I’m never moving again.

The subconscious is a pretty weird thing. After a sleepless night, I fell into a very bizarre sleeping-in (one perk, I suppose, of unemployment) dream-fest.

The beginning of it is a bit hazy, but it involved attending some sort of event, at which I was dependent on a ride home. No one showed up, so I fell asleep (not sure where) and woke up at 1:30 in the morning to find my ride raking garbage out of her car. She still wouldn’t take me home because she was participating in a skipping race, with another person, down Merivale Road. Both of these people I knew back in high school, but have not seen them for any significant amount of time since then. So that was weird.

Once the race was over, it dawned on me that I was supposed to move that day. The friend had a tiny car but an odd trailer that unfolded into quite the storage wardrobe on wheels. I called my parents and told them I’d start with her help but we couldn’t fit the big stuff in. We had to run up and down round hotel staircases to get to my stuff on the third floor. I took great pleasure in the fact that we were moving, that the woman below me disliked me intensely. I knew she would be annoyed by the noise. That woman, incidentally, popped up through every aspect of my dreams, insulting me, harassing me, and repeating “But I bought you a Christmas present last year”. I know her in real life, and I can assure you, she did not.

Most of my stuff, however, was in a warehouse on big, shiny, silver shelves like you see in stores. There were many people to help me move, all people I have encountered in my life, but it made no sense that they were there. The warehouse was also part of a store. My stuff was mixed in with what they were selling, and some of it still had to be packed. It was very annoying, and I couldn’t keep customers from trying to buy my stuff before I could pack it. I guess this is why you should always pack well before moving day.

While attempting to do all of that, and organize my helpers, I got an urgent message that I was needed back at my house (which was no longer in a hotel) because things had turned nasty. When I got there, it was mostly underground, because I lived in some sort of pit dwelling. The biggest problem, it would seem, was the bathroom. Pretty much everything in it had rotted and there was a family of rather angry black and white foxes living there. Once I crawled along the entrance way, on my belly, I entered the room to confirm their reports. The foxes weren’t exactly friendly, but they didn’t attack. I didn’t salvage much. Things weren’t much better in the bedroom. Every time I picked something up, there were puddles of black swamp underneath, and they burst occasionally into low flames. It wasn’t a Princess Bride Fire Swamp kinda thing, just a lot of ooze that would flare up when broken things were tossed in.

What was salvaged from my strange, wild animal and swamp infested home, was eventually dragged to a dilapidated barn for packing. Every time I tried to grab a box, my aunt would yell “that one is for garbage!” and I’d have to put it back.

Throughout all of this, I kept having to run back and forth between the hotel and the place I was moving to. I’m still not sure where the pit was, or where it was that I was actually moving to… But I was running on foot. Well, actually, hand and foot. I was pretty quick too, despite it being rather awkward running on all fours. Once, while crossing an intersection, I came across a bunch of kids who used to live on the floor below me in an old house. They all yelled out “Oh my god, it’s YOU!”, to which I replied “See, you never knew just who lived upstairs, did you?”. They all stood, wide-eyed with their mouths hanging open, shaking their heads, as I flew by.

I never did see the place I was moving to.

As far as I know, I never actually moved.

If silence is golden, I’m a rusty nail.

It’s one of those days again. I’m still unemployed, but I am lucky enough to have some contract work. So, technically I’m not completely unemployed. I am also lucky that I can do the contract work from home. I want to sleep all the time. I’m still exhausted, even though school is over, but according to my doctor, nothing is wrong with me. But now I have work to do. I’m letting other things slide again. I’m feeling guilty about that. Here is how my day has shaped up…

So tired, I don’t want to get out of bed. Oh, kitties. Yay for kitty love. Look, it’s not as late as yesterday, I can stay in bed a while longer. Oh damn, my stomach is not happy. Shit, I have to do laundry. Yay, kitties. The bathroom counter is a mess, I really need to clean it off. Okay, five more minutes in bed with the cats. Nope, my belly does not agree with that. Okay fine, I’ll get up. What is she growling about, did she catch a mouse? No, that’s a day old hairball. Nice. No, I’m not leaving the house again today, except to go next door, I can dress like a bag of crap again. Cats are fed, but I need to deal with the litter boxes. Wait, I have to deal with the rescue cat on the mud porch. She’s cute. Life will be so much easier when she comes in so I don’t have to deal with battling in and out every door. Every time I come or go. Which is often. *four battles later* The computer is set up outside and I can start work.

The software is fucking up. Now it’s frozen my computer. It seems to have taken me an hour to do ten minutes worth of work. I’m not getting any answers from questions I’ve sent out. I have so much to do, I hope that one of my answers comes through about tomorrow that would give me about two hours grace to get more work done, and get some of the house clean. She’s not answering and my computer is frozen again. Oh good, the new dog in town is howling like it’s been abandoned and in pain again. And I can hear my oldest cat howling from inside the house. Shit, I forgot to feed the neighbour’s lizard. Done. Good, my computer has rebooted. Still no answer about tomorrow. I guess I’m staying up later tonight. Less sleep. I want to work on actual work, it’s been so long since I had some and I want to impress them. One question answered, not the one I need for tomorrow. I wish the rescue would stop meowing at me through the window, I feel so guilty. I’ve gotten a lot done today, I’m quite proud of myself. I should have done more. I should have been doing laundry at the same time. I should have emptied the dishwasher. I should have cleaned the litter box. Oh look, a bat on the shed.

I’m done work for today and downloading. I have sooo many other things to do. Shit, tomorrow is recycling day and I can’t carry anything off the mud porch because I can’t bear battling the rescue. It’s stressing me out that I have to battle in and out the doors. I feel trapped inside my home, and outside it. Oh great, I forgot to eat lunch. Again. Shit, I took dinner out to thaw a bit, now it’s thawed completely and I have to try to tie it together. I still haven’t done laundry. I still haven’t emptied the dishwasher, I still haven’t cleaned the kitty litter box. I need wine.

The downloading is done, off for it’s second critique. There are no jobs I can apply for today, everything requires French. It sucks being unilingual. I guess I should start dinner. Oh good, the neighbours are screaming and swearing at their kids again. The howling dog as started across the street again. My dinner is dropping through the grill, I’ll be lucky if I have any dinner to eat tonight. The cat is meowing through the window again. Can I just scream and run away for a little while?

Dinner was salvaged, but it was tiny and very unsatisfying. Still no word on tomorrow. I guess I should just plan on not having the extra time I need. Would it be so difficult to respond to a simple fucking question? Well, most people assume I’ve got nothing but time on my hand, so it’s irrelevant, right? I need five minutes. Just to sit in the dark and enjoy my wine. Oh look, a full moon, I’ll watch that and let my mind wander. Damn. I still have to put the garbage out. And the recycling. I need to clean the spare room, and to do laundry, and to empty the dishwasher, and to clean the litter boxes.
Nevermind.

It is done…

Eight months of blood, sweat, and tears (and yes, all three were shed….) and I am done school. For second term, my lowest mark was 83.1%, my highest was 95.96%. I made it onto the Dean’s Honour List for the second term in a row. Although it seemed like an eternity while I was going through it, I can’t believe how quickly it flew by. In eight months I learned how to use eight new software packages and four languages. I have crammed so much in my brain that I can no longer remember what I went into another room for, even after I’ve picked it up, but I can take apart an image of a skull and have it roll across the computer screen. Not a bad skill to have, not when you’re the Witch of South Mountain.

I can honestly say that I’m exhausted. The course was a two year program, smashed into eight months. I stressed myself out for so long about absolutely everything that all I want to do now is stay curled up in bed with the covers pulled over my head and avoid the world entirely. When I do get up, I want to nap. I question my sanity, I question my health, and I hope that things return to normal. But I don’t know what normal is anymore. School became normal. Although it was stressful, it was comfortable. I was safe there. I had friends going through the same thing and we spent a lot of time together. Now I’m done. I don’t have a job, I don’t have school, I have no money coming in, and I have a house and bills to pay. So now it’s a new stress. A similar stress as I had before I went back to school, but… it’s exactly the same but completely different.

Now the job hunt begins. Again. At least this time I have more skills. I have a University degree AND a Collage diploma. Surely someone will want me… won’t they?

Heavens to Murgatroyd

It has been a month since I last posted. That’s terrible! I can admit to being completely distracted and bogged down by JavaScript and PHP, both languages I wish I never had to learn. I think it’s safe to say that I’ll never be a back-end developer. If anyone were to hire me for that purpose, I’d probably break the internet. Billions would be at a loss as to how to communicate, since cursive writing isn’t being taught in schools anymore. It would be complete and utter anarchy. It might even create a second ice age, wiping civilization, as we know it, out completely.

Okay, well, maybe not quite that dramatic, but I’d suck.

Not much else has happened in the last month, other than my boyfriend trying to kill me with his shoes, and then being attacked by a rabid trampoline. Other than that, it’s been quiet. My boyfriend claims he’s not… he says he’s far more subtle than an obstacle course in the dark that I am unaware of, but I’m keeping my eyes open, just in case. He does write horror, after all.

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.

An interestsing development

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…

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.

I wrote the shittiest poem. It was voted so.

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.

Dreams…

I was asked something tonight.

I was asked what I dreamed of doing. No one has ever asked me that before. It was such an unexpected question that I had to think about it for a while. What have always dreamed of?

Do I want to learn foreign languages? Hell no. Living in Canada, I should know French, and that’s never going to happen. Do I want to climb Mount Everest? Never wanted to, especially now that earthquakes are an option. Do I want to become famous? Not really… as an Introvert with a capital I, the idea of fame scares the shit out of me.

Do I want to be a soapstone artist full-time? I don’t know. There are a lot of days that I look at a stone and just see a stone. It’s a lot of pressure to be inspired all the time. And to try to carve when you’re not inspired leads to sub-standard (in my humble opinion) results. Other people might think the carving is nice, I probably won’t.

What do I really want? I want to do historical research. I want someone to give me a topic, send me to a library and yell GO! I want to immerse myself in my historical geekiness. I want to find out fabulous things about days gone by and tie them together into a fabulous tale. In a perfect world, I wouldn’t mind having my name associated with something as “Historical Researcher” but I would add the word extraordinaire.

I guess that’s it. I don’t want a lot of out of life. This would be enough.