wrong about the way I perceive the world and the people in it. Or some inherent flaw in my personality that causes me to be like this.

Mostly I'm able to swallow these feelings, but for some reason, today, I just can't.

On Learning Something New About Yourself

It's been a really stressful two weeks. I'm okay saying because the danger has now passed.

The truth is that I had a wee bit of a pregnancy scare. Not for any good reason but for a broken condom on what is the most fertile day in my cycle. So I fretted for 2 weeks.

But something good came out of this stress. For the first time in my life. I really thought about having kids. You know, just in case I ended up having one of my own.

For the last...well, all of my life, I knew that someday I would end up with kids in the distant future, but I didn't ever see myself being ready for them, psychologically speaking. I never felt that biological urge to be a mother. I just assumed that I wasn't mature enough; not grown-up enough. I mean, I'm having trouble with a dog, for goodness' sake! God forbid I should be responsible for a child!

But after thinking things over, I realized that I'm not 16 anymore. Having a baby wouldn't "ruin my life." I have a house and a good job with benefits. While being a single mother is not ideal, it's far from impossible. And so, it dawned on me. If was WAS pregnant, that would be...okay.

I mean, I didn't WANT to be pregnant. The gentleman involved would most certainly be a good father, but I have no desire to raise a child in a single-parent home. It's not bad, per se (I know plenty of amazing single parents), but I'd rather be a part of a team when it comes to child-rearing. AT LEAST a live-in boyfriend, if not a fiancee/husband. I'm kind of traditional that way. So I was hoping and praying that I wasn't pregnant, but at the same time, comforted that if it DID happen, well, I'd be alright.

And that really threw me for a loop.

I've never really had any faith in my own maturity (an unfortunate side effect of comparing myself to others). According to my observations, in order to be "mature", you had to be engaged/married, have a car, and own a house. Also do womanly grown-up things like wear nice clothes that fit properly, put on make-up before leaving the house, and regularly visit a hair salon. Anything else and you're still in that ambiguous limbo between adolescence and adulthood.

But with this new discovery that I'm quite ready to have kids, I realized that I'm there. I'm grown-up. Who'da thunk it?!! I certainly thought it would never happen.

Of course, it helped to have a few wonderful friends (including a wonderful-er sister) who helped to calm me through my panic and who assured me that I would be a great mother. And I believed them. Which is strange in itelf, because usually, my views on myself are pretty set. For some reason, though, I was perfectly okay with allowing myself to be convinced that I would not be a crap mother, ha ha!

Now, let's get this straight, I'm not looking to have kids; not right now. I want to wait until there's a man around in a more-or-less permanent way. And of course, I have an IVF procedure coming up at the end of the summer (I'm donating my eggs to a friend for fertility purposes)

But who known what the next couple of years could bring? :)

On Taking Two Steps Forward and One Step Back

I was really sick this weekend. It sucked major balls.

There was one good thing that came out of it, though. And that was a Monday off to recuperate. That one day that I was no longer deathly sick, but not really up and about yet gave me a chance to think about some things.

The first one came about through a brief, but deep conversation with a friend about a person needs to make themselves whole before attempting a relationship.

Now, this is a fact that I've known for years. But accepting a commonly spouted platitude is one thing, and having a good friend tell you right out, unsolicited, is quite another.

I ended up admitting to her something that I don't think I've really told anyone before. That I truly believe that I need a man to be happy. Not that I'm UNhappy without one. Just that I feel I'm at my best when I'm in a pair; that I'm not at my full potential when I'm alone. I feel that in order to be happy, I need to be able to make someone else happy. Someone special, who loves me entirely. The kind of love that soothes the hurts of my past by just existing. You know, that old chestnut. I KNOW that's unhealthy, and I KNOW that it's not the way to live a happy life. But I can't help it....

Her response was that by thinking that, I was setting myself up for some really rocky relationships, and that it's maybe not so good that while single, I'm constantly in "survival mode". So maybe it's a good thing that I've been single so long, because I still need to make myself whole.


So I thought about the next step. The next main step anyhow. In my brain, this is how the logical progression goes, mathematically speaking:

(me+friends)^social interaction=social life≥boyfriend

In other words, if I can learn to be social, then I can meet people (including men) which will eventually lead to a boyfriend.

Here is the problem. Emotionally speaking (ie fuck logic) it looks more like this:

Me [IIIIIIIIII BIG BRICK WALL OF FEAR IIIIIIIIIIII] Boyfreind

Yes, my friends, social interaction is a big stupid wall of fear. And to be honest, I don't know if I'll ever really be able to get over it, or even under it, or even through it.

As fatalistic as it sounds, I think I've just been hurt too many times by friends and "friends." I don't know if I'll ever really be able to trust other people as a whole. I've been personally betrayed by society at large, social groups, and individuals. Oh, I'll trust strangers, they've never given be reason not to. And I'll trust family...I don't really have a choice on that one, ha ha ha! And a few loyal friend who have always been good to me. Maybe a stronger person could have withstood the repetitive beat downs and disappointments...but I think I'm a lot more fragile that I'd like to admit.

So yeah, about that next step... It's really fucking big. And I've been trying for years to find baby steps that lead up to it, but so far, I've failed miserably.

So I'm trapped behind that proverbial, cliché-ed wall that's been built around my heart (soul?). And I have no fucking clue how to get out. If I ever can.

And THEN, I realize that I can't have finding a man as a life goal. I see that, and I understand it...but the problem is that I tend to rely on empirical evidence when it comes to life experiences. And empirical evidence says that I'm happier, healthier, more social and generous when I have someone to love. And let's be honest...I don't think it's coincidence that my depression last year started to fade when had sex for the first time in two and a half years, ha ha!

So whether I look at things emotionally or logically, I just can't seem to win.

Until I figure it out, I'll just keep in surviving, I guess.

In completely unrelated and slightly cheerier news, I ordered a bento box and some simple supplies. I'm hoping that having fun with my lunch will help motivate me to pack it more regularly AND help portion control my noontime meal. If all goes well, I'll post pictures :)

On Getting My Groove Back

In a desperate attempt to finish my novel, I've signed up for "Camp NaNoWriMo" It's basically NaNoWriMo Lite. You're sorted into "cabins" which is a team of fellow writers that are supposed to keep each other motivated. You can choose your cabin-mates, or be randomly assigned. I chose the latter.

As you probably are aware, this past November was an epic fail for me in terms of writing. During last year's NaNoWriMo I wrote 7500 words and pretty much gave up after a week. My average was 250 words per day. Ugh.

Even those 7500 words were a struggle. I just couldn't face my own work anymore.

It all started right after NaNoWriMo 2011; my second year and first win. I was SO proud that I had managed to write just over 50k words in 30 days. Not just that but those 50k words bought me tantalizingly close to the end of the novel itself. I was a chapter away from the climax of the story, and after that, only the denouement remained.

But then, tragedy struck. Just over a month after I had finished my 50k words, the USB on which I saved my NaNoWriMo work decided to commit suidide. Usually, I back my writing up, but for ease of transport and writing in different places, I carried all that work on a USB.

So yeah. I lost just over 50,000 words that I had JUST written.

All the stuff I had written before NaNoWriMo 2011 was safe, but that 50k was over half of the whole novel....

And then I lost my will to write. I didn't help that for the majority of 2012, I was a listless puddle of depression/dysthemia.

Every time I sat down to work on it in the following months were haunted by the ghost of writing past. Every word I wrote, I couldn't help but think "I've already written this..." I thought that NaNoWriMo 2012 would give me the kick in the pants that I needed to get back into the swing of writing. Boy, was I wrong. I didn't feel any different, except that there was added pressure of getting another 50k done in 30 days.

I gave up within a week.

But 2013 is a new year! I'm feeling good, I'm starting to creep back into social life, and I don't feel so much like a sad puddle anymore. And magically, the makers of NaNoWriMo announced their upcoming "Camp NaNoWriMo" it's a less competitive project where you can choose your own wordcount goal. AND they have cool motivational store items that regular NaNo doesn't have.

Funnily enough, that's what convinced me to sign up: the motivational stuff you can buy. You must understand that I spent most of the childhood in Brownies/Girl Guides, so when I saw that you can buy Camp NaNoWriMo merit badges, I knew that I had finally found my motivation.

I love camping. And I loved Girl Guides. So the idea of having writing-themed merit badges just tickles my fancy in a way that simple trudging to a 50k wordcount goal never could. The badges include: NaNo Socializing, Word-Count Padding, Procrastination, Caffeine Abuse, Secret Noveling, Creative Nonfiction, Rally Day, the Eureka Moment, Random Ending, and Victory. The package of badges includes instructions on how to "earn" them. For example, "Rally Day" is earned by having a 5000 word day OR overcoming a 10k word deficit. That's what incited me to sign up for the event and order the badges. I also ordered the Camp NaNoWriMo care package: a wooden cigar box that includes, among other things, a notepad, pen made of a twig, Camp NaNoWriMo badge, and keychain.

I have even hatched a plan to try to further motivate me for this lighter, more fun version of the November event: I'm going to set up my tent in my hobby room and use that as my writing nook.

So my online cabin has been assigned, my goal set at 30k words, badges and care package ordered, and writing nook erected. April 1st is the start date.

It seems like a lot of kerfuffle just to work on (and maybe even finish) a pet-project novel that I started when I was 16 that will probably never be published...but I've become rather attached to this little story, and I'd like to see it finished. And I don't want to spend the rest of my life mourning the loss of that 50k words and have it roadblock me from ever completing it.

So here goes nothing. Feel free to give me a shout-out of encouragement over the month of April. I know I'll need it!

WTF Subconsious Mind?

I had a rather intriguing dream last night, and it's too long to write in a Facebook post, so I'll write it here:

In the dream, I was in high school (it wasn't my high school from real life, though). And I met someone and fell in love. All I remember is that he was blonde (which is odd as I generally don't fancy blondes :P) So high school goes on, and I was happy with Mr. Blonde Guy. But one day, some evil dictator took over the city. Or the world. I didn't know or care as I was in high school, so my world was pretty small. Either way, evil dictator takes over. And not only does he take over, but he brainwashes everyone. We're all pretty much zombies. So I forget everyone; the guy I loved, my sisters, everyone. I only existed to be a mindless worker. It was all very Nineteen Eighty-Four. :P

I don't know how long this mindless working lasted, whether it was months or years. I was walking home one day and I passed by the boy I had fallen in love before the dictator had taken over. And when our eyes met, I got a tiny little shock, a slip of memory that broke through the brainwashing. Enough to make me stop and stare. And the same happened to him. And we stood there on the sidewalk just staring at each other, trying desperately figure out what was happening. Finally, the memory and emotion broke through the brainwashing and we remembered each other and our love and rushed into each other's arms.

We sat in the grass just being happy in each other's company. Talking and hugging and holding hands. We were just thrilled to be together again. Suddenly, I had a premonition, I saw him speak to me, then run across the street, and when he was almost on the other side, he was HIT BY A TRUCK!!! Then the vision was over, and were were sitting together in the grass once more.

Just then, he said that he wanted to go get something at his house which was right across the street. He stood up and turn towards the street. Panicking, I grabbed his hand and begged him not to go. He looked at me like I was a little crazy at first. I pleaded again, and he must have seen the sincerity in my expression, because he just smiled and shrugged and sat back down. And I saw the truck speed by.

The "story" kind of ended there, and the dream shifted to 3rd person perspective. I have a feeling that they went on to undo the brainwashing thing in others, though. I do remember the "Epilogue" of my dream, where photos of me and him were shown and a narrator explained that after all was done, I hadn't changed over the years, aside from getting a few wrinkles (Ha ha ha, what?), and he went on to be a football star or something like that.

I'm still puzzling over this one, LOL!

On Being Nearly 28

And so it came to be that one not-so-very special day, I decided to sit down at my computer and write.

It's been a while since my last post, and even longer since I did any proper writing.

Seeing as my birthday is this week, I've been thinking a lot lately about where I am in my life.

My first reaction was this: I'm very nearly 28, and I haven't done anything with my life.

I don't own a house.

I don't have anything even close to a boyfriend, let alone a fiancée or husband. (so a family of my own is right out)

I don't own a car.

I don't go out on weekends to have drinks/dinner with my peers.

I haven't been to the West Coast or "Down South"

I've not seen Grey's Anatomy or any of the Bond flicks.

I have no investments, no savings, and I have student and credit card debt.

I compare myself to all the "normal" people in my age group and I feel like I'm left far behind. Like everyone else is either in, or almost at that whole adulthood thing. And that really depresses me. I feel like I have so little in common with the people around me, but not just that I have nothing in common, but that I'm somehow less than those around me. Like I just can't compare. I measure myself to the standard that it seems society has set as being successful, and find that 9 out of 10 times, I just can't cut it. And I feel sad.

Luckily for me, that doesn't last very long.

Because then I realize that holy shit, I've done a stupid amount of things in 28 years!!!

I don't own a house, but I rent one, which means that I don't have to pay property taxes, repairs, or any of that nonsense.

I don't own a car, but the money I save on gas and insurance, I can rent home for myself (see above :P)

I don't have a whole bunch of friends and acquaintances to go out drinking with on weekends, but I have a core of dear friends who are close by, and friends all over the globe who I know would welcome me should I choose to visit (as I would were they to visit me)

I've never been on vacation to BC or Cuba, but I *lived* in England and South Korea where I learned and saw and experienced SO many amazing things.

I don't have a useful degree or job-specific certifications that will get me a respectable career, but I do have a myriad of little skills that fill my time and give me pleasure. And even with my "useless" degrees and education, I still managed to find myself a well-paying job that engages me.

So I have no savings...but I'm living in the now, and enjoying life. I'm eating chocolate and pizza and ice cream whenever I want, surrounding myself with little bits of stuff that make me happy, like cushy couches, animal companions, and a bed with warm duvets and squishy pillows.

I go out when I want, and stay in when I choose, rather than doing so when it's "expected" of me.

And I don't have a significant other, but I know from relevant past experience, that I love so very easily. All it's gonna take is the right man to come along and I'll slip into love like I was a 15 year old girl again.

And the best part is that I'm only nearly 28! I have so many years more to enjoy my life and fill it with even more experiences and happy little things, and love.

Normalcy be damned!

On Daddies

I was watching some daytime TV this week, and one of the shows spotlighted a deadbeat dad.

This particular deadbeat dad was cheating on his wife. They were not divorced or even separated, but he had several girlfriends, as well as another child with one of them. He missed his twin daughters' birthday in order to go to a party with his illegitimate baby's birthday. He also took his daughters out with him and his girlfriends. Needless to say that the mother was pretty spineless, but the part that the host was concentrating on was the daughters. How the situation affected them.

At one point, the host turned to the deadbeat dad and asked him if he knew that a girl's relationship with her father determined the kind of relationship that she would have with men later in life.

That really spoke to me. I was suddenly SO grateful that I was raised by a man who treated my sisters and I like gold. He taught us to be respectful and resourceful, and loved us with a quiet love that was shown with actions more than words.

I mean, he's not perfect. Him and my Mum separated when I was in my teens. But any issues that he and my Mum had stayed secret until I was well into my twenties.

SO yeah, I grew up pretty much idolizing my daddy, as all little girls should, ha ha!

But how has this affected my relationship with men in my adult life?

It's set the bar pretty high. <3

On Intimacy

The strangest thought came to me today.

I was walking down the corridor at work, thinking about my finances in my new place (and how they'll be a little tighter than expected thanks to the new pay schedule), and considering how I can get a roomie if I need the spare cash.

The idea of living with a stranger just doesn't appeal to me. I've always known that. I mean, I've been living on my own pretty much since I left home. I figured that I'm just a private person. Or, how I describe it sometimes: I like to be able to walk around naked if I want to, ha ha ha!

But then, it suddenly occurred to me.

I'm terrified of intimacy.

WELL! No WONDER I've had such a hard time making new friends! No WONDER I haven't had a boyfriend in 5 years!

It all makes sense.

Now, some of you may be shaking your head and saying, "Leah, The Queen of TMI, afraid of intimacy? I call bullshit."

And you would be half-right. The relationships that I've forged over years and years (ie. the vast majority of my current circle of friends), I'm okay with. It's the new people that scare the bejeezus out of me. Especially men. Men are the scariest. The idea of letting people get close to me (who haven't already been shown to be "trustworhy") just gives me the willies.

And that goes for physical and emotional closeness. For some reason, I have no problem with purely intellectual closeness. Which would account for my large number of long-distance friends.

I could rationalize this state of being by telling myself that it's okay to be as timid as I am. I was bullied all through elementary school and junior high, ostracised from my major program in uni (the folk in my minor program were awesome, though), and have spent the last 5 years having my heart torn to shreds by man after man after man. In fact, the only success I've had with men (apart from one or two notable exceptions) have been on the short term. As in one-night term.

SO yeah, I have plenty of reasons to justify my fear. But it seems that's all I've been doing in last years: justifying my fear.

I just have to figure out how to get over my fear without sending myself spiralling back in...

For now, though, I'm not going to think about it. I'm not going to plan or process or analyse. No schemes. No research. No more labels. I'm just going to move into my new house with Fezzik and Pandora, and let it be my clean slate. :)

A Quote-Post

Today's post is brought to you by a passage from Tom Robbins' "Still Life With Woodpecker" which I'm currently reading.

I think that it's just a great quote and worth sharing.

I know it's long...but seriously. Read it. :)

"There is lovemaking that is bad for a person, just as there is eating that is bad. That boysenberry cream pie from Thrift-E Mart may appear inviting, may, in fact, cause all nine hundred taste buds to carol from the tongue, but in the end, the sugars, the additives, the empty calories clog arteries, disrupt cells, generate fat, and rot teeth. Even potentially nourishing foods can be improperly prepared. There are wrong combinations and improper preparations in sex as well. Yes, one must prepare for a fuck-the way an enlightened priest prepares to celebrate mass, the way a great matador prepares for the ring: with intensification, with purification, with a conscious summoning of sacred power. And even that won't work if the ingredients are poorly matched: oysters are delectable, so are strawberries, but mashed together...(?!) Every nutritious sexual recipe calls for at least a pinch of love, and the fucks that rate four-star rankings from both gourmets and health-food nuts use cupfuls. Not that sex should be regarded as therapeutic or to be taken for medicinal purposes-only a dullard would hang such a millstone around the nibbled neck of a lay-but to approach sex without warmth is to dine night after night in erotic greasy spoons. In time, one's palate will become insensitive, one will suffer (without knowing it) emotional malnutrition, the skin of the soul will fester with scurvy, the teeth of the heart will decay. Neither duration nor proclamation of commitment is necessarily the measure-there are ephemeral explosions of passion between strangers that are more erotic sense than many lengthy marriages, there are one-night stands in Jersey City more glorious than six-month affairs in Paris-but finally there is a commitment, however brief; a purity, however threatened; a vulnerability, however concealed;; a generosity of spirit, however marbled with need; and honest caring, however singed with lust, that must be present if couplings are to be salubrious and not slow poison"

Damn, I love this guy. You all need to read his stuff. I promise you will find at least ONE of his novels that speaks to you.

On Heartlands

This is something that I've wondered about for a long while.

I've been to a handful of countries in my short life. Some of them really made a lasting impression on me, some didn't. Also, there are some countries that I feel instinctively drawn to, whether I've been there or not.

It all started with Scotland. Maybe it was because I was told I had "royal Scottish blood" when I was little that first raised my interest in the land of my forebears. I now know that my royal lineage goes back to 700 years ago, ,and not much use to me now, ha ha! I'm not entirely convinced that there is such a thing as "royal Scottish blood" anyhow, as I think the real rulers of Scotland were the ancient chieftains, not the English aristocracy that moved in later :P

But I digress.

From when I was little, I wanted to go to Scotland. And when I got there, I felt like I was where I belonged. I felt a kinship with the island where my great-great-great grandmother had lived before her family emigrated to Upper Canada in 1845 (I even visited what was left of her home on the Isle of Skye!). Also The Isle of Lewis, where various other ancestors were clan chiefs. I fell in love with the people, the culture, and with the land itself.

I figured it made sense, as it was in my blood.

But if that's so, should I also feel a connection of some kind with a country that runs even stronger in my veins: Finland. My paternal grandmother was born there, making my ancestry a quarter Finnish.

But I don't. Oh, I'd like to visit someday, so see the country my grandmother was from...but I don't feel that invisible draw to go there as I did for Scotland.

Another example: I lived in Korea for a year. I really enjoyed it, but I never felt like I belonged. I visited Wales for a day, and decided that I'd happily move there.

It was a feeling, something deep inside. A tiny voice that whispered "You're home, you're meant to be here."

And for the strangest reason, one of the countries that I'm drawn to, for no good reason, it Hawaii. Not tropical resort, 10-day vacation with hotel and airfare Hawaii. Native, Ōlelo Hawaiʻi, country in it's own right Hawaii.

But why?

Was I there in a past life? Is it a sign that I should go there at some point in my current one? Is it just a matter of cultural appeal? Genetic throwback?

It seems that every time I visit a place that I connect with, I shortly discover another through book or film that seems to resonate with me .

I've accumulated such a list of countries that I have fallen in love with (as well as friends in all of them) that I don't know HOW I'm going to keep up with visitation rights! Ha ha ha!

On New Starts and New Years

Well, it's a new year, and with the new year has come some pretty big changes in my life.

First of all is my newest companion. I adopted a retired racing greyhound from Greyhound Supporters of the National Capital Region, and brought him home on December 20. I named him Fezzik. This is a double reference: "The Princess Bride" obviously, but also Doctor Who, because fezzes are cool! Ha ha ha! Aside from some housebreaking issues, things are going really well. He's a pretty great dog and as soon as he's housebroken, I think we're going to be the best of buddies!

The second big deal is the start of the egg donation process. I'm donating eggs to a friend who can't conceive himself. So I'm starting off the year with the first step: the psychological assessment, followed by the medical assessment in March, and legal proceedings in between. If all goes according to plans, the surrogate will conceive at the end of summer this year, and nine months later, there will be a mini Leah running around somewhere. :P

Another big change of the year is that I had my last session with Dr. Kaiserman today. I've been seeing him since March of 2012, when I started having anxiety attacks. Even though it was realized fairly early on that I didn't need therapy as such, it did me a great deal of good to have someone to talk to and discuss my fears and frustrations with. It's not that I don't have friends to talk to, but I've always felt that it wasn't my business to unload my problems on friends. I'm hoping that I've learned better now!

I think the biggest change of the year, though, is the BIG MOVE! at the end of January, I'm moving out of my little bachelorette pad into a two-bedroom townhome. It's in the same neighbourhood as I'm in now, which is nice, and I'll even have a little fenced backyard for Fezzik.

So with a new dog and bigger digs, along with a new, healthier attitude to life (cutting the therapist strings!), I'm hoping that the 2013 will be a year for many new new starts and happy times.

A funny side note: I've complained many times in this blog about how long I went without sex. It made me really, really miserable to be so long without physical contact. Well, now that this is no longer the case, I'm suddenly feeling SO much better. It's amazing how something as simple as one single night of intimacy can change one's outlook so much. In the few weeks that have followed, I'm suddenly feeling lighter, less burdened by the weight of my life.

I don't sit and cry about the fact that I'm single, or about why my heart was broken by the last guy I liked, of why the one I currently like doesn't like me back. For the first time since I don't know when, I'm happy to just let life happen, and to trust that it will all work out eventually. I feel like even though I still have things in my life that I'm not completely happy about, that they don't seem so hopeless.

I guess what I'm meaning to say is that 2013 has a lot of promise. I feel good for the first time in a long while. I have a new man in my life (albeit the four-legged furry kind, ha ha!), I'm learning to stand on my own two feet, and be the mistress of my own domain (both physical and emotional).

So here's to 2013! The potential is there, all I have to do is keep the momentum going to make sure that it's a spectacular year! :)