Whirling maelstrom of doom…

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.

I may be broken…

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

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.

The mice that brought darkness to a small town…

There I was… happily working on assignments, with mind-numbing television, and a lovely electric fire for ambiance. Without warning, darkness descended. Damned ghosts, I thought (no pun intended).

I trundled downstairs, into the cavernous 130 year old basement to check out the electrical panel. Flicking breakers at random resulted in one room after another being rendered without power. “What is this mysteriousness*?” I wondered. As any modern social media addict will do, I ranted on Facebook. Within minutes, my phone rang. I answered, and the calling party hung up. Not too creepy, as I’m lighting candles all over my living room. The phone rings again. “Hello?” I answer, hesitantly. “Hi, it’s ____. Turn all your breakers off and get out of the house, now.”

Well that’s a fine how-do-you-do.

After being convinced that if I stayed in my house I would die a fiery death, I made a few more phone calls. Being a holiday, the thought of the cost of a 24-electrician was frightening. Enter awesome neighbhourhood friend. After dismantling the electrical panel, this was discovered….10300980_10152636860976568_2321431037697625543_n

Food on one side, bedding on the other. Mice. Turns out the little buggers had been piddling all over my breakers for years. Ermiony (please see previous posts) managed to deplete my mouse population, but not soon enough. And, clearly, my six cats are seriously slacking. Everything was corroded, and every time I flicked a breaker off an then on again, I was breaking them. Everything dangerous and broken were shut off until further repair and I settled into a weekend of semi-darkness.

As has already established in previous posts, my favourite hobby lately is napping. Having the stress of school, and potential house explosions and/or fires, you can imagine how much I slept when I finally crashed. When I awoke the next day (no need to name a time, that’s just embarrassing) I discovered that I had cut power to houses within a 10 km radius. For four hours! It had to have been me. There’s no other explanation.

Turns out it was a coincidence… or so they tell me…

*Insert multiple swear words in place of mysteriousness…

Duelling idiots

I’ve never hidden the fact that the general public pisses me off. I like people, individually, even in small groups. Heck, I even love some of them. But when you get nameless, faceless, masses of humans together, they all meld into one mind-numbing, for-the-love-of-everything-sacred-someone-hand-me-a-glass-of-wine assemblage.

Take driving, for example. Why, in the name of all that is holy, when there are two lanes in which one can drive, it’s inevitable that two cars will drive side-by-side at the same speed. They won’t even be doing the speed limit. It’s like one idiot started to pass another idiot, and then thought “hey, this could be fun…”, thereby hijacking every car in both lanes behind them.

Take shopping malls, as another example. Why do people feel it’s necessary to stop dead in their tracks when they know people are behind them. The worst ones do this, and then promptly turn around and glare at you if you made the mistake of bumping into them. By the gods people, I’m not psychic, but I might turn psycho if you try to make me feel like this was my fault. I did not want to crash into a total stranger, I usually try to refrain from touching people I don’t know. I’m not a germaphobe, but I do find it inappropriate.

The worst ones, however, are the sidewalk/hallway hoggers. You know the ones… The sidewalk, or hallway, is only three people wide, but three people walk abreast and don’t move out of our way. Sidewalk hoggers suck, because you’re usually forced onto the grass, or better yet, into the road – usually in front of on-coming traffic. Hallways, as you may recall, have walls. Last time I checked, I could not walk through them. So, by not moving out my way, you are now threatening to body check me into the boards (being Canadian, I had to use the hockey metaphor). Yet, if I do not move our of your way, stop dead right in front of you, and let you pass around me like I’m Moses parting the idiot sea, I’m the asshole.

On any given day, I experience at least two of these horrifying social graces. It’s no wonder I go home, hug my cats, and drink wine.

Trying something new….

I have learned so much in such a small amount of time, trying new things are almost scary. I’m afraid I’m going to break the internet. So, if it happens, I want it to be for a reason…..

I’ve always wanted to start a blog,

even though my brain’s a fog.

I ramble about many things,

and hope my nightmares don’t sprout wings.

Software learning is insane,

but my head is used to pain.

All the programs make me overload,

If I learn it all, motherlode!!!!

Zombie Garden Gnomes

Okay, I’ve mentioned them enough that I suppose I should finally tell the tale.

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there lived a princess in a beautiful old house. The princess had a great love for birds, and flowers, and books, and wine. When the weather was lovely, which was often in the magical kingdom, the princess would sit on her deck with a book and glass of wine and watch the birds, and smell the flowers. It was a sanctuary unto itself, and the princess was most happy. During the warmer months, the princess loved the birds so much that she also provided them with a constant supply of fresh water to drink. This, she offered through her magical hose from her magical house.

One day, the magical hose sprung a leak and no matter what the princess did, she could not stop the flow of water without turning off the water supply completely. This was not a problem, considering the fact that birds did not require fresh water in the darkest of hours. As the sun went down, the princess settled in to enjoy her evening with her feline friends when she remembered the hose. “Oh no!” she declared, and sprang from her repose. “The water shall run, and run, and that will be a terrible drain on our natural resources!” The princess dashed outside, leapt over the magical lawnmower and turned the tap off at it’s source. Mightily pleased, she leapt back over the the magical lawnmower, lost her balance, stepping in an enormous hole left by a falling icicle in the spring, and promptly landed face-first in the drought-ridden, hard-packed earth. The crunch of her fractured nose echoed throughout the kingdom.

The princess survived, albeit a bit bloodily, and to this day, if anyone asks, it was the zombie garden gnomes who attacked. For the real story is far less interesting.

For the love of everything sacred, not again….

I’ve been pondering my head lately.

Having had three (that I know of) concussions, I thought their stories might be worth sharing. The first was in land, far, far away. Well, actually it’s only an hour from me…. but I digress.

When I was 12, I was an avid horsewoman(horsechild?!?). Like most girls, I loved horses and begged my parents for riding lessons. For my eighth birthday, success!!! I was not a girly girl. I didn’t want “equestrian” lessons and had no desire, whatsoever, to ever use the word jodhpurs, let alone wear them. I wanted to ride western. I wanted to be a cowgirl. I was a natural, I was told, and after my ten lessons were up, I pondered my future in the world. Luckily, my mum bonded with the family who owned the ranch in question, and they agreed that if I wanted to help out around the ranch, I could continue lessons for free. I mucked out stalls, cleaned bridles, fixed saddles, and shovelled more shit than any other kid I knew. And I grew up in the country! Fast forward four years later, and I was still there. I was now a terribly experienced horsewoman (oh hell yes) to the point that I was now officially a trail guide. That meant that I was considered more experienced than any of the people wanting to rent the horses and go for a trail ride. Every ride had to have a guide.

This pissed off a number of adults, but it was quite entertaining the number of times I had to come to the rescue, at the tender age of 12. And I garnered a fair amount of respect the day that one of the bitchy horses (I still remember her name. Colby.) turned around and bit my leg instead of the horse I was riding. As big, strong, adults pried her teeth from my 12-year-old leg, with me cursing instead of crying, they stopped questioning if I was up to the task. In that time, I was pretty impressed with myself in general, because at 12, I had a regular paycheque. I was also pretty proud of the fact that, since I was responsible enough to take care of the urban adventurers, I was also responsible enough to go out alone. *insert dramatic music here*

It was a beautiful day. I was riding one of my favourite horses, named Sundance. He was a strawberry roan, so pretty, with a wonderful personality, and jeepers – could that horse run. 🙂 We weren’t even 1/4 of the way around the trail when it happened. A bee got caught underneath his saddle pad. I didn’t last long on his back. I was bucked off, got my foot caught in the stirrup, and was dragged for some distance until I was dislodged on a pile of rocks. That’s pretty much all I remember. Apparently, the alarm was raised back on the ranch when Sundance returned, sans rider. A search party was mustered, and apparently I came to half-way back. The owner sent my mum off to the hospital with me, with her promise that she would bring me back. I was, quite literally, going to have to get back in the saddle that same day.

I returned – victorious from the hospital – bruised, concussed, and still bleeding a little, but ready to get back onto a horse. They put me on Tag. She was 29 years old. Safest horse on the ranch, I was assured. No problem. I was 12, but I was stubborn and tough. We got 3/4 around the trail when we approached the back of what was then known as Bell Northern Research. It’s a nice part of the trail, a good open spot to run, with a forest up ahead to slow down and cool down through. On the other side of the fence was a baseball diamond that the BNR employees used to play softball. There was a jovial game going on that day. A few smiled and waved at us on the horses. And then it happened. No one expected a home run. The ball actually hit my horse on the ass.

Have you ever seen a 29 year old horse panic? I have. She tore across the field at a speed that only racehorses might be able to muster. Did the forest stop her? No. Did she follow the path? No. She found the path of most resistance, which included a number of buckthorn trees. If you’ve never seen a buckthorn tree close up, they have thorns on them that can reach 4 inches in length, and are strong enough that they can pierce a car tire if run over at just the right angle.

20 minutes later, I returned to the ranch, still concussed, still bruised, and now bleeding profusely from so many wounds that it would have been counterproductive to even count. The owner’s daughter had been my companion through this romp through hell and attempted to explain my condition. The owner shook his head, looked at my mother and was about to speak when I slid, bloodily off my horse, and promised to return the next day, so long as he didn’t send me out a third time.

For the record, I was back the next day…

The set up…

There are few things worse than online dating… one is definitely the set-up. Especially when the set-up is by someone who hardly knows you.

“He’s awesome!”, “So thoughtful!” and “Such a nice man.” were terms thrown about by someone who is a friend of a friend. I’d been single for about eight years, borderline given up on online dating, so I thought “why not?”. hahahahahahahahah

I met this man at a local restaurant. My first impression was hair that hadn’t been washed in about four weeks, a turtleneck sweater that had stains on the neck and the arms, and his pants were pulled half-way up to his chest like an 80 year-old man. I smiled sweetly, and sat down.

Over the course of one glass of wine, I learned that this man wasn’t a friend of a friend, in fact, he was her best customer at the restaurant that she worked at – because he ate there every day! He was two years older than me. Not bad… He lived in his parents’ basement until he was almost 40 but it was time to move out. So he moved in with his brother. That turned sour when his brother actually met a living, breathing woman, and turfed him out after they got married. Where did he return? To his parents’ basement. I see a theme here. Apparently his mother wasn’t well. That would explain the stained and ripped clothing he wore for our first date.

Did we go out again? Um… no.

I don’t have children and I’m not about to adopt ones older than me…

Run away, run away!!!