Friday, 30 November 2012

Sweet Relief

Oh thank all good things that November is over.

Not that I'm in love with December or anything, or that November itself is a bad month, but I am so relieved to not be blogging every day anymore!  Woo hooo!

And more than that though, I'm supremely happy that Movember is over.

I mean, I love men.  And I love prostrate research.  It's helped my Dad, for one, and many others too.

But moustaches?

I hate them.


I can tolerate them on older gentlemen of a certain age/era, but usually only if said moustache is white.

I find them ugly and unattractive and porny at best.

And I don't know any of my female friends who feel differently.

We don't like moustaches, and we don't like how our men look in them.

It's SHAVING TIME gentlemen!  Get on it!


Thursday, 29 November 2012

Writing Prompt: If Tattoos Only Lasted For One Year, Would You Want One?

Street by foundimagination
Oh heck yes!

But maybe not for the reasons you'd expect.

See, I have occasionally considered getting a tattoo on the inside of my wrist, because I like seeing them there on people.

But I'm not honestly sure I want a tattoo that I can see constantly, and, I suppose, that everyone else can see constantly.

So I'd like to try it out!

One day a while ago, I actually doodled on my wrist to see how it looked and it really annoyed me, but maybe if I had it for a while I'd get used to it.  But just in case I didn't like it, I would be relieved to know it was only going to last a year.

Except then if I really liked it, would that mean I'd have to get it re-done every year or are there like two tattoo choices in this magical example?

What about you?  Do you want a year-long tattoo?  And what would it be?

(Mine would be words, I think, or a word.  Even though I know everyone would probably end up asking what it meant, etc.)

Wednesday, 28 November 2012

To Change The Topic For A Second

I just found another one of these (this one, no longer alive) on my floor.

So that makes... six?

That I know of.


Tuesday, 27 November 2012

The Conversation

Gently by foundimagination
It was a really good conversation.  Really.

Again, I felt freed by the fact that we did have history, that there was no reason to hide anything or be untruthful, or pussyfoot around.

"Let's just be straightforward and honest here.  As awkward as this whole conversation might be."

Did you ever cheat on me?

Have you ever cheated on your wife?

Are you considering the idea of sleeping with me?

. . .

Are we going to?

And that was the core of it.

Yes, we both wanted to throw everything out the window and find out what it would be like to sleep with each other again.  He was certain that it would still be great.  I told him I was worried it wouldn't be.

But as much as we both wanted to, and enjoyed playing around with the idea, we both agreed that we weren't going to.

It was a very mature conversation, one that I don't think I ever thought I'd have, but still.

It would be easy enough to say it wasn't really all that wrong.  We're not looking to be in a relationship, I'm not wanting him to leave his wife for me.  We both are just curious about how it would be, and are both looking for a little fun and distraction in our lives.

But we both are people of integrity, and know right from wrong and while some could argue that even him being at my place, having the conversation is cheating, I think it's a more honest way to deal with things than "I don't know, it just happened, and we accidentally discovered ourselves in bed together."

So, that's that.

Vince and I aren't going to be having sex.  I'm not going to sleep with my married ex.

I enjoy knowing, very much, that there's a part of him that wants to, or at least thought about it, that's flattering to me, and a happy, as many of you said, complimentary thought.

I know I would regret it had we decided to take the next step.  I would convince myself that it wasn't all that bad (he's an ex, we're not trying to end the marriage, it's just for fun, it almost doesn't count because we've done it already and it would probably be bad and we'd never want to do it again and, blah blah blah) but I would have felt guilty, and that's not worth it in the long run.

When I talked to a friend about it, he said, I won't judge you either way, but ask yourself this... are you going to, on your death bed, regret having slept with a married man?

And I thought about it a moment, knowing he thought my answer would be "Heck no!  I should just go for it!"  But my answer was yes. I think I would.

There's so much more that has come out of this for me, and specifically things from the rest of this two or three hour conversation we had, but I'll get to them.

I feel better know, having talked through it all, and knowing we're both on the same page.  I think I can sleep again.

Which is great.

Monday, 26 November 2012


Except that wasn't quite the end of it.

The next couple of days, my mind wouldn't stop racing.

Did I want to do this?  Yes and no.  Should I just do it anyway?  No, but maybe.  Did he want to do this?  I don't know, but I think maybe.   Had he cheated on me in the past?  I suspect so.  Has he already cheated on his wife?  Maybe.  Do I care?  Yes.  Was I just justifying something I knew was wrong, and did I want to live with that?   Yes and no.   Was this fun and distracting?  Yes.  Mostly.

And there were texts that got more and more flirty, to the point where I would say "I'm heading to bed now, goodnight" and he'd say "Is that an invitation ;) "

Which, no.

But there was still that part of me that wanted to follow through, the idea of seeing what it would be like very enticing.

Somewhere around the second night of these "I can read into this if I want" texts from him, I got really uncomfortable.

As exciting as it all was, I didn't want to be the girl who helped my ex cheat on his wife.  I didn't like the idea that if he was my husband and I found out about these texts I'd be so mad and hurt, and who knows what else.

So the next night I told him I hadn't slept, that too much was going on in my mind and that we needed to clear the air.

He asked if I wanted to have a conversation, I said I did, and he headed over.

And here's where I have the benefit of knowing this man.  I knew if he came over, nothing would happen without me initiating it.  I felt safe with him being in my place, even though I'm sure my friends wouldn't have recommended we have the conversation there.

And we had a long conversation.

Sunday, 25 November 2012

Putting The Lid Back On The Can Of Worms

Riotous by foundimagination
I'm not an idiot, but I also try not to presume too much.

Maybe he just was coming over to drop off my stuff.

Maybe he just wanted to catch up, old friends style.

I mean, we haven't spoken, or caught up in, what, over a decade?  A long time, anyway.  Maybe he just wants to say hi.

Or not.

I texted a friend.  He's coming over.  I feel weird.  Wary.  Suspicious.  Cautious.

"How's his marriage?" she asked.

"I don't know. I don't want to know."

Because if he comes over and starts telling me how bad his marriage is, isn't that when I'm supposed to jump in about how awful she sounds and shouldn't we have sex now?

Suspicious.  But reminding myself that I'm maybe wrongly so.  Am maybe assuming too much.

The good thing about reuniting with a long ago ex is that you no longer particularly care how you look.

I mean, I was happy that when I saw him on Friday I was looking good, but now he was coming over to my space.  Jeans and a hoodie would do.  One layer of mascara.

"I'm putting on pants for you." I said.

"PJs would have been fine," he answered.

I was nervous, and when he chose to sit on the couch next to me as I went through my box of mementos he'd returned, I don't think my body language could have been any more closed off.  Had I been leaning any further away from him, I would have tipped right off the couch.  Eye contact?  Nope.  Smiles?  Polite ones.

I flipped through the cards and letters and photos, told him I was grateful he'd kept and returned them, and he talked to me about his life.

And, no, it's not going well.

Which is too bad.   But also too convenient, if you're cynical, like me.

There was no talk of what I'd said the day before, and I listened, and we chatted a bit about my life too.  He asked about my parents, I asked about his, we retold a couple of funny stories from when we'd been together and I relaxed as the time went on.

Eventually, I asked him if he needed to get going to his event, and he said yes, and I walked him to the door.

We hugged, was a friendly hug on my end.  Sure, he looked charming again in his less formal clothes,  he smelled the same, which always triggers memories, but I'd already made my decision, and I had no desire to do anything more than give this married ex boyfriend of mine a hug.

He went in for a kiss, most likely just intended to be a friendly peck, and I gave him my cheek.  Better safe than sorry, I figured.

It was awkward.  I kept wanting to ask him why he was there, why it felt like he was wanting to feel out what might be possible between us.  I wanted to ask him had he cheated on me?  Had our relationship started when he was still with his ex?  Was he trying to end another relationship by cheating, this time with his wife, or had I just imagined all of these things?

But I didn't.

Didn't feel like I quite trusted either of us enough to even bring up the topic of sex at all.

Because I know I wouldn't sleep with a married man.  But that doesn't mean I don't want to sleep with this man.

Not because he's married.  Not because I'm particularly attracted to him anymore.  Just because I want to know if it would be the way it used to be.

And if it was?  Well, that would be a problem.  But would be worth it for that moment.

And if it wasn't?  Well, maybe that would be both better and worse.  Better because then I could move on, knowing that how things were back then would only ever be a memory.  And worse, because I'd be disappointed it wasn't better.

So, yes, there's a part of me that wants to sleep with him just to see.

Almost experimentally.  Scientifically.

And I wish he wasn't married.

I almost wish I didn't have morality.  Wish I could just give in to the hedonism of it all and stop thinking about things so damn much.

But I won't.

And I'll just keep telling myself that.

So now I think I shut him down enough that I won't hear from him again.

Or, perhaps he had no intentions of going down that road anyway and I'm obnoxious for thinking otherwise.

But here's the thing.  I believe I know this man.  I lived with him.  I nearly married him.  Sure, people change, but do they change that much?  Do I think I know how he would react, if, right now, I sent him a text?  "hey"  Do I think I know how he would react if I asked him to come over, told him we needed to talk?  If, then, I switched up my body language?  Do I think I know how I could, easily enough, make this happen, if I wanted to?  I believe so.  Call it a hunch.

Call it the instinct I've always had for reading him.  (Right up until the day he said he didn't want to be with me anymore.)

And man, that idea, that thought is ... powerful.

The idea that I am the one who's stopping anything from happening.  That I suspect he's waiting for an in.

(And how I also really hope he's not.  That I want him to not be that guy.)

So as you can imagine, my weekend was a mind-messing one.

And, honestly?  I think I'm still processing it.

A good friend of mine told me I obviously hadn't thought through what would happen when I told him that.  And I had.  I just hadn't thought through all the possibilities.  But the same friend is proud of me for saying it.  For doing what I wanted to do, and not talking myself out of yet another thing.

I didn't mean to open the can of worms that I did this weekend, (well, last weekend, really, since it took me this long to type out three days worth of mind-mess) but I think I did a pretty good job of closing the can back up again.

And I know I want to open the damn thing back up, but I'm not going to.

Even though I want to.

You know?

Saturday, 24 November 2012

I Know

I know, this story should be over right?

Should be.

I emailed him the next day, a simple, neutral email.  "Hey, just checking in like you asked.  Have a good weekend."

He got back to me, asked for my number, said he had some things he wanted to talk about.

I gave him my cell number and he sent me a text.

I didn't know what to expect, but it was work related.  (He knows I'm a spy, obviously, had some questions for me, no big deal.)

Sometime after dinner Saturday night, he texted again.

"Would it be ok if I stopped by quickly on my way out?"

"Um... vaguely?"

See, I'd already thought my way through everything.  I won't sleep with a married man.  I won't be "the other woman" but this was the first time I've understood just how easy it could be to become that person.

I don't know his wife.  I've never met her, I don't know her name, what she looks like, she's a non person to me.  And if I wanted to, I could just keep on with that thought, never ask about her, never want to know.

Because it wouldn't be that I wanted to date him or marry him, just that I wanted to see what it was like to sleep with him again.  It would be that I was so caught up in the memories of what was and the idea of what might be that I would sleep with him, and no one would ever have to know.

Except I'm not that person.  Maybe there's a part of me that is, and even a part of me that wants to be, but I'm not.  So when he asked if he could stop by quickly, I knew that if he even hinted at anything, I'd be telling him I needed to see signed divorce papers first.

So I said, sure. 

Because, I was curious too.  And suspicious.  I don't think it's ok for married men to be dropping by their exes houses.  Especially not when said ex has just told them they were great in bed.

But maybe I was just assuming too much.  Maybe he just wanted to drop off my stuff.


Friday, 23 November 2012


I've Always Liked This Mural by foundimagination
I felt like I'd been bad.  But it hadn't been my intention.  I'd honestly, never expected him to say that.

I'd thought I'd fluster him, that he'd be thrown and not know what to say and that I would probably never see him again, but that he'd go back to his wife and kids feeling a little bit better about himself.

So I went and voted.  Early voting, actually.  Somehow realigning my karma or something, but the song was playing over and over in my head.

Baby did a bad, bad thing.

And it's a sexy song, there's no denying that, because his response had made me feel sexy.  Something I haven't felt in quite a while.  A powerful feeling.

I felt aroused in the very dictionary definition way:  stirred up, excited.  And (time to stop reading random, anonymous family members or squeamish friends) to be honest, aroused in the less dictionary definition way.

Everything seemed to be about sex.

I tried to watch a tv show Friday night.

Everyone was having sex.

All the songs that came up on my playlist?


I talked to a few friends, figuring if I talked about it, it would keep me honest, and then I went to bed.

I figured I'd sleep it off and feel more normal in the morning, and I did.  Pretty much.

Thursday, 22 November 2012


"Ditto," he said, and I glanced at his face, and saw a very familiar twinkle in his eyes.

"Shit," I thought . . . eloquently.

And trying to back my way out of things, I laughed, smiled again, and said "Well, thanks!" and shook his hand, "I just figured, who wouldn't want the compliment, right?"  And I smiled, and turned to walk away again.

"Wait.  I've been meaning to call you.  Actually, I tried calling you a while back.  You're not in the book anymore?"

The conversation wasn't supposed to continue.  I'd planned on dropping the bomb and running away. 

"I have a box of your stuff.  It seems sentimental.  Old letters, photos, the like.  I'd like to give it back to you."

"Oh, just drop it off at my work," I said, now feeling really awkward, not having ever imagined I'd have to talk to this man again after telling him that sleeping with him was the best I've ever had.

"No, here's my card, email me," and he handed me his card as I walked down the aisle towards the door, him at my side, a bottle of milk in his free hand.

And I got in my car and drove away, hardly believing what I'd done, but really not believing his answer.


Meaning, either he was being polite in an awkward situation. . . or I am the best sex he's ever had too.

And that's when that song started playing in my head.

Wednesday, 21 November 2012


I'm On Fire by foundimagination
I was in a good mood too.

I'd had a good day at work, had come to some personal realizations (that I was going to blog about on the weekend, so the thoughts were running through my head) that made me feel confident and happy, and I was standing outside the grocery store, checking my shopping list to see if I wanted to do grocery shopping then, or to just head home and enjoy the rest of Friday.

So I was standing there, staring at my phone when I felt someone in my space.  I glanced up, and there he was, Vince, my ex.

He's older, of course.  We both are, but it's still him and my first thought was just that it was nice to see him, and that he looked silly in a suit.

I gave him a hug, we made small talk, and I let him wander off into the grocery store.

And then my brain yelled at me.

"VICTORIA!  You promised yourself!   You wanted to tell him last time you saw him and you didn't, and you were disappointed that you didn't, and it might be another three years before you see him again and you DO NOT want to spend another three years wishing you'd just done it.  So do it already!  Go after him!  Tell him!"

So I laughed, and went into the grocery store to find him.

(Now, those of you who've been around here long enough, know that this was a big deal for me, and should be proud along with me that I followed through and didn't wimp out, I wanted to do something and I did it, without talking myself out of it.  So... there's that.)

I found him right away and, still laughing, pulled him to a spot where there weren't many people.  

"Listen, I have to tell you something.  I promised myself if I ever saw you again, I'd tell you, and it's totally inappropriate and I really shouldn't say it, so we'll just pretend this conversation never happened, and will never leave this store, ok?"

I half realized he might be wondering if there was some long lost love child or something he really didn't want to hear, so I laughed again, finding myself very amusing (to myself.)

"Really, this is completely inappropriate, but I just wanted to tell you... you're still the best sex I've ever had."

And he smiled, and I smiled, relieved, and then he said "Thanks."  And I turned to walk away.

"Ditto," he said.

And I stopped.

"That wasn't supposed to happen." said my brain.

No shit Sherlock.        

Tuesday, 20 November 2012

Hence, Yesterday's Theme Song...

So, I kind of did a bad, bad thing.

I mean, it wasn't meant to be bad.

I guess I knew it was a little bit naughty, a little bit inappropriate, but I never intended it to be anything more than something close to innocently inappropriate.

If that's a thing?

I don't know if anyone besides myself remembers this, but there is one particular ex of mine (who also happens to live in this town) that was really good in bed.  Or, I suppose, we were really good in bed together?  I don't know.  He was, and still is, the best sex I've ever had.

And so for whatever reason, it came into my head a few years ago, after randomly running into him, that I wish I'd told him this, that I wish he knew, because I feel like people should know these kinds of things.  And I feel like he was a a good guy, and deserved that compliment.  And so I told myself after I ran into him that last time that if I ever saw him again, I'd tell him.

Do you see where this story is going?


I ran into my ex on Friday.

Monday, 19 November 2012

I Need To Talk About It

Chris Isaak - Baby Did a Bad Bad Thing

But I guess you could say I'm scared to.  Not that anything really awful has happened, but still. . .

It's been slightly overwhelming (although I suppose that's an oxymoron "slightly overwhelming"?) so I don't think I can talk about it all in one sitting.

This might take a few days.

Sunday, 18 November 2012


It's always at this point in November where I realize I don't really want to post every day (ala NaBloPoMo) but I have done so so far and really, should I just keep going?  You know, not break the streak or whatever?

I have had an incredibly odd couple of days, and at the moment my brain is a little too spinny to sit and figure them out enough to write about it.

But, yeah. 

Happy Sunday, eh?

Saturday, 17 November 2012

Writing Prompt: Do Advertisements Influence Who You Vote For?

This Makes Me Giggle by foundimagination
I know this prompt was probably intended for US bloggers last month (psst, in case you missed it, they had an election, it was kind of a big deal) but in this little part of my country, we are having an odd sort of election too.

In a nutshell, our federal representative for this area stepped down so we have to pick a new person to represent us instead.

So I'm hijacking this question because it relates to me right now, and the answer is no.

So totally no.

In fact, if anything, the more a candidate pushes, the less I would consider voting for them.

This is most likely because I generally am already pretty certain of how I'm going to vote, or who I'm going to vote for, and I find pushy signage and phone calls and mailouts annoying.

I don't have cable, so I don't see any television ads, but I'm sure they would annoy me too.

So, no.  Advertisements do not influence who I vote for and the bigger the sign you put up, the less I want to vote for you.

The only thing that maybe influences me at all?  Is when I see candidates out in the freezing cold morning, holding a sign with some of their supporters and waving at the cars at a major intersection.  For some reason that makes me go "awwwww" and as long as they're not part of a party/group I strongly disagree with, I always wave back at them.

Might not vote for them, but I figure their waving deserves a wave back.

But I'm guessing the advertisements must work or they wouldn't keep using them, yeah?

Friday, 16 November 2012

Writing Prompt: What’s The One Thing You Hope Other People Never Say About You?

You know, it's funny, because you'd think that the answer would be something deep and profound:  "she never made a difference in the world", "her life never amounted to anything." 

I certainly expected that to be the response I'd come up with,  but strangely enough,  the answer that kept popping into my head when I thought about this question was that I hope other people never say that they hate me.

"Oh, Victoria?  I hate her."

The thought makes me cringe.

Which is really too bad.  Because I'm pretty sure people hate me.  Or at least someone hates me.  Or has hated me.  Or will hate me.  Or have said they hate me.

I think it's an unrealistic thing to hope.  That no one will ever hate me?  Or dislike me even?  I don't think that's realistic.  And it kind of bums me out to know that this is top of my brain.

I think it's probably a really immature thought.  Probably something still stuck in my psyche from being a teenager, or a kid even.  And I think I should probably figure out a way to grow out of it, because I can only imagine it's holding me back.

I wonder what things I'm doing or not doing, in order to avoid causing people to dislike me?

Or maybe there's a difference between dislike and hate.  I don't know.

But what about you?  What's something that you hope other people never say about you?

Thursday, 15 November 2012

Saved By The Bell!

I Don't Know Why I Found This So Funny by foundimagination

I was sitting there last night not knowing how to say anything, feeling like whatever I did say at least one someone, possibly more, would be sitting there shaking their head in disappointment at my blah blah blah drivel yet again.

And then, out of the recesses of my brain, came a memory of seeing "daily writing prompts" (loosely based off a NaBloPoMo search I did a week or two ago) and thanks to the interwebs, I found them again.

So now I feel like I have some prompts for things I can write about until I no longer feel like I'm being watched and judged, and therefore stymied.

(It's funny, the last time I remember feeling like I couldn't freely write was when Smith and I broke up.  I knew he knew about the blog and didn't know if he was reading it, but in case he was, I didn't want to talk too freely about the breakup... I think I also felt a little stuck when I realized my brother was reading, but I've managed to forget that a little bit, if not completely.)  (Oh nuts, I just reminded myself didn't I?)

Ironically, this post is not prompted by a prompt.  Just by my "oh yay!" feeling of finding a way around the "I don't know what to say" feeling.

Ta da and woo hooo!

Wednesday, 14 November 2012


So now I kind of feel like I don't know what to say.  Or like I know what I want to say but I don't want to say it.

Which is a really uncomfortable feeling.

I hope I get over it soon.

Edited to add: Your comments on yesterday's posts helped a lot lot lot.  Thank you.  (As always)

Tuesday, 13 November 2012

Clomp, Clomp, Clomp

In The Light by foundimagination
I had a comment left for me this weekend, that, in a nutshell, pointed out that this blog is not what it used to be.

That noise you hear?  That's the sound of the elephant that's in the room, that apparently needs to be talked about.   Clomp, clomp, clomp.

I know this blog isn't the same as it used to be.  I know it's not the same as when I started.

I also know that of the blogs I've followed for years, there are times when I'm less interested in what they have to say, or often, times where I stop reading them because what they have to say feels wrong to me in whatever way.  (Too sad, too angry, too whiny, whatever.)

I also know that people have stopped reading here.  Or at least, they've stopped commenting... but I'd say it's safe to say I've lost readers over the years. (Not that popularity was ever my intention in starting this blog.) Gained some too, that's for sure, but I know things around here don't feel the same as they did in 2006.

I wish they did.  I do.  I wish I was still happy go lucky at the idea that my boyfriend, my husband was just right around the corner.

(But on the flip side, I'm also happy I'm not quite as terribly shy as I was back when I started writing here.)

But here's the truth of it all.  I haven't had anything close to a relationship in nearly six years.   Since Smith.

Sure, there was Bird, and there's been a few other crushes or short term "hmmm, what about him?" over the years, but I'm not sure anyone who hasn't been through it can imagine what six years of wishing for something feels like.  Six years of not being in a relationship.  Nothing.  Not even anything more than a few dates.  If you haven't been through it, you don't know how hard it gets to be, how it erodes away at you.

Having that constant "it'd be really nice if" in the back of your head.

Being told you just have to "not want it" and it will "come when you least expect it."

Watching everyone around you find someone, fall in love, get married, start a family when you have not had anything more than a date for years.

Years, you guys.

It drags you down.

As much as you try to live without it, live around it, live despite it, the not having someone is a constant thing.

So yes, I'm not as light and silly and free about being single as I was when I first wrote here; back then I was coming out of a relationship and heading into another and then getting over that heartbreak and trying to enter the dating world.  Now I'm half a decade without a relationship, and as much as I want to stay hopeful and positive, I have, in a lot of ways, had to stop thinking/wishing it will happen. 

And then, to be honest, these last two years have been very difficult.

I've had to face the mortality of my parents. I've had to go through some really tough personal challenges.  I've had to grow up in every way you can imagine, and it has been wonderful to grow, but really really tough.

For a while now, I've been struggling with writing.  Sitting staring at the screen with nothing to say, no happy stories to tell.  But that's part of the creative process.  Sometimes it flows, sometimes you just have to push through.

And because writing here is part of my creative outlet, and often, part of my figuring out the growing I'm going through, I don't want to just shut it down, so I make myself write out posts, even when I know I have nothing to say, even when I know what I have to say is not sassy/funny/enlightening posts about dating.  (See above, not dating, hence, difficult to write about something that's not happening.)

I'm not trying to gather our pitchforks and burning brands to hound the commenter, and I'm not trying to start a pity party, I'm just saying, yes, I know.  I know, and I've known for a while that the feel of this place is neither what it used to be or, more importantly, what I'd like it to be.

But it's either write, or don't write, and since this is ultimately my space, and my outlet, and my creative writing arena,  I keep writing.  (I keep taking photos too, for what it's worth, even if I don't think they're any good, just to keep pushing myself, it's far too easy to give up and stop creating.)

I can't tell you how much I appreciate those of you who do still read here, and especially those of you who feel compelled to comment.  It means the world to me, really, that you share in my journey, even (perhaps especially) when it's in a low point.  Even if it's a long low point.

So, yes.  I know, I know.  I've been feeding the damn elephant after all, I know it's there more than anyone.  And because I don't know how to fix the "holy %*&# I'm still single and the most single I've ever been in my entire adult life (because kissing Owen M in Kindergarten doesn't really count) situation" I just keep writing anyway.

And I know that alienates, or has alienated some people, and I just accept that that's how blogging works.

But I'm sorry, I wish things were different. 

And all I can do on my end is to keep on keeping on, for better or worse, and keep on writing.

But thanks for being here with me anyway.  Anyone want to pet the elephant?

Monday, 12 November 2012

Any Entomologists Around?

So I've just removed the fourth ladybug in as many weeks from my apartment.

(Either that or there's one really determined ladybug hanging around outside my place.)

I'm guessing they're randomly finding their way in due to the warm/dry/light?

But I'm not sure what they're doing around and about these here parts anyway.

Anyone have any idea?

(No, fifth, another one just showed up, seriously)

Sunday, 11 November 2012

In Remembrance

It's About That Time by foundimagination
This is the time we pause to remember.

This is the time we take to think of the sacrifices made, and to honour those who have passed in wars gone by.

This is the time we bow our heads and stand in silence, holding the hope for peace in our hearts, and giving thanks that we live in the way we do.

This is the time we acknowledge those who choose to serve, and the risks they take.

This is the time we speak of Flanders Fields and upholding the torch of Remembrance.

This is the time we remember.

They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.

Saturday, 10 November 2012

I Know I Haven't Asked In A While

But, how are you?

Friday, 9 November 2012


Dark Twins by foundimagination
I know I beat this dead horse every single year but seriously, I so very much hate the time change.

I am SO tired but I can't even go to bed because it's, like, 7 pm.

And it's not making my days any longer, they're now just starting at early o'clock and ending at half past dark o'clock!

And I don't know about you, but I'm still waiting for that promised "extra hour of sleep" to kick in.  I think mine got lost in the mail or something.

Can we not just be done with this stupid time change brain frying stuff and all get along just fine on one time for ever and ever amen?


Thursday, 8 November 2012


You know how I sometimes type dyslexically?

Either because I type so fast my fingers get ahead of myself or because my fingers are thinking the right word but type it out backwards or sideways or something?

Yeah, well... guess what happens if you type THIS a little bit wrong?

You guessed it!


Good thing I caught the typo before I sent the email, eh?

Wednesday, 7 November 2012

For Sure

Wide Open Spaces by foundimagination
This past month has been a gong show in ways I won't talk about here, and has resulted in me needing to really step up and out of my comfort zone in a big way.

I've had to be really strong and, to quote C-Dawg (who is very proud of me) put on my "big girl panties" to deal with all this.

Those big girl panties have gotten a lot of wear this last while and I'm proud of myself too for taking on the scary things I have and standing up to people and standing up for what's right.

It's been incredibly stressful, mind you, but I've done it nonetheless.

And this weekend, as I was recovering from what I hope is the biggest portion of what I had to do to end this awfulness please dear Lord please, I decided that my big girl panties are pink polka dotted.

Because they may be what I put on to be tough and grown up and serious, but that doesn't mean they're not cute and girly and fun too!

Tuesday, 6 November 2012

To The Guy Who Gets Home From Wherever And Sits In His Truck With It Running For Ten Minutes

Dear "Sir",
(Who knows where you live)

Monday, 5 November 2012

Not Talking About It But Talking About It

Midway Through The Week by foundimagination
I discovered this weekend what "at wit's end" feels like.

Or, at least, that's what I realized I was feeling when it was pointed out to me.

"This situation has driven her to wit's end", read the email, and just hearing it, I relaxed.

See (don't talk about work Victoria) and (no, seriously, don't do it) because (la, la, la, la, stop it, Victoria!) and that was just too much.

And so I was sitting there, at home, collapsed on the couch,   (Seriously.  I just wanted to sleep, didn't even have the energy to get up off the couch and make dinner.) when I got a phone call that broke my heart completely (my friend's Dad has been given just a couple of months to live) so I spent the rest of the weekend in some sort of combined horror of sorrow, shock, exhaustion, I don't even know what.

See, when I was under all the stress around Dad's surgery, I took time off work.  I took care of myself as best I could, and I used whatever means necessary to force my body to sleep.

But I haven't done that with this stress.  I haven't been sleeping well.  Sure, I've taken care of myself fairly well, or eaten well, at least, but not much else, and the stress done wore me out.

"I feel really weird" was all I could say when C-Dawg called to check up on me Friday after work.

I had a nap Saturday afternoon, and that seemed to help a bit, and I drank a lot of water, and I think that helped too.

But my poor, poor body, and mind are at their wit's end  and I need a break from (not talking about it), no, not a break from, an end to... and I hope it comes soon.

Very soon.

Because this is not worth getting sick about.  There's more to life than this.

Sunday, 4 November 2012

I Forgot

About NaBloPoMo.

You doing it?

Saturday, 3 November 2012

Bwoooop! Bwoooop! Bwoooop!

It Gets Dark So Early by foundimagination
That's the warning siren noise.

(In case you couldn't figure that out.)

(Although, I'm not sure why you wouldn't have figured that out, it seems pretty clear to me!)

(But then again, I'm currently the only one living in my head, so sometimes things make more sense to me than they do outside of my head.)

(And I really hope I'm only ever the only one living in my head.  There's enough going on in there without anyone else joining in than you very much.)

(But anywayyyyyy....)

It's the time change this weekend.

Like, tonight.  Even though it's technically tomorrow morning, it's still tonight in my books, but yeah.

Time change.

Unless you don't live here, in which case just ignore me because you probably had it already or aren't having it at all and it's just silly all round and you know how much I hate the short dark days so boooooooooo!  In general.

I'll turn the sirens off now, sorry if they woke you up.

Friday, 2 November 2012

So What Does That Say About Me?

I had one of those "Aha!" moments the other day.

It was playing video games, mind you, but still.

I realized that I do much better, and prefer to use a character that has a ranged attack.  So that generally means an archer or a magic user, depending on the game.

I tried, with this particular addiction game to use the "I'm big and strong and beat people up" character, but it just got killed and I realized that it feels better (less stressful maybe?) to be the guy who's shooting down the bad guys from far away while someone else is up in there doing the heavy, hand to hand fighting.

When I'm playing with a group type game (my friends and I used to play COH and I loved it) I, again, tended to be a ranged attacker, and often liked to be a healer as well.

I'm not sure why this is an easier and less stressful and, in the long run, better way for me to play these games, but figure it must say something about me.

What do you figure that is?

I like to keep myself safe while making surprise ... damage?

Thursday, 1 November 2012

Fault Lines

Crossing Paths by foundimagination
There have been a couple of fairly large earthquakes around about these parts this last week.

We've been lucky in that there does not appear to be any injuries or damage due to where they were located.  But it's always a sobering reminder that here, we do live in an earthquake zone and are due for a frighteningly large and devastating earthquake at some point.  (A thought I do my best not to dwell on, beyond being prepared.)

This weekend, when the earthquake happened, I may or may not have felt it. 

I say this because the building I live in is an old wooden framed building and large trucks driving past rattle it.

I've certainly felt small earthquakes here, but I've also felt the building shake for other reasons, non-earthquake ones.  I mean, if the guy upstairs stomps around too heavily, things can feel a little bit shaky.

So I'm not sure I felt this weekend's 7.7, but I did trip over my own feet around the time it happened, so maybe I was clumsy as usual, or maybe there was a bit of a bigger shake than usual.
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