Well...it's almost done now. In a couple of hours i set off for the ferry to England, and after a weekend of more goodbyes, I will set off for Canada for the month of July and then some, befoire hopping a flight back to London for another brief layover enroute to Australia in mid-August.
Was schedulled to go in October, but a bunch of changed circumstances and a rising sense of impatience all combined to make me decide not to come back to norway only to wait around for a fall departure. Waiting. I've spent so much of my life in stasis, dormant and waiting for shite to happen. Made the decision to force feed this seed and see what comes out of it.
The flights were changed only two days ago, prompting a flurry of packing and mad panic that ensued with the effort. Two days to pack up a lifetime of memories. Little time to reminice as shite had to be sorted, which required me getting veyr hardassed and making decisions on the fly. I loved it, really. Exhillerating. One large dufflebag of winters clothing which Duane will take back to Canada for storage for me, and one huge box and two backpacks going with me to England, all to be repacked when i claim the luggage left elsewhere. This is the problem with being a gypsy-my stuff is scattered all over the globe.
The really hard part was what was left last night when said two levels of packing was complete. The leftovers that had to be sifted, sorted and discarded. Duane was nice and told me to leave it and he would deal. But i could not bear the thought of us leaving ( the flatmate is heading to England with me for the weekend), and Duane being left alone to sort though the reaminders and reminders of me. Overwhelmingly sad thought, so last night found me up till ridiculous hours baggin up things for disposal. But it's done. The room that had been mine for the past while is now annonymous once more. So he won't be left having to relive memories while he sorts through bits of me.
The other sucky part aboiut the past two days have been the goodbyes. I thought i was sneakilly avoiding those teary goodbye scenes i hate so much but skipping out of town wearly without teling people. Unfortunately, the flatmate let it slip and word spread quickly. So people have been dropping by for that one last coffee and a chat and I've had to do the goodbye thing way more then is healthy. This has long been an issue of mine. While i am delighted to be picked up at airports, i'm fairly fucking adamant about not letting loved ones drop me off when I leave. It's yet another avoidance tactic. Pretend it's all not happening, yanno? I'd much rahter walk out of the house waving a casual "seeya later" then a quiet reflective ride to an airport and a tear filled goodbye under the scrutiny of strangers. In a house you can pretend the parting is a causal breif dash out. In an airport there is no mistaking the fact, whilst surrounded by my possessions, that I am well and truely leaving.
To make matters worse, there will be two goodbyes for Duane. One today, when i go and he realistically knows that this is it, I won't be coming back here ever again. And another in August, as he is joining me home in Canada in late July. That one will be much worse, as it will come on the tail end of a two week visit with our friends and family, some of whom don't knwo as he has been opposed to telling them until a divorce is finallzed. All those familiar people and surroundings are sure to make the goodbye a little bote bittersweet when it comes.
These are major goodbyes for me- the signalling of somehting truely monumental in my life- the first time i set off on my own as an adult. I was kicked out at 16, but have not, since then, really made any important sort of decision entirely for me, irregardless of how it may affect others in my life.
And I am terrified. Excited, yes, but terrified. Scared I will get to the comfort of home, in the arms of people i love and trust, and just freeze in the headlights of life, to scared to take that next step into the great unknown. While the dare, the risk i look forward to taking has so much appeal, I wonder what happens if the seduction of familiarity lures me in and won't let go.
Thursday, June 24, 2004
Friday, June 18, 2004
Stoooooooooooooopid.
Stupid;
Slow to learn or understand; obtuse.
Tending to make poor decisions or careless mistakes.
Marked by a lack of intelligence or care; foolish or careless: a stupid mistake.
Dazed, stunned, or stupefied.
Pointless; worthless: a stupid job.
An entire day of my life trying to set a single image as a background that does not tile in Dreamweaver. That's time I will never get back, yanno. A whole day wherein all I suceeded in doing was frustrating myself (and others, with my questions and bickering) to the point that I had to admit defeat because I am too fucking dumb to make a silly little computer progrma to a simple function that I KNOW how to do. And I did it right, it just won't comply, and I have absofuckinglootly no idea why.
Two program manuals at my disposal. A plethora of help files and online tutorials. Nada. Just. Can. Not. Do. It.
I dislike computers almost as much as I dislike sewing machines. I can use them both on a very basic level, but it's like my head is designed to only hold a limited amount of information before brain automatically shuts down and protests the absorbtion of anything new.
The problem, you see, if I am a bit of a control freak. And a perfectionist. If I can't make something work just as I want it, I'd just as soon not play the game at all as have to compromise and do something in a way other then how I had pictured it.
The only problem with this is not completeing the task I originally set out to makes me feel like an utter failure. And...did I mention Stupid?
Slow to learn or understand; obtuse.
Tending to make poor decisions or careless mistakes.
Marked by a lack of intelligence or care; foolish or careless: a stupid mistake.
Dazed, stunned, or stupefied.
Pointless; worthless: a stupid job.
An entire day of my life trying to set a single image as a background that does not tile in Dreamweaver. That's time I will never get back, yanno. A whole day wherein all I suceeded in doing was frustrating myself (and others, with my questions and bickering) to the point that I had to admit defeat because I am too fucking dumb to make a silly little computer progrma to a simple function that I KNOW how to do. And I did it right, it just won't comply, and I have absofuckinglootly no idea why.
Two program manuals at my disposal. A plethora of help files and online tutorials. Nada. Just. Can. Not. Do. It.
I dislike computers almost as much as I dislike sewing machines. I can use them both on a very basic level, but it's like my head is designed to only hold a limited amount of information before brain automatically shuts down and protests the absorbtion of anything new.
The problem, you see, if I am a bit of a control freak. And a perfectionist. If I can't make something work just as I want it, I'd just as soon not play the game at all as have to compromise and do something in a way other then how I had pictured it.
The only problem with this is not completeing the task I originally set out to makes me feel like an utter failure. And...did I mention Stupid?
Thursday, June 17, 2004
Globetrotting
W00t! The tickets to Australia were delivered to Paula's place today. So now it's all starting to sink in. Scarey, in that vastly thrilling sort of way.
It's also forced me to take stock of what needs to get done before then. Cause October sounds like a long way off, till I realize i will only be spending about 4-5 weeks of that time in Norway.
In eight days I am off for England, for a long weekend in London enroute to a trip home to Canada. I will be in Newfoundland for nearly 6 weeks (yay! and w00t! and other such exclamations of happiness and delight!), returning to london for a few days before hopping another flight back to Norway about the middle of August. Then I have a few weeks to close up this chapter of my life; determine what goes with me and what gets tossed/ left in Duane's care for possible future collection.
How on earth am I going to fit enough for a whole year in two suitcases? I mean, I could fill one with shoes alone! I've never quite grasped the whole "less is more" concept.
Once that is sorted, the plan is to spend some more time in England, this time in Dover. So that will be new. I've travelled fairly exttensively through England, but hhave yet to venture to Dover. Might try to fit in a few days in France; seems silly not to, being so close. Add another country to my European experience.
And then, from Dover back into London for a night or two before setting off for the southern hemisphere.
I should start taking notes in my travel logs how much time i spend in transit/in airports. Over the last few years, I'm willing to bet the amount of time thusly wasted is staggering. It used to be that I would try burying my face in a book, write or listen to music in an effort to use such time productively. But I've come to accept that it rarely works out that way. Mostly, I spend my time wandering (the stretching pre and post flight does wonders for tired muscles), people watching, daydreamsing and the like. And, really, I rarely travel anywhere without meeting at least one really interesting person. I DO need to start keeping better and more regular travel journals though.
It's also forced me to take stock of what needs to get done before then. Cause October sounds like a long way off, till I realize i will only be spending about 4-5 weeks of that time in Norway.
In eight days I am off for England, for a long weekend in London enroute to a trip home to Canada. I will be in Newfoundland for nearly 6 weeks (yay! and w00t! and other such exclamations of happiness and delight!), returning to london for a few days before hopping another flight back to Norway about the middle of August. Then I have a few weeks to close up this chapter of my life; determine what goes with me and what gets tossed/ left in Duane's care for possible future collection.
How on earth am I going to fit enough for a whole year in two suitcases? I mean, I could fill one with shoes alone! I've never quite grasped the whole "less is more" concept.
Once that is sorted, the plan is to spend some more time in England, this time in Dover. So that will be new. I've travelled fairly exttensively through England, but hhave yet to venture to Dover. Might try to fit in a few days in France; seems silly not to, being so close. Add another country to my European experience.
And then, from Dover back into London for a night or two before setting off for the southern hemisphere.
I should start taking notes in my travel logs how much time i spend in transit/in airports. Over the last few years, I'm willing to bet the amount of time thusly wasted is staggering. It used to be that I would try burying my face in a book, write or listen to music in an effort to use such time productively. But I've come to accept that it rarely works out that way. Mostly, I spend my time wandering (the stretching pre and post flight does wonders for tired muscles), people watching, daydreamsing and the like. And, really, I rarely travel anywhere without meeting at least one really interesting person. I DO need to start keeping better and more regular travel journals though.
Tuesday, June 15, 2004
Can anyone teach me to fly?
I have about two weeks before i leave norway to learn, and then, to teach this baby seagull i've just dragged home.
Found it abandonded, and could not bear to see the wee little bugger crying alone. Waited for a while first to make sure momma was not hiding somewhere...but it's way to ikkle to have been purposefully left out of nest alone yet anyhow. So somehow it was removed, and then left in the middle of a skateboard park. bah.
Seems happy enough. Cuddled down into my cleavage and slept all the way home, then greedilly devoured about a quarter can of tuna from my fingers, and sipped water from a dish. Even put up with pokings by the puppy-creature without even slight discomfort apparent- just poked the pup once, then dismissed it by turning it's back and shaking tail feathers in her general direction. It tried preening, but it's sort of small and clumbsy so cleaning its unddercoat resulting in it comically tipping arse over head.
I know I will regret this the second it is strong enough to start voicing demands, though right now I keep thinking of the gulls crying "mine, mine mine" from "Finding Nemo" and its making me crack right up. They rocked.
Then again, they were not living in my bedroom.
Now then, see the little "comments" link below? Click it. And suggest a name for the creature. Can't keep calling it "Gull".
Found it abandonded, and could not bear to see the wee little bugger crying alone. Waited for a while first to make sure momma was not hiding somewhere...but it's way to ikkle to have been purposefully left out of nest alone yet anyhow. So somehow it was removed, and then left in the middle of a skateboard park. bah.
Seems happy enough. Cuddled down into my cleavage and slept all the way home, then greedilly devoured about a quarter can of tuna from my fingers, and sipped water from a dish. Even put up with pokings by the puppy-creature without even slight discomfort apparent- just poked the pup once, then dismissed it by turning it's back and shaking tail feathers in her general direction. It tried preening, but it's sort of small and clumbsy so cleaning its unddercoat resulting in it comically tipping arse over head.
I know I will regret this the second it is strong enough to start voicing demands, though right now I keep thinking of the gulls crying "mine, mine mine" from "Finding Nemo" and its making me crack right up. They rocked.
Then again, they were not living in my bedroom.
Now then, see the little "comments" link below? Click it. And suggest a name for the creature. Can't keep calling it "Gull".
Monday, June 14, 2004
Nasty, salacious and depraved. I am a dirty, dirty girl
Money. It drives most societies. The production, attainment and spending of, that is. And money is really such a vulgar item. The deceit and depravity. The greed that fuels the machine. It's also so very lewd. And not in a good way.
That's not to say I am innocent. I am a good capatilist little whore, in some ways. While i have not, historically, been bothered to all-out pursue and accumulate stockpiles of cash, I will readily admmit to loving the spending part of the outfit. I am a marketer's dream, sometimes, and unfortunately, having placed little value on money, it means I will cheerfully dole out any that i might have. Shiny shiny! It's blue and sparkles? Must have!
At 30, I'm begining to wonder if perhaps my standing might need an overhaul. I began working at age 15...not counting the babysitting stint thats near manditory for teens. But you know what? I would not be able to make even a ball park guess as to how much money I have earned in that time. Honestly, I'ver not even a general guess. I don't have savings. I don't own property, and none of my possessions have intrinsic worth. I did for a time own mutual funds; but that was sheerly because of a lump sum payment that i simply had no clue how to deal with, and so followed the advice of a good friend, who is a banker, and invested it. Withdrew it all a year later to vacation on. And thoroughly enjoyed the process of getting rid of it.
And see, therein lies the problem. While I don't feel any particular drive to accumulate wealth, i do indeed enjoy shedding it. I take great pleasure in the exchange of money for goods and service. Be that a shiny new toy for me or anything that would light up the face of a loved one. I mean, when I have it, i figure its there to be enjoyed...by me, and anyone around me. Isn't that what material wealth is for? No? Damn.
The result of this love for liquidation is a distinct lack of assets, combined with a whopping student loan that sits unpaid. My eventual return to Canada will of course, put an end to the period of arrears, as well it should, and I have no problem with that. I will likely take as much pleasure in sorting myself out and making payments anyhow...it's still spending, right?
I've never really examined my relationship with money until a few years ago, when my life began to change in ways where finacial independance was a major concern. I've been content to drift along unplanned before then. Grew up well below the poverty line, but i never particularly cared about such things. I've always been content with just getting by. All part of my hippy mentality i guess. The things i hold close to me and place value on are not things tied into commerce. Most things i enjoy and take pleasure in do not require an expendeture of a churlish piece of paper as a means of aqquisition. Such a tranfer would cheapen the transaction in a profound manner.
The subtle shift began happening when i began travelling alot more, in an effort to escape my living situation. Sudenly i became more acutely aware of how a lack of money can be very limiting. And I feel rather foolish for having gone three decades without having absorbed that lesson. And for not realizing sooner how the world does not operate on a level that is compatible to my admitedly naieve and limited view of all things fiscal.
Such a vile notion; that something as crass as money can tie into one's ability to enjoy life. While I have accepted that I need to adjust my perception and adapt, shift my focus towards playing the game of a monied establishment, it also seems distastefully seedy to me somehow.
Such a sordid and sullied little game. And yet, one so overwelmingly and inricately tied up in so much else about life as to make it inescapable within most societies. I'm nore sure how it escaped my attention so long, really. I don't think myself a stupid person; so how did i get along this long without actively playing the game? And this far in, I'm not quite sure where to put my feet in all the muck around me. I know I need to. And I do like challanges. But I doubt if I will ever come to think of money and wealth as anything but tacky, really.
Given that the things i enjoy, seek out and find vastly satisfying makes most people shudder with revulsion and distase, I do see the amusement value apparent in the fact that I find money such a morally reprehensible concept.
But it is one I am struggling to gain a measure of comprehension of. I'll let you know how it goes.
That's not to say I am innocent. I am a good capatilist little whore, in some ways. While i have not, historically, been bothered to all-out pursue and accumulate stockpiles of cash, I will readily admmit to loving the spending part of the outfit. I am a marketer's dream, sometimes, and unfortunately, having placed little value on money, it means I will cheerfully dole out any that i might have. Shiny shiny! It's blue and sparkles? Must have!
At 30, I'm begining to wonder if perhaps my standing might need an overhaul. I began working at age 15...not counting the babysitting stint thats near manditory for teens. But you know what? I would not be able to make even a ball park guess as to how much money I have earned in that time. Honestly, I'ver not even a general guess. I don't have savings. I don't own property, and none of my possessions have intrinsic worth. I did for a time own mutual funds; but that was sheerly because of a lump sum payment that i simply had no clue how to deal with, and so followed the advice of a good friend, who is a banker, and invested it. Withdrew it all a year later to vacation on. And thoroughly enjoyed the process of getting rid of it.
And see, therein lies the problem. While I don't feel any particular drive to accumulate wealth, i do indeed enjoy shedding it. I take great pleasure in the exchange of money for goods and service. Be that a shiny new toy for me or anything that would light up the face of a loved one. I mean, when I have it, i figure its there to be enjoyed...by me, and anyone around me. Isn't that what material wealth is for? No? Damn.
The result of this love for liquidation is a distinct lack of assets, combined with a whopping student loan that sits unpaid. My eventual return to Canada will of course, put an end to the period of arrears, as well it should, and I have no problem with that. I will likely take as much pleasure in sorting myself out and making payments anyhow...it's still spending, right?
I've never really examined my relationship with money until a few years ago, when my life began to change in ways where finacial independance was a major concern. I've been content to drift along unplanned before then. Grew up well below the poverty line, but i never particularly cared about such things. I've always been content with just getting by. All part of my hippy mentality i guess. The things i hold close to me and place value on are not things tied into commerce. Most things i enjoy and take pleasure in do not require an expendeture of a churlish piece of paper as a means of aqquisition. Such a tranfer would cheapen the transaction in a profound manner.
The subtle shift began happening when i began travelling alot more, in an effort to escape my living situation. Sudenly i became more acutely aware of how a lack of money can be very limiting. And I feel rather foolish for having gone three decades without having absorbed that lesson. And for not realizing sooner how the world does not operate on a level that is compatible to my admitedly naieve and limited view of all things fiscal.
Such a vile notion; that something as crass as money can tie into one's ability to enjoy life. While I have accepted that I need to adjust my perception and adapt, shift my focus towards playing the game of a monied establishment, it also seems distastefully seedy to me somehow.
Such a sordid and sullied little game. And yet, one so overwelmingly and inricately tied up in so much else about life as to make it inescapable within most societies. I'm nore sure how it escaped my attention so long, really. I don't think myself a stupid person; so how did i get along this long without actively playing the game? And this far in, I'm not quite sure where to put my feet in all the muck around me. I know I need to. And I do like challanges. But I doubt if I will ever come to think of money and wealth as anything but tacky, really.
Given that the things i enjoy, seek out and find vastly satisfying makes most people shudder with revulsion and distase, I do see the amusement value apparent in the fact that I find money such a morally reprehensible concept.
But it is one I am struggling to gain a measure of comprehension of. I'll let you know how it goes.
Dance floor diva
Went out to grind and slam a few hours away on a dancefloor with a friend last night; it was her last opportunity to do so, and she is moving from norway to London, and we made use of it well. It was one of those nights when everythiung clicked just right.
Shes been here almost as long as me, and likely has actually spent more time here, considering how much i travel; but still, she knows very few people outside of work. I tend to be a little more outgoing and social, and as such, am fairly well known - as the loud Canadian chick. The club we had chosen proved to be full of people who knew me, even if i did not always know them, so we wre constantly approached and joined on the floor by random people. There seemed to be fewer severely drunken arsehats present as well, and only three times did i have to remove hands of a complete stranger from my personage. The music was well mixed, the crowd was happy -as it was ther first weekend with uni students back home for the summer, plus Norwegians got their yeary tax cashback thingy, typically delivered right now and declaired "Holiday rebate" or summat. All combined, it made for a pleasent night out, and i left the club several hours later sweaty and very very happy after a few hours in which i had checked out from life in general and remembered what it is to feel utterrly blissful.
Long cold shower to bring down the temp and several liters of water once i was home was comvbined with a delightful phone call, whcih meant i did not atually go to bed till 6 am. Was up again by noon, when sounds of the day creeped in and invaded my pleasent dreams of a large kittenish creature. Slkapped on a basebal cap to cover the severe bedhead and went walking with the puppy, sopaking up the sunshine and still on a buzz from last night. Shoped the market stalls for an armful of fruit and returned home to find an oddity indeed...and empty apartment. With Rob still away, and duane off for the rest of the day, you would think i would take full advantage, and abuse such freedom, right? But no. I'm too big of a dork for that.
Instead, i baked. Brownies, then banana bread. Chopped a bowl of fruit into chunks for lunch. Considerably less healthy then it might seem on first glance, once i tell you said fruit was garnished by popping a bite into my mouth, tipping back head and spraying a glob of whipped cream from a can down my throat. Yum, though. Going to do something equally as unhealthy for supper. Pizza maybe.
Doing the girly thing now. Pedicure over, and sitting in a face mask and resisting the urge to dye my hair bright bright electric blue.
It's sad, really. I think I'm entering a midlife crisis. I look at my hopelessly housebitching ways and want to do something entirely unexpected.
Shes been here almost as long as me, and likely has actually spent more time here, considering how much i travel; but still, she knows very few people outside of work. I tend to be a little more outgoing and social, and as such, am fairly well known - as the loud Canadian chick. The club we had chosen proved to be full of people who knew me, even if i did not always know them, so we wre constantly approached and joined on the floor by random people. There seemed to be fewer severely drunken arsehats present as well, and only three times did i have to remove hands of a complete stranger from my personage. The music was well mixed, the crowd was happy -as it was ther first weekend with uni students back home for the summer, plus Norwegians got their yeary tax cashback thingy, typically delivered right now and declaired "Holiday rebate" or summat. All combined, it made for a pleasent night out, and i left the club several hours later sweaty and very very happy after a few hours in which i had checked out from life in general and remembered what it is to feel utterrly blissful.
Long cold shower to bring down the temp and several liters of water once i was home was comvbined with a delightful phone call, whcih meant i did not atually go to bed till 6 am. Was up again by noon, when sounds of the day creeped in and invaded my pleasent dreams of a large kittenish creature. Slkapped on a basebal cap to cover the severe bedhead and went walking with the puppy, sopaking up the sunshine and still on a buzz from last night. Shoped the market stalls for an armful of fruit and returned home to find an oddity indeed...and empty apartment. With Rob still away, and duane off for the rest of the day, you would think i would take full advantage, and abuse such freedom, right? But no. I'm too big of a dork for that.
Instead, i baked. Brownies, then banana bread. Chopped a bowl of fruit into chunks for lunch. Considerably less healthy then it might seem on first glance, once i tell you said fruit was garnished by popping a bite into my mouth, tipping back head and spraying a glob of whipped cream from a can down my throat. Yum, though. Going to do something equally as unhealthy for supper. Pizza maybe.
Doing the girly thing now. Pedicure over, and sitting in a face mask and resisting the urge to dye my hair bright bright electric blue.
It's sad, really. I think I'm entering a midlife crisis. I look at my hopelessly housebitching ways and want to do something entirely unexpected.
Friday, June 11, 2004
I'm off to see the wizzard.
So the big decision is made.
Recent application to the UK Home Office for a working holidaymaker visa was rejected. No chance of appeal, but also no predjudice; free to apply for other visa's if my circumstances change. Right now, I'm not eligable for anything else.
Which left me facing the decision to return to Canada or apply for similar entry into Australia. Both options meant I would wind up disapointing people i care about.
As much as i love home, and as much as i miss the people there, the landscape and the amazing feeling of peace I get while there, I don't miss the economy, and the distinct lack of opportunities available to someone with my background in newfoundland. I'm also not ready tpo go back and deal with family friends and what will no doubt be a long series of repeated grillings on my so called "failed" marrieage. I don't think it failed. Just ended. To imply failure would suggest it was a mistake.
So the decision was made to attempt entry into Australia; goal being get my ass in the same location os the evil sadistic dude and see if the connection felt online holds true. And if it does not? Confident there is at least a solid friendship there, and time spend in the southern hemisphere is definetely appealing. And the visa was granted the same day. I'm free to enter australia, and work at any time. For a period of one year from date of entry. So, w00t. kinda.
For the first time in my adult life i am free to make decisions and pick up and move somewhere for entirely selfish reasons.
So why am a wracked with guilt? how do I make people believe in what I know is true? That i know through experience that when i leave a place, the relationships forged and established there do not dissapear? That the ones I love back home in canada remain as much a part of an influence in my life now, three years after I left home as they did when they lived with me and saw me everyday?
How do i convince people that love is not a finite measure, and does not require taking from one to give another?
How to make them trust in the fact that once i have forged a friendship, i hold on fiercely and don't let go?
They have no choice but to accept that they are not that easilly rid of me. To plagerize a line from the charactar Smith's dialogue; I am a virus. a disease, a cancer a plague.I am infectious, and geographical distance is not a cure.
More of my friends need to be clairvoyant; they need to be able to peer into my head and see the absolute certainty that lies there. The unshakable knowledge that certain relationships are born of a bond so profound they can't be broken.
And herein lies the real kicker; no matter what, i'm damned if i do and damned if i don't. Had my decision been different, had i made decisions to keep those i care about happy? Ultimately, they would wind up unhappy anyhow. Because they are such incredible people, and because our connection is such that it is, they would always know that they influenced my choices, and would always, therefore, feel guilty that i chose for them instead of me.
Inevitably, if they are to be unhappy no matter which path i chose, I would rather chose the path that leaves them dissapointed in or angry at me. Far preferable to them feeling guilty to have swayed my choices. I have no problem shouldering blame. Strong like ox, nikki. Will carry much weight. Two camels and a goat to the person in the back. (i know...sometimes i should resist the urge to interject humor. It's a problem of mine. I have the NEED to make people smile. It's important to me).
Other people's guilt, I simply cannot abide by. They are worth far too much to me to be able to watch them suffer feelings of guilt over me. But my guilt? *shrugs*. It's familiar. It s something i know i have the ability to withstand. Often, its something i seek out. Taking possession of guilt, making myself responsible gives me a measure of control. And if i have control, then it follows that i have the power to fix it.
Sometimes, people get hurt by the actions of others. And the words "I'm sorry" are wholely inadequate at times. But I trust in my friends to know the full scope and depth of emotion is tied in when i say the words "I'm sorry". And I am.
Please don't let my ruby slippers make you sad. Remember how much I care.
Recent application to the UK Home Office for a working holidaymaker visa was rejected. No chance of appeal, but also no predjudice; free to apply for other visa's if my circumstances change. Right now, I'm not eligable for anything else.
Which left me facing the decision to return to Canada or apply for similar entry into Australia. Both options meant I would wind up disapointing people i care about.
As much as i love home, and as much as i miss the people there, the landscape and the amazing feeling of peace I get while there, I don't miss the economy, and the distinct lack of opportunities available to someone with my background in newfoundland. I'm also not ready tpo go back and deal with family friends and what will no doubt be a long series of repeated grillings on my so called "failed" marrieage. I don't think it failed. Just ended. To imply failure would suggest it was a mistake.
So the decision was made to attempt entry into Australia; goal being get my ass in the same location os the evil sadistic dude and see if the connection felt online holds true. And if it does not? Confident there is at least a solid friendship there, and time spend in the southern hemisphere is definetely appealing. And the visa was granted the same day. I'm free to enter australia, and work at any time. For a period of one year from date of entry. So, w00t. kinda.
For the first time in my adult life i am free to make decisions and pick up and move somewhere for entirely selfish reasons.
So why am a wracked with guilt? how do I make people believe in what I know is true? That i know through experience that when i leave a place, the relationships forged and established there do not dissapear? That the ones I love back home in canada remain as much a part of an influence in my life now, three years after I left home as they did when they lived with me and saw me everyday?
How do i convince people that love is not a finite measure, and does not require taking from one to give another?
How to make them trust in the fact that once i have forged a friendship, i hold on fiercely and don't let go?
They have no choice but to accept that they are not that easilly rid of me. To plagerize a line from the charactar Smith's dialogue; I am a virus. a disease, a cancer a plague.I am infectious, and geographical distance is not a cure.
More of my friends need to be clairvoyant; they need to be able to peer into my head and see the absolute certainty that lies there. The unshakable knowledge that certain relationships are born of a bond so profound they can't be broken.
And herein lies the real kicker; no matter what, i'm damned if i do and damned if i don't. Had my decision been different, had i made decisions to keep those i care about happy? Ultimately, they would wind up unhappy anyhow. Because they are such incredible people, and because our connection is such that it is, they would always know that they influenced my choices, and would always, therefore, feel guilty that i chose for them instead of me.
Inevitably, if they are to be unhappy no matter which path i chose, I would rather chose the path that leaves them dissapointed in or angry at me. Far preferable to them feeling guilty to have swayed my choices. I have no problem shouldering blame. Strong like ox, nikki. Will carry much weight. Two camels and a goat to the person in the back. (i know...sometimes i should resist the urge to interject humor. It's a problem of mine. I have the NEED to make people smile. It's important to me).
Other people's guilt, I simply cannot abide by. They are worth far too much to me to be able to watch them suffer feelings of guilt over me. But my guilt? *shrugs*. It's familiar. It s something i know i have the ability to withstand. Often, its something i seek out. Taking possession of guilt, making myself responsible gives me a measure of control. And if i have control, then it follows that i have the power to fix it.
Sometimes, people get hurt by the actions of others. And the words "I'm sorry" are wholely inadequate at times. But I trust in my friends to know the full scope and depth of emotion is tied in when i say the words "I'm sorry". And I am.
Please don't let my ruby slippers make you sad. Remember how much I care.
Wednesday, June 09, 2004
Simplicity
Simple; (thank you dictionary.com)
Having or composed of only one thing, element, or part.
Not involved or complicated; easy: a simple task.
Being without additions or modifications; mere: a simple “yes” or “no.”
I would dearly love to live a simple life. Even if just for a little while. I do have pleasent memories of just that; a years bliss near the end of my last degree, living with my closest friends, being a student, with a job that was enough to support me, and a car that worked most of the time (as well as a mechanic i knew and trusted for the times it did not). I don't think that i ask for alot, really. I think I have more then payed my dues on the drama front.
A respite from the hassle; a life of ease. One without an overload of undue drama. A period of time in which I did not have to tax my brain fully to ponder out multiple solutions and prethink possible fuckups in advance just because i know the next bomb will drop soon enough.
An span of time without an insane amount of complication. Time to recharge my batteries, replenish my soul, remember what it is to be happy. Truely happy i mean, without an undercurrent of worry, of second guessing, of wondering when the happiness bubble will be punctured by the great fuckoffbig needle of Seti.
I dream of such things nightly. Fantasize about them daily. Such things make me smile stupidly amidst the turmoil. To placidly go amidst the noise and haste
A life, shared with people I care about, where the most difficult decision I will face all week is which beach to flake out on during the weekend, or how many bottles of mix should we have on hand for the saturday night bbq. Which shoes go best with these jeans, and what i need to fix the funky shower faucet that drips. How to keep the new kitten from scratching the doorframe and which train will be the fastest route home.
The reality is right now I am stuck with the monumental decisions. The big, possibly life altering things that only I can set in motion, but whose result will, without a doubt, hugely affect some of the people I care about most fiercely.
Whose bright idea what it to give such power to me in the first place? I mean, how fucking bright is ~that~, huh? Daft cunt. What was s/he thinking? I can't decide on which mug to pour coffee into some mornings. Let alone the extraction or interjection of a whole new person into someone else's life plan.
I need one of those little Mystic 8 Ball chummys that you can ask questions to, shake and get standardized "yes" or "hell no" answers to all the deep and meaningful questions that are being screamed into my head right now.
Or Eenie Meanie Miney Mo, perhaps?
Having or composed of only one thing, element, or part.
Not involved or complicated; easy: a simple task.
Being without additions or modifications; mere: a simple “yes” or “no.”
I would dearly love to live a simple life. Even if just for a little while. I do have pleasent memories of just that; a years bliss near the end of my last degree, living with my closest friends, being a student, with a job that was enough to support me, and a car that worked most of the time (as well as a mechanic i knew and trusted for the times it did not). I don't think that i ask for alot, really. I think I have more then payed my dues on the drama front.
A respite from the hassle; a life of ease. One without an overload of undue drama. A period of time in which I did not have to tax my brain fully to ponder out multiple solutions and prethink possible fuckups in advance just because i know the next bomb will drop soon enough.
An span of time without an insane amount of complication. Time to recharge my batteries, replenish my soul, remember what it is to be happy. Truely happy i mean, without an undercurrent of worry, of second guessing, of wondering when the happiness bubble will be punctured by the great fuckoffbig needle of Seti.
I dream of such things nightly. Fantasize about them daily. Such things make me smile stupidly amidst the turmoil. To placidly go amidst the noise and haste
A life, shared with people I care about, where the most difficult decision I will face all week is which beach to flake out on during the weekend, or how many bottles of mix should we have on hand for the saturday night bbq. Which shoes go best with these jeans, and what i need to fix the funky shower faucet that drips. How to keep the new kitten from scratching the doorframe and which train will be the fastest route home.
The reality is right now I am stuck with the monumental decisions. The big, possibly life altering things that only I can set in motion, but whose result will, without a doubt, hugely affect some of the people I care about most fiercely.
Whose bright idea what it to give such power to me in the first place? I mean, how fucking bright is ~that~, huh? Daft cunt. What was s/he thinking? I can't decide on which mug to pour coffee into some mornings. Let alone the extraction or interjection of a whole new person into someone else's life plan.
I need one of those little Mystic 8 Ball chummys that you can ask questions to, shake and get standardized "yes" or "hell no" answers to all the deep and meaningful questions that are being screamed into my head right now.
Or Eenie Meanie Miney Mo, perhaps?
Sunday, June 06, 2004
Introduction
Most of you reading will know me already. But there are bound to be some that don't. So here are the basics of me, right now;
30 years old. Canadian, though I have spent the last three years gypsying around Europe, based mostly in southern Norway and London.
The boobage, and lack of phalic appendage suggests I am female. I struggle to understand most women and identify better with the thought process of men on the whole. As a result, my friends tend to be male; or obnoxious/agressive/striaghtforward women.
Separated, marking the end of a 14 year long relationship. Still mostly friends, and for now roommates. It's not ideal, but its semi-necessary. Recently shot down for a uk visa, so next move is unknown. Could be school in Australia, could be back to Canada. Far too many unknowns in my life. Enought to make me want to hybernate, and be woken when it's all over and done with.
Hideously in love, in a juvenille and thoroughly delightful kinda way. As was recently observed by a family member; "If she had school books I would expect to see wee hearts with his name in all over the front". See? Sickening! I love it.
But I don't do love or anything else simply. Said object of lust is on other side of globe, and out plans to get our asses in the same city are backfiring at an alarming rate. In case this unrequitedness is not enough, theres also the extended poly family consisting of my bitchboi(heh. Ok...so bitchboi on loan?), his wife, his wife's partner, and a plethora of spawn to consider. Who all also retain a citizenship different then my own. Boggled yet? Yep, me too. I won't try explaining the on again off again thing back home in Canada.
It's no wonder monagamy looks so enticing.
I'm a whole bunch of oxymoronic things; Soul of a poet, overly sensitive, i will fight fiercely to protect my loved ones, but on the whole, despise confrontation of any sort. I come off as a loudmouthed bitch, but its really overcompensating for the fact that i feel horrendously shy and self concious most of the time. I'm into kink and like to be beaten and sometimes beat, but what i crave more then anything in my life are those quiet intimate tender moments with the ever elusive "soul mate" ghost. I have two degrees, and yet, am completely unemployable. I am a highly social creature and love my home being the hang out spot for unannounced friends, yet sometimes i have the need to crawl fetal and hide to work out the rattling in my head. I'm a munchkin in a fat chick's body.
I am complusively honest, if i care about you. Entirely unable to lie convincingly to my loved ones, but i can charm and deceive strangers without effort.
I know what I am-and what i am not-obscenely and intimately well. I make no apologies for what i have or what i lack. Either you like me as you find me, or you move on. I adapt to new situations and people constantly, but i will alter of my own accord, or not at all.
So there you are. take it or leave it. Me in a nutshell.
30 years old. Canadian, though I have spent the last three years gypsying around Europe, based mostly in southern Norway and London.
The boobage, and lack of phalic appendage suggests I am female. I struggle to understand most women and identify better with the thought process of men on the whole. As a result, my friends tend to be male; or obnoxious/agressive/striaghtforward women.
Separated, marking the end of a 14 year long relationship. Still mostly friends, and for now roommates. It's not ideal, but its semi-necessary. Recently shot down for a uk visa, so next move is unknown. Could be school in Australia, could be back to Canada. Far too many unknowns in my life. Enought to make me want to hybernate, and be woken when it's all over and done with.
Hideously in love, in a juvenille and thoroughly delightful kinda way. As was recently observed by a family member; "If she had school books I would expect to see wee hearts with his name in all over the front". See? Sickening! I love it.
But I don't do love or anything else simply. Said object of lust is on other side of globe, and out plans to get our asses in the same city are backfiring at an alarming rate. In case this unrequitedness is not enough, theres also the extended poly family consisting of my bitchboi(heh. Ok...so bitchboi on loan?), his wife, his wife's partner, and a plethora of spawn to consider. Who all also retain a citizenship different then my own. Boggled yet? Yep, me too. I won't try explaining the on again off again thing back home in Canada.
It's no wonder monagamy looks so enticing.
I'm a whole bunch of oxymoronic things; Soul of a poet, overly sensitive, i will fight fiercely to protect my loved ones, but on the whole, despise confrontation of any sort. I come off as a loudmouthed bitch, but its really overcompensating for the fact that i feel horrendously shy and self concious most of the time. I'm into kink and like to be beaten and sometimes beat, but what i crave more then anything in my life are those quiet intimate tender moments with the ever elusive "soul mate" ghost. I have two degrees, and yet, am completely unemployable. I am a highly social creature and love my home being the hang out spot for unannounced friends, yet sometimes i have the need to crawl fetal and hide to work out the rattling in my head. I'm a munchkin in a fat chick's body.
I am complusively honest, if i care about you. Entirely unable to lie convincingly to my loved ones, but i can charm and deceive strangers without effort.
I know what I am-and what i am not-obscenely and intimately well. I make no apologies for what i have or what i lack. Either you like me as you find me, or you move on. I adapt to new situations and people constantly, but i will alter of my own accord, or not at all.
So there you are. take it or leave it. Me in a nutshell.
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