Well, it’s been a while. So this might be kind of a long read.
So, it’s nearly Christmas. This seems to be the topic to start on, so I’ll start on it. Most of what I’ve been reading surrounding Christmas so far, is about the rush, the greed, the unpreparedness, and while I have my own thoughts and opinions on that, let me just say that I am totally and completely on board the Christmas train this year. I spent way too much money again, which doesn’t really bother me as much as it probably should. It seems like every year I say to myself, “well, Chris and I don’t have any children yet again this Christmas, so we might as well buy whatever we want for each other.” And it doesn’t take much more argument than that really, to get me to spend a small fortune. I have every single one of my gifts bought, my tree up, and I’ve even had time to wrap all my mother’s gifts for her and do some heavy Christmas baking. So, on that front, I’m pleased. I feel like the concept of ‘Christmas baking’ is important for some reason. I’ve been seeing it a lot on Facebook. – “Have you done any Christmas baking???” And my mother’s, “Wow, you’ve done some great Christmas baking!” So it seems like the thing to be doing when there’s time.
My work gave me a turkey for my bonus this year, which is fine. Chris’ work gave him a ham, so we’re good to go for both Christmas dinner and our New Year’s meal, which we’re spending with my parents and grandparents.
The last few weeks, I’ve been working a lot of hours. Or at least it feels like more than usual. I’m quite tired a lot of the time, and I really don’t have much time or use for people; sad to say. I seem to be disgruntled at everyone and everything, and I feel like I have really good reasons for my anger, but when I really think about it and try to sort it out, I feel at a loss for my feelings. I can’t explain them away and I feel them intensely, and the truth of the matter is, if I haven’t blown up at you, it’s probably just because I haven’t gotten to you yet.
Like I said, I’m at a loss for finding reasons behind these feelings. And I don’t want to be feeling this way inside. It’s the Christmas season, after all. Time for merriment and all that. I don’t think it has anything to do with hormones, really. More to do with being stressed out, I think. I feel like the Christmas season owes me something in the way of happiness. I give to it and have been giving to it, probably since December started. But I’m really not feeling the love back. It’s like, Christmas time promises some sense of hope and peace and wellbeing when it comes around each year, but this year it’s not been keeping its promise to me so far.
I guess I’m like any kid when it comes to waiting on the actual day and presents and things. It took way too long to get here, and now that it’s here, I’d kind of like it to slow down and let me linger in it for a while.
Today being Sunday, I had dinner with my parents at their house. I wrapped some presents for my mom, and then came home to face my kitchen and make some cookies and a macaroni and cheese casserole for my brother’s work party tomorrow night. I won’t get time to make anything tomorrow, because, well, I’m super busy all the time at work. My brother’s sad and single and so he invited me to go with him to his party for work. I’m glad to go, and I hope it serves to boost my spirits a bit, but really I’m just wondering if I can spare the time to go and have fun. I have a lot of other things on my mind. Tuesday afternoon is the Daycare Christmas party, and I have to be *on* for that. And make the food and prepare the activities and get Santa ready and give out gifts and that sort of thing. When I think about it, it sounds like a lot of fun, but I know inside that it’ll just be more busyness.
On top of those things, the Dentist is coming to town on Tuesday as well and I need to see him. I couldn’t be more afraid of the Dentist if I tried to be, and it just feels like doom and gloom looming over me.
Then on Wednesday, it’s the Children’s Christmas Program at the ‘big school’, so I have to go and get my kids to say their parts. Though with little kids, you can never know what they’re gonna do. Whether they’ll say their lines, throw up, pee... well, we’ll find out.
You’re listening to the rantings of someone who really needs some time off. I was asked if I wanted to do a float with my kids for the children’s parade that went ahead yesterday, and I said no. I felt bad and I still do, but I just couldn’t do it. I selfishly needed my Saturday. Oh well.
I get a few days off over Christmas, and I get off for holidays on Friday morning, so that’s not so bad. But between now and then, it’s really busy. And then after that, my department is throwing a Christmas Eve bash like they do every year, so I have to work at that on Saturday, and I hope I feel a lot better before then, because my heart is just not in it at the moment.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Saturday, December 3, 2011
Unrequited Love
Ah, Benny wrote this. Read it if you want. :)
Is there anything worse than being in the throes of unrequited love? If you've ever been trapped in that situation you'll know the feelings of true heartache and loss. How can something that feels so real and so deep be a mistake?
There are two sides to unrequited love: the lover and the rejecter, but perhaps the only one familiar to us is the lover. In reality, though, the rejecter also experiences a range of unpleasant emotions on a par with those of the suitor such as frustration and guilt.
Unrequited love is commonly regarded as a noble, selfless and stoic willingness to accept suffering. Some say that one-sided love is better than none, but like half a loaf of bread, it is likely to grow hard and mouldy sooner. I beg to differ; in my experience nothing good comes from unrequited love. Any lingering hope on the part of the lover is a false hope and of no value. It is neither noble nor wise to all unrequited love to linger but better to accept its existence in order to overcome and move past the sorrow. Otherwise it's like pouring something of great value down a drain.
The world is full of thieves who want to take away from you everything that is good; thieves such as bad circumstances, mental illness or spiteful people. These things can bring about the appearance of unrequited love whereas in reality, the love is indeed reciprocated. In, I'm sure, many circumstances the object of a person’s love does not know how to respond or is simply not aware of deep affection another has for them. The chance of this being the case is cause for many to hang on to someone, believing that in time they will 'come around'.
On a personal level, I've been on both sides of this equation. When I was younger, I allowed myself to become attached to unobtainable women. I guess it made me feel alive on some level as in my heart I felt I'd never really be with anyone.. that relationships were simply too difficult for me to attain or maintain. More recently, I've considered I may be the object of other people's love that I'm not able to return because I just don't feel the same. As someone who wants everyone to be happy and someone who loves to help other's other, the situation is problematic at best and one I'm only beginning to learn how to handle properly. On one hand it's good to be straight with someone but on the other it's good to not hurt their feelings. In this context, it's impossible to find an outcome that's immediately satisfying for both parties. It's no wonder so many people are wary of loving or of being loved.
Does anyone think about the unrequited love of God? Presiding over a world filled with people who don't want to know him, deny him or give no more than half measures. We give him so little in return but he still loves us just the same. He of all people would know best of all what it is like to be rejected by those he loves.
Is there anything worse than being in the throes of unrequited love? If you've ever been trapped in that situation you'll know the feelings of true heartache and loss. How can something that feels so real and so deep be a mistake?
There are two sides to unrequited love: the lover and the rejecter, but perhaps the only one familiar to us is the lover. In reality, though, the rejecter also experiences a range of unpleasant emotions on a par with those of the suitor such as frustration and guilt.
Unrequited love is commonly regarded as a noble, selfless and stoic willingness to accept suffering. Some say that one-sided love is better than none, but like half a loaf of bread, it is likely to grow hard and mouldy sooner. I beg to differ; in my experience nothing good comes from unrequited love. Any lingering hope on the part of the lover is a false hope and of no value. It is neither noble nor wise to all unrequited love to linger but better to accept its existence in order to overcome and move past the sorrow. Otherwise it's like pouring something of great value down a drain.
The world is full of thieves who want to take away from you everything that is good; thieves such as bad circumstances, mental illness or spiteful people. These things can bring about the appearance of unrequited love whereas in reality, the love is indeed reciprocated. In, I'm sure, many circumstances the object of a person’s love does not know how to respond or is simply not aware of deep affection another has for them. The chance of this being the case is cause for many to hang on to someone, believing that in time they will 'come around'.
On a personal level, I've been on both sides of this equation. When I was younger, I allowed myself to become attached to unobtainable women. I guess it made me feel alive on some level as in my heart I felt I'd never really be with anyone.. that relationships were simply too difficult for me to attain or maintain. More recently, I've considered I may be the object of other people's love that I'm not able to return because I just don't feel the same. As someone who wants everyone to be happy and someone who loves to help other's other, the situation is problematic at best and one I'm only beginning to learn how to handle properly. On one hand it's good to be straight with someone but on the other it's good to not hurt their feelings. In this context, it's impossible to find an outcome that's immediately satisfying for both parties. It's no wonder so many people are wary of loving or of being loved.
Does anyone think about the unrequited love of God? Presiding over a world filled with people who don't want to know him, deny him or give no more than half measures. We give him so little in return but he still loves us just the same. He of all people would know best of all what it is like to be rejected by those he loves.
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Spoken With Passion
I'm sure you've noticed my last two blogs being nothing more than Youtube links, in an effort to save myself the shame and embarrassment of not being able to find anything interesting to write about. lol - In fact, to anyone who'll listen, my usual conversation in chat is, "what can I possibly blog about?" - I'm hopelessly uninteresting and uninterested as of late.
I came across something I wrote a while back:
_____________________________________________________________________________________
You would not put pen to paper for me;
Yet I struggle with tool and scroll in an effort not merely to control the accuracy and flow of each descriptive symbol, but to hold back in kindness that which aches to be spoken into existence; that which yearns to be written.
An agenda is set. Not by the willfulness of yours truly. Even the universe itself as a whole, calling in all favors, sending forth an army of determined elements to combat the harsh and bring forth the right; calling upon each grain of sand, each shooting star for its ingrained symbol of hope and direction. None of these matters, for the agenda is set, and by whose hand lies with the realm of the irrelevant.
Strained, at best. Strained is the one word, the only word which in itself leaves a semi-peaceful taste in my mouth. Not because it is in any way satisfying or acceptable; but for the sole reason that it fits. It fits and does justice to that which I struggle to convey and that which you would deny.
Put on a stand, prodded for truth, hand on a double-edged sword, you would claim to all eyes watching that no such foot bridge exists between what was and what now is being. You would do this, while I called upon wing and flight to cross the width of the canyon that separates the now from perfection. In merely speaking words, you would manage only to convince the onlookers of thinness, flatness, resigned effort to right wrongs. In my actions, in my spanning the lost ground, tirelessly regaining what is now strained, what used to come so naturally, I urge them to believe in a perfection beyond what they see in the two people standing before them.
They will see what is acted upon; they will see a need to right what has turned wrong. They will stop the further destruction of what is strained. We will both be subjected to bitter clichés that in truth offer more than any punishment could hope to heal.
They will warn that Rome was not built in a day, and with that, they will harshly look from one to another and state that even though this is truth, what is also true, is that it can be destroyed in much less time than it took to build.
Take heed to this, they will say. And we promise that we will, but once we leave their courts, what then? We leave our promises on the other side of the door. Promised in sincerity; left in the same manner.
You can afford the luxury of time as your right-hand companion. Perhaps you shall never fully comprehend the fortune which time could not afford to buy. Persons. Things. These are those elements that are easily underestimated; undervalued. You may never go without. You may always reside within the blessed confines of wealth and free will. I would not deny you those. I would merely ask, if ever I gained favor in your presence, in your courts: Would you, could you ever possibly count me among them?
And that which I ask, would not be a question asked with an answer expected, anticipated. It would be, and is, a question that with time and the universe working for the good of the outcome, you may one day ponder instead of I.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
I wish that I could write like that again. I'm not saying that it's some great piece of literature or anything, but it was real and it was passionate. I was probably mad at someone at the time - most likely Benny. lol But it was angry and passionate and I felt every word, and even now as I read it again, it feels fiery and more like me than I've been in the last little while.
I feel domesticated or something. In the sense that you domesticate an animal. I find myself censoring my thoughts and feelings in an effort to be kinder, or to avoid conflict, I guess. But the truth is, I really don't know why I'm doing it. All the passion and purpose have gone out of my words because of it.
I used to be witty; side-splittingly hilarious, in fact. Now, I can't think of what to write about half the time, and the other half of the time, I've thought up a topic, but discard it immediately because I know that my present self can't do justice to it.
I know that the moral of the story is that I need to trust myself as a thoughtful person, to write an interesting blog. And most definitely, that I need to be writing more. Between my job and the many things that need to be done with regards to having a new house, I hardly get a chance to write anything decent; and when I do have the time, I just don't have the interest.
What I'm finding is that writing is something that stays with me, no matter what other changes I'm going through; writing is a constant. When I was little, I wrote little stories for my eyes only, and I played with barbies. When I got older, I wrote longer stories, and worried about my hair and make-up. Now, I write nothing, and go to work and care for my home. But it's always there, in the back of my mind, in a corner of my soul, that I should be writing. It's like a nagging feeling that this is who I am, and what I have to do. Some people, like Chris, for example, are just happy to go about their day and never feel the tug of pen and paper weighing them down. I wonder what it's like to never feel like you should be writing. For me, it's become a chore that I unhappily ignore and put on my 'to-do' list for the next day, and then the next. It's like when you know you have a mountain of dishes to be washing, but you go and watch TV for an hour, and all the while you're watching, you're thinking about the dishes and the notion that they have to be done before bedtime.
I've always said that the difference between me and a writer, is that writers write. I have the soul of a writer, if maybe not the refined skill. I think I will really only worry about the quality of my skill if I ever try to become published. Right now, what I write is raw and passionate - or, as I said, it used to be. And that's what I want to get back. The soul.
Recently, I entered a writing contest for Aboriginal Canadians. I wrote a piece that earned me fourth place in the contest, which I thought was excellent. Until they sent me the book that the stories were published in, and a note saying that mine didn't make the publication because I came in fourth, and only first, second and third places made the cut. It felt like cruel and unusual punishment. So, with sour grapes, I read the third place story and ripped it apart in my mind to make myself feel better. And of course it did at the time. But the story was good, and there's no denying that now. I realize now that I hadn't written my story with my usual passion. I wrote it for the first place $2,000 prize money that I'd hoped to have in time for my trip to England. Mistake number one. Unless you're a world-class writer, writing for prize money will make your entry very obviously passionless.
Anyway.
I've used up your time and a lot of words to simply say that I'm going to try to find the passion again.
I came across something I wrote a while back:
_____________________________________________________________________________________
You would not put pen to paper for me;
Yet I struggle with tool and scroll in an effort not merely to control the accuracy and flow of each descriptive symbol, but to hold back in kindness that which aches to be spoken into existence; that which yearns to be written.
An agenda is set. Not by the willfulness of yours truly. Even the universe itself as a whole, calling in all favors, sending forth an army of determined elements to combat the harsh and bring forth the right; calling upon each grain of sand, each shooting star for its ingrained symbol of hope and direction. None of these matters, for the agenda is set, and by whose hand lies with the realm of the irrelevant.
Strained, at best. Strained is the one word, the only word which in itself leaves a semi-peaceful taste in my mouth. Not because it is in any way satisfying or acceptable; but for the sole reason that it fits. It fits and does justice to that which I struggle to convey and that which you would deny.
Put on a stand, prodded for truth, hand on a double-edged sword, you would claim to all eyes watching that no such foot bridge exists between what was and what now is being. You would do this, while I called upon wing and flight to cross the width of the canyon that separates the now from perfection. In merely speaking words, you would manage only to convince the onlookers of thinness, flatness, resigned effort to right wrongs. In my actions, in my spanning the lost ground, tirelessly regaining what is now strained, what used to come so naturally, I urge them to believe in a perfection beyond what they see in the two people standing before them.
They will see what is acted upon; they will see a need to right what has turned wrong. They will stop the further destruction of what is strained. We will both be subjected to bitter clichés that in truth offer more than any punishment could hope to heal.
They will warn that Rome was not built in a day, and with that, they will harshly look from one to another and state that even though this is truth, what is also true, is that it can be destroyed in much less time than it took to build.
Take heed to this, they will say. And we promise that we will, but once we leave their courts, what then? We leave our promises on the other side of the door. Promised in sincerity; left in the same manner.
You can afford the luxury of time as your right-hand companion. Perhaps you shall never fully comprehend the fortune which time could not afford to buy. Persons. Things. These are those elements that are easily underestimated; undervalued. You may never go without. You may always reside within the blessed confines of wealth and free will. I would not deny you those. I would merely ask, if ever I gained favor in your presence, in your courts: Would you, could you ever possibly count me among them?
And that which I ask, would not be a question asked with an answer expected, anticipated. It would be, and is, a question that with time and the universe working for the good of the outcome, you may one day ponder instead of I.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
I wish that I could write like that again. I'm not saying that it's some great piece of literature or anything, but it was real and it was passionate. I was probably mad at someone at the time - most likely Benny. lol But it was angry and passionate and I felt every word, and even now as I read it again, it feels fiery and more like me than I've been in the last little while.
I feel domesticated or something. In the sense that you domesticate an animal. I find myself censoring my thoughts and feelings in an effort to be kinder, or to avoid conflict, I guess. But the truth is, I really don't know why I'm doing it. All the passion and purpose have gone out of my words because of it.
I used to be witty; side-splittingly hilarious, in fact. Now, I can't think of what to write about half the time, and the other half of the time, I've thought up a topic, but discard it immediately because I know that my present self can't do justice to it.
I know that the moral of the story is that I need to trust myself as a thoughtful person, to write an interesting blog. And most definitely, that I need to be writing more. Between my job and the many things that need to be done with regards to having a new house, I hardly get a chance to write anything decent; and when I do have the time, I just don't have the interest.
What I'm finding is that writing is something that stays with me, no matter what other changes I'm going through; writing is a constant. When I was little, I wrote little stories for my eyes only, and I played with barbies. When I got older, I wrote longer stories, and worried about my hair and make-up. Now, I write nothing, and go to work and care for my home. But it's always there, in the back of my mind, in a corner of my soul, that I should be writing. It's like a nagging feeling that this is who I am, and what I have to do. Some people, like Chris, for example, are just happy to go about their day and never feel the tug of pen and paper weighing them down. I wonder what it's like to never feel like you should be writing. For me, it's become a chore that I unhappily ignore and put on my 'to-do' list for the next day, and then the next. It's like when you know you have a mountain of dishes to be washing, but you go and watch TV for an hour, and all the while you're watching, you're thinking about the dishes and the notion that they have to be done before bedtime.
I've always said that the difference between me and a writer, is that writers write. I have the soul of a writer, if maybe not the refined skill. I think I will really only worry about the quality of my skill if I ever try to become published. Right now, what I write is raw and passionate - or, as I said, it used to be. And that's what I want to get back. The soul.
Recently, I entered a writing contest for Aboriginal Canadians. I wrote a piece that earned me fourth place in the contest, which I thought was excellent. Until they sent me the book that the stories were published in, and a note saying that mine didn't make the publication because I came in fourth, and only first, second and third places made the cut. It felt like cruel and unusual punishment. So, with sour grapes, I read the third place story and ripped it apart in my mind to make myself feel better. And of course it did at the time. But the story was good, and there's no denying that now. I realize now that I hadn't written my story with my usual passion. I wrote it for the first place $2,000 prize money that I'd hoped to have in time for my trip to England. Mistake number one. Unless you're a world-class writer, writing for prize money will make your entry very obviously passionless.
Anyway.
I've used up your time and a lot of words to simply say that I'm going to try to find the passion again.
Saturday, November 5, 2011
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Home Sweet Home
The following are links to videos on Youtube taken of my new home. Yay!
The first one is my brother Greg taking you all on a tour of the inside:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8vINfJgIwqg
And the second one is of the outside of the house:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l3m68X3tlgo
Enjoy!
The first one is my brother Greg taking you all on a tour of the inside:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8vINfJgIwqg
And the second one is of the outside of the house:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l3m68X3tlgo
Enjoy!
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
My Lovely Friend
I don't know if anyone else shares this problem, but I have a hard time taking things at face value, and I'm the most complex person I know, with the unfortunate skill of being able to complicate almost everything.
So you can imagine my difficulty in really understanding the following quote.
Galway Kinnell writes, "Sometimes it is necessary to reteach a thing its loveliness".
What does this mean?
Well, let's break it down.
What does "reteaching loveliness" mean; and what is your "loveliness"?
In my complicated mind, which I'm trying desperately to simplify more and more all the time, reteaching something implies that the person already knew it at one point. So, in order to reteach loveliness, it means you already at one point knew you were lovely. And your loveliness, I'm assuming, is what makes you lovely. It could be your kindness, or your capacity to love, or your graciousness, your zest for life. I'm envisioning here, that your loveliness is something that makes you unique and special at your core, and not just your dashing good looks or your white teeth or something.
So the next question from here, is obviously, how do you reteach loveliness?
Like I said, to reteach something, you're teaching a person something they should have already known in the past. For example, you once knew you were an amazing friend. But for some reason, you don't know this anymore, so you have to be re-taught. How does somebody forget something like that? How do you forget your loveliness? I would imagine that all of us have forgotten what makes us brilliant at some time or another, whether we realize it or not. But it's got to be an awfully depressing time in life not to know who we fundamentally are.
I guess some people get hurt by things, or people, and through insults and hurt feelings, they lose their self-worth. Maybe you forgot you were a great friend, because somebody implied that you're not, or told you that you weren't. But we need to remember that someone's perception of us, doesn't change what makes us lovely. So for someone to say that you're not a great friend might affect what makes them lovely, but not what makes you lovely.
So, when we forget our loveliness, in whichever way we forget it, it's important to reteach ourselves, and to let others reteach us. Maybe we need to reconnect with ourselves; with what makes us the happiest. Surround ourselves with people who never forget what makes us simply the best to be around. Maybe reteaching loveliness is just a kind word to replace a nasty insult; or a supportive hug for someone who's been given an unfriendly shove.
So, in closing, I'd like to say that you're a wonderful friend.
And here's to reteaching loveliness! x
So you can imagine my difficulty in really understanding the following quote.
Galway Kinnell writes, "Sometimes it is necessary to reteach a thing its loveliness".
What does this mean?
Well, let's break it down.
What does "reteaching loveliness" mean; and what is your "loveliness"?
In my complicated mind, which I'm trying desperately to simplify more and more all the time, reteaching something implies that the person already knew it at one point. So, in order to reteach loveliness, it means you already at one point knew you were lovely. And your loveliness, I'm assuming, is what makes you lovely. It could be your kindness, or your capacity to love, or your graciousness, your zest for life. I'm envisioning here, that your loveliness is something that makes you unique and special at your core, and not just your dashing good looks or your white teeth or something.
So the next question from here, is obviously, how do you reteach loveliness?
Like I said, to reteach something, you're teaching a person something they should have already known in the past. For example, you once knew you were an amazing friend. But for some reason, you don't know this anymore, so you have to be re-taught. How does somebody forget something like that? How do you forget your loveliness? I would imagine that all of us have forgotten what makes us brilliant at some time or another, whether we realize it or not. But it's got to be an awfully depressing time in life not to know who we fundamentally are.
I guess some people get hurt by things, or people, and through insults and hurt feelings, they lose their self-worth. Maybe you forgot you were a great friend, because somebody implied that you're not, or told you that you weren't. But we need to remember that someone's perception of us, doesn't change what makes us lovely. So for someone to say that you're not a great friend might affect what makes them lovely, but not what makes you lovely.
So, when we forget our loveliness, in whichever way we forget it, it's important to reteach ourselves, and to let others reteach us. Maybe we need to reconnect with ourselves; with what makes us the happiest. Surround ourselves with people who never forget what makes us simply the best to be around. Maybe reteaching loveliness is just a kind word to replace a nasty insult; or a supportive hug for someone who's been given an unfriendly shove.
So, in closing, I'd like to say that you're a wonderful friend.
And here's to reteaching loveliness! x
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Mixed Blessings
Sometimes it's hard to really express how you feel on a blog. It's kind of like a one-sided conversation, where you get to get everything off your chest, but it's not so satisfying because you don't get a proper reaction or the kind of back-and-forth banter that a person like me needs.
But I'll give it a go here.
I feel tired -- and that's a royal understatement -- from being so ill upon my return from the UK. That's a terribly long and drawn out story, but the short of it is: Strep throat - Unknown lung infection - Pneumonia. My doctor has said it will take a good long time for my voice to come back to what it should be, and for me not to feel so tired, and I'm finding that he's right. I come home from work and I'm so very very tired, it's unreal. I really can't find the energy to do anything else. I work and I sleep, and somewhere in between, I muster up the energy it takes to sufficently bother and annoy people on CTUK. I'm finding that being so tired is really starting to affect my moods. I'm frustrated with myself physically, that it's taking so long for me to get fully well, and it's getting harder and harder to pretend to my kids and their parents that I'm back up to snuff.
Speaking of my job, I've been promoted, yay! It would be more of a yay if I wasn't so exhausted and having to take on so much extra work. But it's still a yay because I have a new house to fund, and a couple weeks ago I was facing losing my job altogether. I'll take my blessings from wherever they come!
Speaking of having a new house, I have a new house! Yay again! Aside from being too tired to do any work on it, it's a fabulous development. I've painted it mostly purple, and I call it my 'doll's house', and I'm just waiting for my furniture to come from SJ, so I can move in. And there's no internet and no prospect of getting any internet, eeeeek! So, not looking forward to that. We'll have to deal with it like we have been dealing with everything else. It'll no doubt turn out to be wildly expensive if it's like anything else we've done.
I guess what I've really wanted to talk about is... how do you move on when you've planned something, aspired to something, hoped for something, strived, craved, desperately wanted something, finally got the thing you wanted, and it wasn't all you had hoped it would be? I found gradeschool to be hard, and I worked at it and was driven to graduate and I did, and it felt good. And I found university harder and I was more determined than I'd ever been and I accomplished my degree, and it felt really good. But sometimes, you only get to do the work, and to wish and to dream, without the outcome or the pay off you were counting on. And when you've built something up in your mind to be wonderful and it turns out to be less than so, how do you move on from there? Do you aspire to something else? Do you make excuses for why it didn't go as planned? Do you pretend it never happened? Do you let the dream die? And if you're someone like me, who takes everything to heart, do you pretend to everyone else that it's not your fault when you know that it was? I guess I just don't see the justice in putting yourself into something and having others reap the benefits. Others enjoy what you've worked hard to build and maintain. How do you move on when you feel so utterly cheated?
But I'll give it a go here.
I feel tired -- and that's a royal understatement -- from being so ill upon my return from the UK. That's a terribly long and drawn out story, but the short of it is: Strep throat - Unknown lung infection - Pneumonia. My doctor has said it will take a good long time for my voice to come back to what it should be, and for me not to feel so tired, and I'm finding that he's right. I come home from work and I'm so very very tired, it's unreal. I really can't find the energy to do anything else. I work and I sleep, and somewhere in between, I muster up the energy it takes to sufficently bother and annoy people on CTUK. I'm finding that being so tired is really starting to affect my moods. I'm frustrated with myself physically, that it's taking so long for me to get fully well, and it's getting harder and harder to pretend to my kids and their parents that I'm back up to snuff.
Speaking of my job, I've been promoted, yay! It would be more of a yay if I wasn't so exhausted and having to take on so much extra work. But it's still a yay because I have a new house to fund, and a couple weeks ago I was facing losing my job altogether. I'll take my blessings from wherever they come!
Speaking of having a new house, I have a new house! Yay again! Aside from being too tired to do any work on it, it's a fabulous development. I've painted it mostly purple, and I call it my 'doll's house', and I'm just waiting for my furniture to come from SJ, so I can move in. And there's no internet and no prospect of getting any internet, eeeeek! So, not looking forward to that. We'll have to deal with it like we have been dealing with everything else. It'll no doubt turn out to be wildly expensive if it's like anything else we've done.
I guess what I've really wanted to talk about is... how do you move on when you've planned something, aspired to something, hoped for something, strived, craved, desperately wanted something, finally got the thing you wanted, and it wasn't all you had hoped it would be? I found gradeschool to be hard, and I worked at it and was driven to graduate and I did, and it felt good. And I found university harder and I was more determined than I'd ever been and I accomplished my degree, and it felt really good. But sometimes, you only get to do the work, and to wish and to dream, without the outcome or the pay off you were counting on. And when you've built something up in your mind to be wonderful and it turns out to be less than so, how do you move on from there? Do you aspire to something else? Do you make excuses for why it didn't go as planned? Do you pretend it never happened? Do you let the dream die? And if you're someone like me, who takes everything to heart, do you pretend to everyone else that it's not your fault when you know that it was? I guess I just don't see the justice in putting yourself into something and having others reap the benefits. Others enjoy what you've worked hard to build and maintain. How do you move on when you feel so utterly cheated?
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Notable Notes Worthy of Noting
Since I have literally just returned from the UK a few hours ago, I am now in the mood to fire off some thoroughly tested observations about the lovely place and its people from the point of view of a non-British person. Some of these anecdotes may or may not be surprising to you if you are a person of British persuasion.
So here we go.
British people, or at least the ones I’ve encountered in the last three and a half weeks, will never start a conversation by asking “How are you?”; rather, they ask “Are you alright?” – It took some getting used to for my mind to stop thinking, “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?!”
Also, the bathroom light is typically turned on by a pull-cord. Odd.
The toilets sound like monsters wanting to devour you when you flush, and I’m pretty sure you could flush just about anything in one of those bad boys.
If you buy a power converter from Wal-Mart anywhere in Canada, it may blow up and set fire to the place where you’re staying.
If you don’t like your food ground up and put into pie-form, don’t go to the UK. Also, they eat way too much bread for any one group of people, considering that if you don’t eat your food in pie-form, you can eat it as a sandwich if you prefer.
I had not been able to go 2 hours without hearing someone utter the phrase “bloody hell”.
Fuel costs are outraaaaaageous! - I don’t know why they don’t riot or something. Sorry, too soon.
People will drink all day long, and not just on weekends.
They have ‘crisps’ where we have ‘chips’ and their ‘chips’ are our ‘french fries’ and they have prawn cocktail-flavoured crisps.. So wrong!
When they ask you if you want ‘bangers and mash’, it’s okay, they’re just offering you sausages and mashed potato, apparently.
They have a guy who goes around in an ice cream vehicle that plays a tune to let residents know that it’s ice cream time.
People’s expressions soften considerably when they find out you’re not American.
There are sheep and cows and horses just standing around.
Wherever you’re going, there’s a train or a bus or a combination of both that will take you there.
People drink tea all day long, just continuously re-filling their cups for hours on end with no break.
The bank notes are different sizes. 20’s are big, 10’s are smaller, 5’s are smaller yet.
There are restaurants that will NOT serve you gravy, no matter how much you beg.
Dress/shoe sizes are different from US or Canadian sizes, though nobody ever seems to know what the difference is.
When in a train station, or an airport for that matter, there will always be the token late guy, who has to run for his train/plane and pushes everyone else out of the way. Also, there will always be the blonde girl, who insisted on travelling in reeeeeally nice clothes and is constantly pulling on them and struggling to stay up on her 6-inch heels.
In Canada, our Subway has the ‘$5 foot-long sub’ meal deal, whereas in the UK, it is 5 quid for a foot-long sub; and since 5 quid is worth more than 5 Canadian dollars, the UK residents are being ripped off. :P
Nearly every building in the UK is made of brick. For a building to be built of brick here, it would have to be a very very important building.
Sitting on the wrong side of the car, going down the wrong side of the road, isn’t *that* hard to get used to. It actually feels pretty normal pretty quickly.
If you call a taxi company, and ask them to take you to a Holiday Inn, they will take you to the wrong one, and then leave you there to realize it’s the wrong one, and then you have to call them back and get them to come and pick you up again and take you to the right one, which they will not be able to do without first taking you to two other wrong ones in the area, even though you beg them to use their GPS to find the right one.
I’m sure there are other profound differences, but my wee brain is just too tired at this moment to process any more of them.
All cheekiness and sarcasm aside though, I had a really great time visiting the UK, and have tried to take all differences in stride as opportunities to learn and experience a new way of going about things.
Bye for now.
So here we go.
British people, or at least the ones I’ve encountered in the last three and a half weeks, will never start a conversation by asking “How are you?”; rather, they ask “Are you alright?” – It took some getting used to for my mind to stop thinking, “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?!”
Also, the bathroom light is typically turned on by a pull-cord. Odd.
The toilets sound like monsters wanting to devour you when you flush, and I’m pretty sure you could flush just about anything in one of those bad boys.
If you buy a power converter from Wal-Mart anywhere in Canada, it may blow up and set fire to the place where you’re staying.
If you don’t like your food ground up and put into pie-form, don’t go to the UK. Also, they eat way too much bread for any one group of people, considering that if you don’t eat your food in pie-form, you can eat it as a sandwich if you prefer.
I had not been able to go 2 hours without hearing someone utter the phrase “bloody hell”.
Fuel costs are outraaaaaageous! - I don’t know why they don’t riot or something. Sorry, too soon.
People will drink all day long, and not just on weekends.
They have ‘crisps’ where we have ‘chips’ and their ‘chips’ are our ‘french fries’ and they have prawn cocktail-flavoured crisps.. So wrong!
When they ask you if you want ‘bangers and mash’, it’s okay, they’re just offering you sausages and mashed potato, apparently.
They have a guy who goes around in an ice cream vehicle that plays a tune to let residents know that it’s ice cream time.
People’s expressions soften considerably when they find out you’re not American.
There are sheep and cows and horses just standing around.
Wherever you’re going, there’s a train or a bus or a combination of both that will take you there.
People drink tea all day long, just continuously re-filling their cups for hours on end with no break.
The bank notes are different sizes. 20’s are big, 10’s are smaller, 5’s are smaller yet.
There are restaurants that will NOT serve you gravy, no matter how much you beg.
Dress/shoe sizes are different from US or Canadian sizes, though nobody ever seems to know what the difference is.
When in a train station, or an airport for that matter, there will always be the token late guy, who has to run for his train/plane and pushes everyone else out of the way. Also, there will always be the blonde girl, who insisted on travelling in reeeeeally nice clothes and is constantly pulling on them and struggling to stay up on her 6-inch heels.
In Canada, our Subway has the ‘$5 foot-long sub’ meal deal, whereas in the UK, it is 5 quid for a foot-long sub; and since 5 quid is worth more than 5 Canadian dollars, the UK residents are being ripped off. :P
Nearly every building in the UK is made of brick. For a building to be built of brick here, it would have to be a very very important building.
Sitting on the wrong side of the car, going down the wrong side of the road, isn’t *that* hard to get used to. It actually feels pretty normal pretty quickly.
If you call a taxi company, and ask them to take you to a Holiday Inn, they will take you to the wrong one, and then leave you there to realize it’s the wrong one, and then you have to call them back and get them to come and pick you up again and take you to the right one, which they will not be able to do without first taking you to two other wrong ones in the area, even though you beg them to use their GPS to find the right one.
I’m sure there are other profound differences, but my wee brain is just too tired at this moment to process any more of them.
All cheekiness and sarcasm aside though, I had a really great time visiting the UK, and have tried to take all differences in stride as opportunities to learn and experience a new way of going about things.
Bye for now.
I have arrived!
Hello!
I am Bexy, and this is the little "bit o' space" that I am choosing to occupy on the internet. Welcome to my space. Thanks for visiting, come again!
I am Bexy, and this is the little "bit o' space" that I am choosing to occupy on the internet. Welcome to my space. Thanks for visiting, come again!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)