Thursday, 30 September 2010

I Need To Say This

Y'all, I miss C-Dawg.

Like, a lot.

I mean, I email her a gazillion times a day and we talk on the phone when we can but I still miss her.

We used to talk on the phone every day, or, on rare occasions, every other day.

Now, what with the four hour time difference, by the time I'm home, she's often already in bed. (C-Dawg and I are both early-to-bed-ers, yet another reason we're awesome as friends. We go out together and are quite happy to be home, asleep in bed by 11!) So we don't get to talk every day anymore. And we don't even get to talk every second day anymore either.

I used to randomly go over to C-Dawg's house, maybe for dinner, maybe for ice cream. Maybe just to watch some stupidly bad tv show and talk. Don't get to do that anymore. Not even a little.

We've Skyped once since she's moved, but I found it so hard seeing that I haven't tried to Skype her again. Plus, she's trying to make her life there, so it's not as if she's sitting at home waiting for me to call. She's out living her life there just like I'm out living my life here. It's just that our lives used to be here and us being out living our lives meant a lot of times we were together.

I want her to be happy there and I want her to settle and be comfortable and make friends and live a wonderful life, I do.

But more than anything I want her to come home. Forever. To stay.

There's a tv show called Grey's Anatomy that I watch and two of the main characters on the show are best friends.

On last week's episode as one of them was getting married, the other said to her "My husband may be the love of my life but you're my soul mate."

I'd never heard it put like that before but I knew exactly what she meant and I feel like a part of my soul and a part of the joy I got out of living here up and left and I'm missing it terribly.

I miss her every day and I'm lonely. Lonelier.

Much much lonelier than when she was here.

And I wish she'd move back.


To stay.

Wednesday, 29 September 2010


Learning to run.

How to describe what it's like learning to run.

It's funny, because it's not like you actually have to *learn* to run. I mean, we all ran as kids, right? And I know running was fun. Running to your friend's house, running through the sprinkler, running along the beach to jump into a wave, all fun, easy, accompanied by laughter.

I ran when I was in elementary school. Sprints. Seem to remember I was pretty fast, but who knows how objective those memories are. I also remember feeling like I was flying when we would jump off a hill at the side of the elementary school. I went back a few years to visit the school and the huge hill? Was more of a mound. So maybe I was fast, maybe not, but I liked running when I was a kid.

I didn't run in high school. Puberty hit and my body changed and all of a sudden things jiggled and I felt heavy in my own body and running wasn't as free and fun anymore. I still ran, but as part of the sports I was involved in, and truth be told, I was usually a forward on most of the teams I was on so I didn't have to do as much running as some. (Hello, I can make three pointers, so I'll just hang out on this side of the court and you bring the ball to me, kay? Yeah, ask me how much my coach liked that attitude. Can you say benched my lazy butt?)

I've always stayed physically active, and up until a year and a half ago, the gym was a highly regular part of my week.

Then I was in a car accident and had to scale back. Significantly. Had to balance my want to be active with my body's need to recover. Had to deal with the frustration of losing strength and muscle and fitness with allowing myself to heal. Had to deal with a lot of pain. Had to re-learn how to be gentle with myself in so many ways. But through it all, I was determined to stay fit and active.

January saw me starting my daily exercise (with the "even if it's only a fifteen minute walk around the block" mantra helping me get out on those days when I wanted nothing more than to collapse on the couch after a tough day of spy work) and April had me walking my way through a 10k.

Then C-Dawg signed up for a learn to run clinic. "I want to get fit" she said. Knowing that C-Dawg had been hurt worse than I was in the accident and figuring if she was brave enough to try it I could too, I signed up.

And three weeks ago, I showed up at my first Beginners Run clinic.

I'd asked S if she'd go with me, because lord knows I'd never have shown up if I hadn't had someone going with me, and thank goodness she said yes because walking in that door the first night was so intimidating we both nearly turned around and walked back out.

There are a ton of different ways to start running, but the majority of them, if not all of them, have you starting out with a short "run" followed by a walk. (I put run in quotations because it's not like you have to go fast. You just go the speed you can, and our leader suggests we go at a speed that allows us to chat with the person we're next to, so for some of us coughmecough, it's actually slower to run than to walk. Go figure.)

You then repeat this run/walk series a certain number of times and then you stretch, celebrate your survival and go home. (Where I stretch some more, with my physio directed accident recovery stretches before jumping in the shower and feeling proud of myself for doing it.)

So how is it?

It's hard.

I think it's difficult for everyone, but talking with S and C-Dawg about their experiences with it, it's hard for them in different ways than it is for me.

For me, the first few times I hated how my body felt. Strangely enough, it made me feel like I was huge and heavy. Something about the thudding of my body over and over as my feet pounded the pavement and things jiggled and bounced made me feel fat. Which I know I'm not, but it still felt like it.

And the first week, things hurt. Muscles and tendons and whatnots all hurt and I wondered if maybe this was too much to ask my body to do.

They ask you to do two "homework" runs throughout the week before the next clinic and I wasn't sure I'd bother, but one of the ladies who'd done the clinic before told me it really really made a difference if you did them, so I did them that first week and weirdly enough? My body hurt less after the second run and less again after the third. (Epsom salts and careful stretching also played a part in that though.)

I went into the next week wondering how I'd make it through the increase in run time, but I did and I was super stoked. It feels amazing to do something physical that you didn't think you'd be able to do. Run for two minutes eight times with only a minute's break in between? No way I can do that. But it turns out I can.

And I can even run for three minutes in a row with only a minute's rest in between.

Is it easy? Getting easier?


Things don't hurt as much as they did that first time (knock on wood so as not to jinx anything) but man do I feel un-fit.

I'm huffing and puffing by the last repetition of run/walk and my feet are shuffling and honestly, it'd be faster, many times faster, if I'd just stop "running" and walk, and I hate it while I'm doing it. It's a constant feeling of "no way I'm going to be able to do this and how many more times?" But I stubborn my way through it. Sometimes it's pure willpower and sometimes it's "well, C-Dawg wouldn't give up if she were here" and sometimes it's just that I'd feel awful if I quit on it, but man it's hard. And it doesn't feel good. The running. Not at all.

I know a lot of people who run and love it. They love how it feels and how their body feels and how it's like flying.

For me it just feels bad and every time I'm doing it it feels bad. And I feel unfit.

But once I'm done? I feel great. Endorphin frigging heaven and then I stretch and shower and I'm the happiest person out there.

Happy and proud of myself which feels even better. Happy and proud of myself because damnit I did something I hate and it felt awful but I finished it and I'm so proud of myself for that.

But I don't look forward to it.

The clinic night are interesting because I look forward to seeing S and chatting with her makes things go faster but I still don't enjoy it. I don't know if I'd do a clinic again, because I feel like the loser of the group; everyone else is fitter than I am and it feels like everyone else has done the clinic before so they're not worried about next week, and oh crap now they're doubling back to pick me up because I'm that far behind the rest of them, I'm that slow. So the clinics are difficult in that they make me feel like I'm losing and the competitor in me hates that feeling. But there's something about having committed to and having paid for the group that makes it something I'd do again. And the leader is awesome. I kind of want to cry when I think about how encouraging she is and how she always seems to say the right thing when I'm struggling or scared or whatever it is.

She tells me I'm a runner.

She tells me I'm faster than all those people who're at home on their couches watching tv. And I have to remember that because on clinic night I always feel like I'm slower than everyone there. So I'll have to remind myself that I may be slower than the people who've come out to a beginner run clinic but I'm way faster than all the people who didn't.

I don't know if I can make it through this week's run. I may have to tell S to go on ahead without me. (In my head, I'll be picturing a dramatic scene from a movie where I tell her to go on ahead without me, knowing that once she leaves, I'll die from. . . the zombies or the freezing weather or the....typhoid or whatever it is, because in my head things are way more fun.) I may have to just suck it up and accept that I'm the slowest and the least fit and if they all glare at me and roll their eyes at me for being slow (except they wouldn't do that, that's also in my head. Sometimes it's fun in my head, sometimes it's crazy.) at least I'm doing it and only I know how frigging hard it is for me.

Nutshell? I don't enjoy the sensation or the show-me-how-unfit-I-am-ness of learning to run, or beginner running or run/walking or whatever you want to call it. I don't enjoy it while I'm doing it at all. Every time I'm doing it I think "man, I should totally blog about how much this sucks and how much I hate it and how awful I feel." But you guys? I'm so so proud of myself and so far, every week I've been blown away that I managed to do it again. That I've managed to add another minute on to the length of time I can run in a row. You guys, I can run for three minutes in a row. Three! It's frigging awesome. It makes me happy to know how far I've come and while my head tells me I may never make it through this week or next, I also know how good I feel after accomplishing each run/walk. Physically and emotionally.

So if you asked? I'd tell you it was worth it.

(Just don't ask me if it's worth it *while* I'm out there running.)

Tuesday, 28 September 2010


It was at some point last year that Sundry mentioned, either in a post or comment on a post the name of a pedometer she'd been using.

Now there's a whole post I could write about how inspiring it's been reading about Linda's life as she's become uber-awesomely fit and healthy and made so many positive changes in her life and how that's inspired me to look at my fitness and there's a whole other post I could write about the pedometer and how much I've enjoyed using it and tracking my steps but instead of writing those two posts I've just written this incredibly long sentence and now I need to take a breath so here's some punctuation.

I've talked before about how my goal of daily exercise has been something I'm really glad I'm doing and something that has changed me for the better in a number of ways, but I don't think I could have predicted how that idea of "I'm going to try to do at least a little bit of exercise every day this year" would turn into me deciding to challenge myself in a way I maybe have always wanted to but never thought I actually would.

At some point in August, C-Dawg mentioned that she wanted to work on her fitness and that she was going to sign up for a learn to run/beginner run/whatever you want to call it clinic. When she told me, I liked the idea of us doing something together even though we're an entire continent's width away from each other so I told her I'd sign up for one too.

So I did. I signed up for a local learn to run clinic.

There's an entire post or ten about how that's going and what it's like and I know I keep saying there are entire posts worth of things to talk about and then I don't, but I will talk about this one. But this post isn't so much about the act of learning to run, (or, in my case, learning how to run so slowly little old ladies can pass me with their walkers) but is more about how you never know how one thing can lead you down a road to something bigger and unexpected and how one small thing can, over time, turn into you finding out how proud of yourself you can be.

My year so far, physically speaking? Has gone something like this:

-Started off the year still recovering from a car accident, but wanting to try to get back into shape.
-Decided to buy a pedometer to find out how close to the "magical" 10,000 steps a day I was getting.
-Realized I was walking a good amount of steps each day and when someone mentioned the upcoming Times Colonist 10K, decided to sign up to walk it.
-Amazed by how awesome it felt to accomplish said 10K
-Signed up for another 10K
-Signed up for a learn to run clinic
-Started to run (albeit slowly)

If you'd told me in January I'd be participating in a 10k in April and signing up for a learn to run clinic in September I would have told you there was no way I'd be able to do it. But I have and I did and I am and I can't help but wonder what awesome things I might challenge myself to do next.

Monday, 27 September 2010

Well, That Happened

My friend (the one who got married this summer) threw a party this weekend.

I couldn't go, but I emailed her on Sunday to ask how it went.

"It was good," she said. "And someone was asking for you."

I was genuinely confused as to who it would be, but figured it was someone I'd met at the wedding, maybe the guy I'd talked to for a bit while I ate my dessert. (Mmmmm dessert.)

Turns out Cary had blown into town for the celebration and both he and my friend's husband were wondering why I wasn't there.

My friend said it must be nice for me to know he was thinking of me, and I guess it should be, but it was more of a shrug and an eye roll to be quite honest.

Human beings are complicated. Human beings of the opposite gender are even more complicated.

Cary? Is, like, triple quadruple complicated.

Not that it matters. I don't expect to ever see him or hear from him again, and had I been able to go to the party and had known he was coming I might have not shown up anyway, I certainly wouldn't have been comfortable around him.

So there you go. I'm guessing that's the final final chapter in the Cary story.

Be sure I'll let you know if it's not though.

Saturday, 25 September 2010


I updated my on line dating site profile.

I don't know why I did this. Especially since the profile's hidden and I haven't been on the site since DD showed up and freaked me out.

Maybe I'm hoping that there will be some sort of miracle with the site and the most perfect man in the universe will show up and the scary/odd/downright awful men I keep getting "matched" with will all fade away and I won't have to keep looking at shots of guys with their shirts off and biceps bulgingly tattooed.

(Not that there's anything wrong with that, but man, spend an afternoon searching on this site and you start to wonder if there are any nice, normal, kind men on them at all. And then the crotchety bitter part of you grumbles "of course not, they're all married you dolt.")

So yeah.

Not really sure what I was thinking.

Friday, 24 September 2010


Do you ever think about the fact that (and I can only speak for women here never having been a man) we spend the first part of our lives wanting to look and appear and be older and then we spend the rest of our lives wanting to look and appear and be younger?

And then it's don't look too young, that's inappropriate and grow into your age and embrace your wrinkles laugh lines and grey silver hair and be yourself, don't try to look younger anymore.

So I guess I'd like to ask the advertisers and the media and the rest of the people who tell us we're not ok how we are right now just how old you'd like us to be?

And when do you want us to make the switch from pretending to be older to fighting it?

And why does it matter?

Thursday, 23 September 2010

DD. Again.

I feel like I keep running into him.

I know that's not true, that it's a serious exaggeration but still. One minute he doesn't exist, the next he's on line and then yesterday I run into him on my way home from a walk around the neighbourhood.

I guess a benefit of long distance relationships that I hadn't thought of until now is that you never have to run into them once you've split up.

I can't imagine how I would feel if I had to run into, or even have the chance of running into more of my exes. Running into DD here and there every once in a while is enough.

It's weird, because whenever I run into him it always weirds me out. Brings down my mood. Disrupts my thoughts. Bugs me.

I thought of ignoring him this time. I could maybe have pulled it off. We were heading towards each other on a cross walk, I had my headphones in, I only glanced at him, and I could have carefully studied the ground or my shoes or anything. Anything. But I didn't. Some part of me decided it'd be better to be the grownup so I made eye contact and smiled.

He asked me how I was doing, I said good and kept on walking. Hi, I'm doing good, bye.

Could I have stopped and talked? Sure. Could I have stopped and talked and suggested we go grab a drink and catch up? Of course.

But I didn't and I don't think I would have and man, I just wish I could stop running into this guy.

I guess he lives around here. Nearer than when we were together. And I guess he's single. His profile on the on line dating site would suggest so.

Am I still attracted to him? No. But yes. Physically, mentally, emotionally, no.

Sexually? Yes.

Maybe that's why it's such a weirdness whenever I run into him.


Wednesday, 22 September 2010

Rosy Cheeked

Last week, Mlle Hautemess and Canadian Blogger Girl both gave me blog awards.

I never really know what to do when someone tells me they like my blog or what I write, because it makes me blush (literally) and sometimes feel like crying and it makes me happy and giddy but it also makes me feel squirmy inside in a I don't know what to do with compliments kind of way.

I'm always flattered when someone says something positive about my blog but I'm also always kind of turning around to see the person behind me they must be pointing at because, who me?

So, thanks ladies. Your thinking of me made my week and picked me up when I was a little low and I needed that.

Big time.

Tuesday, 21 September 2010

Rain, Rain, Falling Is The Only Thing You Ever Do*

The weather was wacked this weekend.

Well, to be specific about it, Sunday's weather was pretty awesomely crazy.

I woke up to (or more likely, was woken up by) thunder and the kind of rain that sounds as heavy as hail and is so thick people refer to it as coming down in a sheet. Major rain.

It was pretty awesome, especially since it was a Sunday morning and all I had to do was curl up on my couch with a blanket and, well, that was pretty much it.

By about 10 or so the rain had lessened and by 11 it had stopped.

I grabbed my raincoat (just in case) and headed downtown for some errands. Before I knew it, I was too warn and then it got sunny.

Like, gorgeously, blue skies and warm on your face sunny.

Couple hours later? Light rain.

Then clearing. Then super sunny again.

I went back to lazing on my couch and catching up on tv shows but it was such a mixed day. I mean, we do get days of sunny/rainy periods, but this was full on intense rain and later, full on intense sun.

With some thunder and lightning thrown in.


But cool too.

*Hawksley Workman

Monday, 20 September 2010


I don't feel like writing.

Am making myself do it anyway even though I have nothing to say and no desire to even bother trying to pretend to have anything to say.

It's not writer's block, it's just tired and, I guess, somewhere on the grumpy spectrum.

I'm that kind of tired where on Saturday night I looked at the clock at 6:30 and was disappointed it wasn't later so I could go to bed. In fact, I debated just going to bed anyway. At 6:30.

There seems to be a cold starting to go around so maybe my tired and grumps are my body's version of fighting that off and I did find myself out for a walk with a friend on Saturday and thinking that my voice did sound rather sexily husky if I do say so myself.

So, yeah, I've got nothing to say and blah blah blah and I think I had a dream I was skiing last night. (Woah, where did that thought come from.) Except they were teaching me on flat and when I asked for the bunny hill they told me there wasn't one and then I found one but it wasn't snowy, it was rubber and really steep and that was a weird dream.

Ok. There. I wrote something. Now pushy me has to stop bugging tired, grumpy me. Wait, did you just call me lazy me? That's uncalled for pushy me! Uncalled for!

Oh man. Now my selves are fighting.

I should probably have a nap.

Saturday, 18 September 2010

Three Sixty Five

I've got almost exactly one hundred days left in the goal I set myself of taking a photo a day for a year. It has gotten easier, that's for sure, but since I started, it's also gotten lighter.

As we head back towards shorter days I find myself hoping I can still find time to get out and take shots before the light's gone in the evening.

I seem to remember in January and February there was a lot of rushing out of work as early as humanly possible, mumbling something about appointments or something just so that I could get myself to a beach or the ocean and get a shot in.

Now if you add in the photography course I signed up for and a learn to run clinic S and I are doing and the fact that I need to get home from work, eat, get out for some exercise AND take a picture before I go to these night courses and classes and I start to wonder if the weather and darkness are going to force me to start shooting inside. Or something.

I'm sure it'll work out, it's worked out really well so far this year, but it's interesting to me that I'm even thinking this way, and it's kind of cool.

I guess I like that I'm thinking about how I can get a photo taken every day. I've really enjoyed these months of getting outside and finding things to snap. And I've enjoyed seeing my photos get better (in my opinion) over the year. And I've enjoyed challenging myself to take photos of new things, or different things or things that I might not think to take a photo of. It's been great so far. I've taken some photos I really really like.

I just hope that Fall and Winter don't change that. (Cuz I know there were some bumpy days early on in the darks of January.)

Two hundred and sixty something down
, one hundred or so to go.

Friday, 17 September 2010


I almost I forgot to tell you, but I went to the Great Canadian Beer Festival again this year.

I wasn't going to go. It's something that C-Dawg and I have gone to together almost every time I've gone, and I'm missing her a ton right now and didn't want to go and be reminded that she wasn't there.

She really wanted me to go though, and at the last minute a friend of mine got a ticket and so I decided to go.

I'm glad I did. It was fun, if chilly (for the first time in memory), and I found a nice Apricot Ale that I liked (I'm not really a huge beer fan so I tend to stick to the light, fruity ones) and I had a good time hanging out with my friend and his friends.

The people watching was stellar as usual, and I even won $1.25 from some random stranger who challenged me to a game he made up on the spot and I won.

So while I did miss C-Dawg and couldn't even call her from there to say hi (what with the four hour time difference) it was good to have something fun happen after the rough week I had. It was really good, actually, to have something fun.

And, here we are, once again, thank goodness, at Friday.

Long live the weekend, I say.

Happy Friday my friends!

Thursday, 16 September 2010

I Grew Up Watching This Stuff

Monty Python - Spam

Blogger, they of the thingamy what where my blog resides, recently instituted a pretty cool thing where comments that are spam comments don't get posted to your blog, which is great, because every once in a while some very enterprising and/or bored spammer goes through the entire process of posting a comment on my blog and I have to go and delete it because I'm not that interested in designer watches thank you very much.

The reason I'm telling you this is that if your (legitimate) post doesn't show up, it may have been filtered into the spam bin.

I'm not used to that yet, so until I get in the habit of checking and either saying yes that's spam or no that's not leave that poor comment alone, things might be delayed.

But hopefully that won't happen and I'll get into the habit of checking and there won't be any problems. And hopefully Blogger won't do that random comment eating thing it does sometimes to some of you. (Trust me it happens to me too on other people's blogs)

So there you go. "I don't like Spam!"

Wednesday, 15 September 2010

And Who Lives Happily Ever After

A strange thing happened last month with one of the books I was reading.

The Passage had been quite popular for most of summer and although I rarely buy hardcover books (because they're so expensive and because they're so heavy and therefore hard to read in bed!) was selling it half price and on a whim (and on one of my spendy lots on books sprees) I bought it.

I was looking forward to reading it, hopeful that such a popular and large book would give me something to sink my teeth into and enjoy for a while, but I didn't enjoy reading it.

It was a surprisingly fast read for me, but I really didn't enjoy it. I actually found myself grumbling at times while reading, wishing the author had skipped some of the longer, possibly unnecessary parts and must moved on already. There was something just altogether disappointing about the book for me and I finished it grudgingly and moved on to my next book, relieved to be done, shaking my head that I'd been suckered into buying it after all.

Then the strangest thing happened. I found myself wondering about the characters.

I'm not going to give anything away here, and don't want to discourage anyone from reading the book, but the ending wasn't... satisfying. Not surprising, perhaps, since I knew going in that the book was the first in a trilogy. But still, the ending only made me more frustrated with the entire experience of reading it.

Which is why it was odd, to me, that I started to think about and wonder about the characters.

I hadn't enjoyed the book. I felt betrayed by certain things that happened with characters. So why was I still thinking about them?

Maybe the books I read after weren't as intense so my brain wandered. I don't know. I do know that until I got and read Mockingjay, the characters from The Passage were running through my mind and I wanted to know what was happening with them.

When I finished The Passage, I told myself I refused to read the next two books, that it was frustrating enough to have read the first one.

But now I don't know.

Because if I don't read them, how am I supposed to find out how it all ends?

Tuesday, 14 September 2010


It's suddenly Fall.

Which shouldn't be a big surprise seeing as we're halfway through September and a week away from the official start of Fall, but this year it's been such a sudden change.

Usually September here is quite mild. Sometimes it's even downright toasty, and occasionally the first couple of weeks of September are warmer than the first couple of weeks of August. Or so it seems.

But a couple of weeks ago things changed overnight.

No, literally overnight.

One day I was sweating in shorts and the lightest top I could find and the next day I was wishing I had another sweater.

I've had to put a blanket on top of my quilt on my bed and instead of wandering around my apartment in barely anything, I've got two layers on, and a cozy blankie on my couch.

It's been such a sudden change, this fall. We've had rain and it's been dreary and the one or two sunny days we've had have been chilly. Summer done gone ran away and fast.

I dunno, it just seems that it's usually a gradual switch here from Summer to Fall and this year it was like someone just flipped the switch instead of using the dimmer.

There's a blanket on my bed, I'm wearing at least two layers and I can't wear my flip flops anymore.

Autumn's here.

Autumn's Here

Monday, 13 September 2010

Pete and Re-Pete

Not that it's made any difference to you all, but I changed internet service providers again.

The frustration of the switch, combined with not much improved service was just too much in the end so I swapped over to our local cable company's internet.

Which is ironic, seeing as I don't have cable.


So other than a day completely without internet (whimper) a week or so ago, the transition was smooth and the people I've dealt with at the company have been great.

Plus, my internets? It is teh fast again. Which is nice.

Things that work and people who want to be helpful are awesome. And make me happy.

Which is good.

Saturday, 11 September 2010


It doesn't help things that my friends and loved ones keep telling me to just forget the whole thing and that Cary's the jerk and that it's his loss.

It doesn't help because at the root of it all it's only a little bit about him and the rest of it is about how what he said touches on how insecure I am about being single.

I really thought I'd be married by now. Well married. When I was a kid and thought that 18 was old, I figured I'd be married by the time I was 22, 23. And somehow when those birthdays passed and the relationships that took me closest to marriage failed the lesson my mind picked up from that was that I was somehow flawed; un-marry-able.

Un-wanted. Un-loveable perhaps?

For a long time, even when I was in relationships I thought I was ugly, unattractive, on bad days I would use the word gross or disgusting.

Fast forward to today and I see myself with clearer eyes. It's hard, still, to admit that I find myself to be an attractive person, but I can at least see that I am not ugly, unattractive, gross or disgusting.

But then, my mind asks, if I'm attractive, why am I not married? It can't be the logical explanations, mind you. Can't be the fact that I don't meet single men. Can't be the fact that I work too hard and don't get out to play enough. It must be something that's wrong with me.

And if it's not my looks, it must be something else. I guess my mind's been waiting for the opportunity to tell me that I'm obviously single because I'm too old. As if there's a sell by date and I'm long past mine.

I can sit here and write this and know that it's illogical. I can tell you about one of my good friends whose parents didn't meet until they were nearly 40. I can tell you that there is no such thing as too old and I can tell you that logically I know all this.

But that doesn't mean I don't, somewhere in the dark parts of my soul, believe it.

This thing with Cary obviously has brought that darkness, those thoughts to the surface and hopefully that'll let me bundle them up and throw them away, but it's hard and right now I just want to give in to the misery and self-pity and hide away and never leave my house. I don't want to put on a brave face and go do things. I don't want to hear from people that I should be over it or that it was actually a compliment or that it was quite funny, actually, because it was so ridiculous, I just want to curl up and die.

Well, not die exactly, just fade out from existing in any sort of way that Cary can see. Or our friends who heard what he said.

But, then I remind myself of the walk I took the evening I got Cary's email and was told what he'd said. The walk where I got to breathe fresh air and feel the sun and wind on my face. The walk where I took amazing photos and flexed my creative muscles and made myself proud. The walk where I caught a glance of myself in a store window and saw a gorgeous, thin, attractive, intelligent, witty woman that any guy would be lucky to date. A walk that made me feel, even if just for a few hours, better.

I'm just going to have to trust that this too will pass; that this too will fade from my mind. That the intensity of awfulness that's surrounding this right now will go.

I'm just going to have to trust that. But it's a struggle right now and I'm afraid I'm going to run out of fight.

I also wish I could stop wishing he'd email me again, telling me all good things, all the things I'd hoped to hear. I wish I could stop waiting for that. Looking for that.

And I keep kicking myself. If only. If only.

If only I hadn't emailed him. If only I'd just left it at the happy, hopeful, maybe maybe maybe what if.

If only I'd left it at that and been happy. If only I'd left it at that I'd have never heard what I heard and I wouldn't be so.

Torn up inside.

So broken.

Wasted Time - Me'Shell NdegéOcello

Friday, 10 September 2010


I almost can't talk about it.


I'm so very hurt and embarrassed and humiliated and just awful right now.

I was told once, that you should never say something behind someone's back you wouldn't say to their face and here's a good example of why I wish everyone would think a little more before they spoke. Because sometimes you say something you never intend for someone to hear but they do.

And I did.

When I got Cary's disappointing email, I called my friend to let her know he'd emailed, and that I was bummed because it was clear from the email that things weren't going anywhere.

As we were talking, her husband called on the other line and I guess she mentioned that Cary had finally emailed me back because when she came back on the line with me she was laughing. "Well, that's funny, because when he told Cary that he'd given you his email and he hoped that was ok, I guess Cary asked him if you were a Cougar."

I didn't laugh.

I was stunned, actually.

The term, for those of you who don't know it or use it, refers to an older woman, usually in her 40s who is looking to sleep with a much younger man. Usually in his 20s. At best? A Cougar is Demi Moore dating and marrying the 15 year younger Ashton Kutcher. Or possibly Samantha from Sex in the City; an over-sexed almost lecherous older woman who scores a hot young model.

At worst, it's an over the hill, somewhat desperate woman who goes after younger men. Much younger men. A Cougar is tacky, slutty, all about the sex. Not respected.

So, not something you'd want to be called. Especially when you're nowhere near your 40s. And you're not going after men in their 20s.

I ended the call pretty quick and my friend immediately called me back apologizing.

"I'm sorry," she said. "Please don't take that the wrong way. I shouldn't have said anything. I happen to know Cary really liked an older woman and thinks Cougar is a good thing, so please don't be upset."

But upset is too light a term for how hurt I am.

You know how sometimes something quite little touches on what's a really deep insecurity for you and it becomes this huge thing? This devastation?

That's what this is for me.

See, I'm sensitive about my age. I've talked about it a little bit here, but I already feel like I missed out on getting a man when it was a good time for that, that I wish I'd met my husband in high school or University. That it's hard being single when your friends are getting married or already coupled. So I already am insecure about being single at my age. I'm already sensitive.

So to hear that a guy I thought was bright and interesting and intriguing, a guy who'd said we had chemistry thought I was not only older than him but significantly older than him really really hurts. Has devastated me.

Do I look that old? Do I look ten, fifteen years older than him?

I'm not. I'm maybe five years older than him, but do I look it? Act it? Where is this coming from? Didn't I leave his hotel room, so didn't I shut him down? Isn't he the one who told me I was hot? So, wasn't he the one who was interested in me? Since when did I become the older woman chasing him?

And putting the age thing aside, which is hard enough, is me emailing him enough of an act that it looks like I'm throwing myself at him? That I'm chasing him, trying to lure and capture him?

I am so so humiliated. I can't even begin to explain it.

I know that you, and any other friends I talk to about this will tell me flat out that this guy is a loser and a jerk and immature and wrong, but I'm not ready to go there yet.

I'm not ready for this to be about him because I'm still hurt and insecure and rocking from the shame of it all.

I'm cringing that someone I was wondering about a future with thinks I'm an oversexed, eager, whore of an older woman.

Imagine what he'd think if I'd actually slept with him. Or kissed him.

Imagine how humiliated I'd feel if I'd done that. I can't even think about it, it's so bad.

But for right now I'm just hurt. I'm hurt and having to remind myself over and over that I'm young and attractive and beautiful and smart and wonderful and amazing and all sorts of good things because the voices that like to tell me bad things about myself are having a field day right now. An absolute field day.

I know I'll be ok, that this will go away soon enough, and I'm hoping that this hurt and embarrassment will soon turn to anger and that I'll move on and forget this, but right now I'm not in a good place with it all.

It's shame on top of insecurity on top of disappointment on top of sadness on top of regret on top of humiliation and wanting to curl up and die and erase myself from having gone to the wedding, having met him and having ever thought any positive thoughts towards him at all.

And if I can tell you anything out of this, it's that it's not really necessary to pass on hurtful things to people. And that you really should listen to Bambi's mother and if you can't say anything nice, you shouldn't say anything at all.

Because it hurts.

And sometimes the hurt can go deep.

And sometimes it scars.

So right now I'm trying not to let myself get scarred, I'm just trying to hold it together. I'm trying not to be confused and embarrassed and ashamed and hurt.

But damn, I'm hurt.

Thursday, 9 September 2010


So Cary emailed me.


I'm not supposed to check my personal email at work, but of course I did, and I was excited to see he'd finally responded.

Until I opened the email.

It was nice to meet you! I'll let you know next time I'm in town and we can hang out.
Take care,

I was completely underwhelmed.

That was it? That was all he had to say?

Once I got over the surprise and, frankly shock of the response, all I felt was sad.

Sad that it wasn't going to be anything. Sad that I'd hoped for something great and it wasn't. Sad that I'd wanted something to develop and he didn't. Sad that I wasn't going to be starting a relationship, long distance or not.

Sad, sad, sad, sad, sad.

It's hard to cry at work. Spies aren't supposed to show weakness, and I had nowhere to go, but I couldn't stop the tears and it was a hard day, I was so hurt and disappointed.

Let down.

I sent him a short email back and tried to distract myself.

Unfortunately, things didn't get better from there.

Wednesday, 8 September 2010

I Rule!

Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to announce that I fixed my toilet All. By. Myself!

See, my toilet started not really working a few months ago and when I lifted off the top of the toilet tank, I discovered that the plastic thing that lifts when you flush the handle was falling off of its hinge and so the plug wasn't stopping the hole and the water just kept on running.

So I grabbed some elastics and jerry-rigged it so that it worked.

And I was quite proud of that.

And then, this weekend, the part of the plastic thing that's attached to the chain that's attached to the handle snapped.

No more jerry-rigging could fix it. I tried.

It needed replaced.

First thing I did was call my Dad. "Dad, you know the plastic plunger thing on the bottom of the toilet tank? What's that called?"

A flapper, apparently.

(I saved my giggling for once we were off the phone)

Second, I got in my car and drove to the nearest Canadian Tire (aka hardware and all sorts of things store) but on the way I realized I wasn't quite sure they'd have it so I called my Dad again. "Dad? Canadian Tire will have flappers, right? I'm going to the right place?"

"Do you have the one you're trying to place in your hand?" he asked. I didn't.

"You need to have it so that you can get the right size." he told me patiently.

"But the water won't shut off." I responded, knowing what would come next.

"The shut off valve's behind your toilet." he answered, I could almost imagine him rolling his eyes were he the eye-rolling type.

"I know, but it won't shut off. It's broken. I tried. The water will slow to a trickle but not stop, so I can't take the thing with me." I explained.

"Call your manager, have him fix your toilet, Victoria." he responded, apparently convinced I needed something more than his over the phone moral support.

"No, I think I'm going to try to do it!"

So I got to the store, stared at a wall of toilet flapper valves (who knew there were so many!?) and bought two nearly identical, but slightly different "universal sized" ones.

Then I drove home, after calling my Dad and telling him I'd managed to find them, opened up the tank, my elbow propping up the other floaty valve thing so that the water would stop running and I fixed the new flapper onto the whatever it's called that it sits on.

When I discovered that the new chain wasn't quite long enough to flush well, I went, got a pink paperclip (because I'm a girl who can fix her own toilet and I'm using pink to represent) and used it to make it just a little bit longer.

And cuter.

I've got to tell you, there's a great feeling in doing something (quite simple) handy like that all by yourself. Sure, it was reassuring to have talked to my Dad about some of my questions, but I really didn't need a man's help.

And that felt good.

I fixed my toilet, y'all.

I rule.

Tuesday, 7 September 2010

Mind Games

Waiting for Cary to maybe, maybe not email me back is so messing with my mind.

Or, I suppose, the reality of the situation is that my mind is messing with itself. Playing mind games with me. And I'm not enjoying it.

Predominately, I find I'm flooded with negative thoughts; thoughts that he *must* have received the email by now and is actively ignoring it, or is trying to figure out what on earth he's supposed to say back, or just doesn't care enough to respond. But the longer my inbox stays free of Cary-sent emails, the more negative and annoying the thoughts become.

And the mind games kick in and I find myself telling myself to not be so negative, that it's all just going to work out in time and that if it's meant to be (and it must be meant to be, it just feels that way) there's no need to worry, but of course there's a need to worry because obviously I didn't make enough of an impression on him for him to have asked our friends for my email and contacted me. Obviously the appearance of an email from me wasn't the highlight of his day. Or week. Or anything.

And then I check my email again and it starts all over. I can't stop checking. It's ridiculous.

I know myself and I know I tend to react differently to things than a lot of people and my friend who knows Cary has told me not to worry, he'll email.

So I'm trying to relax. To not be disappointed.

But to not be overly excited either.

The mind games don't help though.

In the slightest.

Saturday, 4 September 2010

Long Weekend!

Yay! Labour Day!

Long weekend!


Friday, 3 September 2010


I was giddy and hopeful when I first met Cary and spent a brief amount of time with him.

The week after that I was happily high on the idea of what could be, the possibility of getting to know someone interesting and intriguing, the wide open potential of what could be.

And I wanted to tell my friends all about him and what had, and hadn't happened, but I also wanted to keep it to myself, sealed safely in the happy bubble that was floating inside me. So I talked to some close friends about him, told them he lived in Vancouver and they, meaning well, told me quite firmly that they would not allow me to go through another long distance relationship. That I shouldn't even consider it.

My bubble had been burst.

I was completely deflated. Hurt. Let down.

I talked to C-Dawg, a sad tinge to the story now that I'd been told it could. . . should never work out.

"Vancouver?" she said, her voice somewhere between amused and incredulous. "That's not long distance! Get serious. Go for it."

And I let my bubble maybe start to re-inflate. Cautiously. Maybe just a little.

Then I talked to my friend about Cary. She said good things.

Maybe there was reason to be hopefully optimistic. Maybe it was ok to be a little girly and dreamy over what-ifs.

I went for a walk with S. We had life to catch up on.

Life including Cary and the story that still makes me smile.

She encouraged me to get his email, which I did, and then she went home and tried to find out what she could about him.

See, I'm not on Facebook. (No, really.) But S is, and in the small world way that Facebook seems to work, she found that Cary and she had a mutual friend and so she looked him up for me. (The modern background check.)

You can sometimes tell a lot about a person by what they put on their Facebook, she cautioned me. Sometimes.

How old is he?

Me: I don't know.

Is he a smoker?

Me: Um, I don't know? (God, I hope not)

Could he maybe be a little bit immature?

Me: I don't know. I suppose.

Well, he seems like a good guy. Cute. Interesting. I'd say he was my type, you know. (We laugh, we already know we share similar excellent taste in men.)

"I say go for it." She says, "just be aware that he's human. Not perfect."

I don't want to hear it.

Don't want to know the reality of him.

Find myself running away from all the what might have been's towards it'll never work what what I thinking's.

It's all or nothing. Perfect or awful. It'll work or it'll be a disaster.

And I realize that my bubble, the one that's been growing and floating inside me will burst on its own, without anyone's help if I get too far into imagining just how great Cary is, how great we'd be together, how perfectly perfect it all will be.

I'm Icarus. My friends don't want me flying too close to the sun.

But I like the feeling.

I like the soaring giddiness of how utterly fantastic this thing I've found will be.

Every single time I meet someone I like that feeling.

And I ride it higher and higher until I'm flapping my bare arms, feathers fallen into the sea and the crash is coming, the relationship splintering and I'm left staring at the brokenness wondering how on earth I could have been so wrong again.

The extremes are familiar. Addictive perhaps.

But I'm trying to learn to ride in the middle.

Safer. A shorter distance to fall.

A smaller bubble to burst.

Expectations that can be met and exceeded.

A safe, yet joyful and giddy flight. Wings intact.

Thursday, 2 September 2010

Impatient Worrying

I got Cary's email from my friend yesterday and sent him an email and now I want to bash my head against a wall because it's no less frustrating hoping someone will call you than it is sitting waiting for a new email message to pop into your in-box.

Nevermind that every time I get an email my heart jumps and pitter patters excitedly until I realize it's not a reply from him and once again I'm in a battle between my logical self (Victoria, not everyone checks their email eighteen hundred times a day, he'll get to it when he gets to it) and my Eeyore self (Oh dear. He's already read the email and deleted it and will never respond because he never liked me anyway.) and my girly self (EEEEEEEEE! I hope he emails soon and then we get to hang out and we really really like each other and then our friends could double date with us which would be SO perfect and EEEEEEEE!) and the rest of me (Dude, I'm already stressing about other stuff, is this more fun to stress about at least?)

Hence the desire to bash my head against a wall.

Something's got to make all those voices be quiet.

(PS I know you'll tell me to just forget about it and move on and get on with my life etc, and I do. This is just what happens in my brain as I forget about it and move on and get on with my life.)

Wednesday, 1 September 2010

I Want You To Notice When I'm Not Around

Sometimes someone can take a song I love, re-make it and blow me out of the water.

There's a cover of Radiohead's "Creep" that's going around right now that's on repeat in my car right now. (You'll probably recognize it, it's being used for the trailer of a movie that's coming out soon)

They've taken a song I already love, changed it, melded it, added beautiful choral harmonies and it gives me chills every time I hear it. It's not the same rhythms, exactly, and it takes a bit to get used to the unfamiliarity of such a familiar song, but somehow hearing it anew let me hear new things in it I hadn't heard before. Let me hear the lyrics in a way I never heard over the pain in Thom York's voice.

Somewhere last week, while I was listening to it for the umpteenth time, trying to find the separate harmony lines and voices, I heard a section of the lyrics anew and they hit me differently. Meant more. Said more than they had before. (Or maybe I'm newer and changed from the last time I heard this song, or maybe a little bit of both.)

I don't care if it hurts,
I wanna have control.
I want a perfect body.
I want a perfect soul.

I struggle with a few (maybe a lot) of things and this chunk of lyrics lays it all down so neatly, my struggles and frustrations. The things I want but want not to want.

To be a perfect anything is impossible and I fight the need/want/frustration of it constantly.

I find myself having to remind myself that I can't control everything and I don't need to; that I'm safe and well and life is going to be ok.

Control. Perfection.

Hard to live with. Hard to want. Hard to let go.

Somehow, hearing it said. Saying it, singing along to it at the top of my lungs makes it easier. Better. Freer.

A little bit closer to letting go.

Makes it ok.

I love it when artists express my feelings exactly. For me. With me.

Through me.

I don't care if it hurts, I want to have control.

I want a perfect body, I want a perfect soul.

Saying it makes it lighter. Easier.

The truth shall set you free, yes?
Please don't steal stuff from here, it's not nice. But leave a comment, why don't cha? And drink more water. It's good for you.

P.S. If you think you know me? You probably don't. If you're sure you know me? Pretend you don't. I'll never admit I know what you're talking about anyway.

P.P.S. All this stuff is copyright from then til now (Like, 2006-2018 and then some.) Kay? Kay.