Whirling maelstrom of doom…

Posted on by The Witch of South Mountain

According to my boyfriend, I’m a whirling maelstrom of doom. And he had no idea I was writing this when he said it. I like that.

An hour long commute can be interesting in my head. My brain is allowed to wander, and that can be a dangerous thing…

Oh crap, that truck and trailer just pulled out in front of me. How long until I can pass him? Oh look, a bunny. That’s right, the charity shop is open later tonight. I won’t be home in time. Is it raining? Yes, yes it is. *five minutes later* Yay, it stopped raining. *ten minutes later* Damn, it’s raining again. SQUIRREL!!! Oh look, that house has new shutters. Oooh, a trampoline. I want a trampoline. Don’t those people ever mow their lawn? GOOD LORD, WHY ARE YOU DRIVING 15KM UNDER THE SPEED LIMIT?!?! Wait, that house was there last week, now it’s gone. Oh yeah, I’ll need gas on the way home. Ooooh, a hawk. What a crappy roofing job on that new house, they’re going to have to re-shingle in a few years. Hmmm, that house is for sale, remember to look it up on realtor.ca and see what they want for it. Oh shit, a school bus. Damn, it’s the one that stops at every other house. Why do so many people have children on this road? I did not know that about Trent Reznor. Those recycling boxes have been at the end of their driveway for two weeks. I’m covered in cat hair. How nice, the bus let me go by. SHEEP! Why is that woman in the ditch? Wait, my neighbour has a trampoline – why am I not using that one? Oh crap, I forgot to call my doctor. And I forgot to call Bell. Wow, I’m already speeding, get off my ass you idiot. This coffee is getting cold. Nice banana muffin though. Did I include all the right documents in the assignment I submitted last night? *sigh* The country is ending and the city approaches. This makes me sad. Why is that man waving down a bus when there is no bus… maybe he’s waving at me. I should wave back. WHY ARE YOU SLAMMING ON YOUR BRAKES? THE LIGHT IS FUCKING GREEN!!! Asshat. Learn to drive, moron. I can’t believe they pay people to stand there with a stop sign at the railway crossing. Why don’t they just fix the bloody crossing lights? I hope I get to school in enough time to get a sandwich. What class do I have an assignment due next week, PHP or JavaScript? Doesn’t matter, they both confuse me. What is that man wearing?? Nice signal, asshole. Is that woman walking a dog or a small horse? I can’t wait to sleep in again on Saturday. I did lock the back door, didn’t I? Dude, pick a lane and stay in it!! I love this song. Holy hell, I’m really early. Holy shit, I’ve never found a spot this close before. I should take a picture of my parking spot. No, that’s stupid. Oh hell, I have to contact the registrar’s office to get a copy of my January tuition. Crap, I just stepped in a puddle. Now my sandals are squishy. Yay, I’ve got time to buy a sandwich. I hope they have egg salad on a croissant.

And there you have a mere snippet of an average commute in my world. No wonder I drink.

PS. Egg salad, but no croissant. Damn.

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An interestsing development

Posted on by The Witch of South Mountain

All my life, I have been very self-conscious of my body. When I was a teenager, I hated it and did everything I could to ensure I kept it covered. I rarely wore shorts, I wore jeans all summer long. I have no idea why, other than teenage angst, because when I look back, I had a kick-ass body back then. I had nice hips, a thin waist and just enough boobs. What was I thinking? I wasn’t. I was a teenager.

As I got older, I discovered beer. That’s when my body started to expand, but not in all the right places. I had a very unhealthy/emotionally abusive relationship which upped my beer intake considerably. I eventually got enough nerve to kick that relationship to the curb, but depression snuck in and I was terribly fashionable for quite some time in baggy sweatshirts and sweatpants. I was the queen of fashion. But, my body was completely hidden, rightly so according to my ex, because it was disgusting.

After a while, I shelved the sweatpants (although I still wear then when I’m carving, because it’s okay to look like a bag of crap when you’re turning into a giant dustball anyway) and returned to my jeans and t-shirt comfort zone. But, without realizing I was doing so, the t-shirts were always big. Really big. I was still hiding myself. Funnily enough, I also started wearing more outrageous things. I was wearing bright colours, many colours, weird saying on my t-shirts. I think that subconsciously, I was hoping that if people noticed anything, it was my clothing, and not me. That endured through another unhealthy/emotionally abusive relationship (what’s up with that anyway?) and into the recent past.

Fast forward to 2015. (Ironically, I’m numerically dyslexic and typed 2105… that would be a reeeeeeally long time from now.) I still have the clothing with the weird sayings, and the brightly coloured clothing, and the many-coloured clothing, but I’ve noticed that, for the most part, the bigger stuff is still in the storage boxes. I’m pulling out the stuff I like that may be a teeny bit snug, but I’m okay with that. I’m pulling out the shorter pants.

It would seem that, for the first time in my life, I’ve suddenly become more comfortable with my body. I can attribute that to one thing, or should I say, one person. I think that finding someone who actually loves me for me, who tells me I’m beautiful, and who loves my body the way it is, is slowly starting to change the way I see myself. I don’t use the word “disgusting” when I describe my body. I am still not overly fond of it, but I can live with it now. And who knows, maybe, eventually, I might love it as much as he does. But for now, at least someone does. 🙂

I may be broken…

Posted on by The Witch of South Mountain

Sometimes I wonder how people let go of the past. People who have been through way worse than I… I’m in a good place now. I have someone who I love very much, and I know that he actually loves me too. So why do I allow bad thoughts to creep into my head? Why do I allow the self-doubt back? I guess because it never left.

Things can be awesome, perfect, beyond my imaginings for weeks and then one little thing will send me back into myself. I retreat. It’s not even big things, just little triggers. I don’t feel worthy of being happy. I don’t feel worthy of being loved. I compare myself to others and always come up short.

Is it because the negativity is comfortable? I’ve spent so many years being negative, and feeling like I wasn’t worth anything, that perhaps I’m out of my comfort zone. It’s safer to stay in my little cocoon rather than allow myself to be vulnerable again. My heart knows it’s okay to be vulnerable, and it wants to be, but the voice in my head is still afraid. I have handed my heart over, and I trust the one I love to keep it safe. But I’m still afraid. I’ve never loved anyone like this before. Correction, I realize now that I’ve never loved before. I’ve never felt this loved before. Is that what’s so scary? Are things too good and I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop? Maybe I’m waiting for him to discover that I’m not what he thinks I am. I’m just me.

There are ghosts in my head. There are ghosts in my house. The ones in my house are welcome. The ones in my head are not. I don’t know how to get rid of them. My love is patient and is willing to try help me exorcise them, but he shouldn’t have to. I should be able to just let go, shouldn’t I?

I want to let go.

Why can’t I?

When noodles attack

Posted on by The Witch of South Mountain

Let me begin by pointing out that I am the epitome of elegance and grace. *snort* If you’ve read my previous posts about some of my concussions, surely you will agree.

I had a very late start to my day today. I had a class on PHP that started at 9am, but after waking up in full blown cold-mode (the second cold I’ve had in 3 1/2 weeks that has again settled in my lungs) I decided that extra sleep was a higher priority. Besides, no one wanted to hear the hacking and sniffling joy that I was first thing this morning. My second class, however, was mandatory so I had to haul myself into Ottawa. I survived the class without too much incident. I tried to be as subtle in my disgustingness as possible.

On my way home, I discovered just how hungry I was and realized that I was not going to make it home without starting to feel faint. Luckily, there’s a Farm Boy on the way and they have really yummy (and healthy!) salads. Me eating salad in the car is never a graceful thing to witness, because I use my fingers, and they are usually rice dishes. Today, however, I do believe I reached an all new low. Thank goodness I was alone.

I opened the container and perched it in a safe spot where I could access it without taking my eyes off the road. Safety first. Today’s choice was a bit different. I got a lovely curry noodle dish. I was almost to the bottom of the container when it happened. A particularly long noodle materialized. I stuck out my tongue to safely guide the tasty, noodlely goodness into my mouth when I hit a small pothole. The (very sticky) noodle sprang up and plastered itself across my face. The surprise of that caused a sharp intake of breath, and that’s when a tiny noodle was sucked down my throat. This started a coughing fit so violent that I had tears streaming down my face (trickling along the still plastered noodle) and I was waiting for the wet thwacking sound of one my lungs being ejected from my body and onto the dashboard. After what seemed like an eternity, my eyes dried up, the noodle was removed, and the coughing eventually ceased.

I should probably make sure I have cookies in my bag from now on.

And if any members of any police forces are reading this, this never happened. Nope, nope, nope. Complete fiction, I swear.

I wrote the shittiest poem. It was voted so.

Posted on by The Witch of South Mountain

Shitty-Poetry-Belt_0

For those that knew about it, I wrote the shittiest poem of 2015, according to readers of ChiZine.com. I’m pretty excited about that, because I was up against my published boyfriend who is damned good at writing good stuff and shitty stuff. I wrote it for school, actually, since I’m learning web design… This was my poem, y’all. 🙂

Oh The Coding We Shall Do…

Would you, should you, code responsive design?
You surely must, or some might whine.
Devices now are of many size,
and so the site must be quite wise.
Mobile users see a tiny screen,
instead of wide, longer must be seen.
Many challenges there surely be,
like making sure that all can see.
Mobile users like to zoom,
and that makes a coder’s head kaboom.
Making pages fit to scale,
will unerringly make a coder wail.
The breakpoints needed for a media query,
can surely make a coder weary.
If these challenges run amok,
any coder will yell: What. The. F$%k?

In all fairness, the esteemed Geoff Gander, otherwise known as my boyfriend, wrote a fantastic poem and it must be shared, because not everyone clicked the “read more” button. I offer you:

All Staff

By Geoff Gander

I moan softly in frustrated sorrow,
Fidgeting in my hard, rough office chair
Like a lion in a cramped cage.
“Just a short meeting,” he said.
His tongue flattened and forked
As he spoke.

I wince and clutch my stomach,
Singed by a noxious brew
Of curdled milk and stale coffee.
“Sure, I’ll have another cup.
No sugar, though.
I’m cutting back.”

I pinch myself to stay awake,
Straining against the droning hum of
Bureaucratic bafflegab.
“What the hell did he just say?”
Glazed eyes stare back
Uncomprehending.
Should’ve had another cup.

I grit my teeth,
Groaning as the Sands of Time
Course downwards.
“Why are we still on the first agenda item?”
I fight back tears of remorse
For the life that I am losing.

Every.

Second.