Is That All There Is?

I feel that this stolen week (this week I wasn't supposed to be back here yet, this time that forced itself into my life) retaliated from my intrusion and tried it's very best to beat me into an insignificant pulp. Blow after blow rained down, and even after I was lying on the floor, out for the count, it continued to kick me in my metaphorical balls.
This morning, as I have every morning for the past 10 days, I got up early. But this morning, unlike the others, instead of lying in bed with still-tired, burning eyeballs, dreading what new horror would unfold over the course of the day and mentally planning how to navigate the burning remains of the previous day's horror, I sat up warily.
For whatever reason, I had this sense that the worst had passed.
It didn't fill me with joy and happiness. It wasn't like I was sad either, it is just that when you get so used to the idea that whatever you do, or touch, is going to go wrong, and you resign yourself to facing a pack of demons you thought were buried far in your past, you just don't care anymore.
It is an apathetic kind of protective shield.
You tell yourself- hey, it's all burning up around me, you've hit me with your worst shots, and I'll still come out alive.
Bruised, tired in your very marrow, sluggish and slow with wrinkles on your face that weren't there before, falling into new habits that you never dreamed would have to form, your bedside table overflowing with the detritus of what you had no time to clean up the past week- cups of mostly drinken water, mugs with an inch of tea in the bottom, a thermometer with the lid off, books discarded after only a few pages, a bowl with the tell-tale neon yellow ring around the inside that says: chicken soup from a packet was here, mountains of used Kleenex crumpled up with snot and tears, sweaters, socks, a travel magazine, forms for government-issued passes half completed, and at the foot of the bed a heap of all the bed sheets from the bed, greasy with fever-sweats and sadness.

But alive. Not broken completely. There must be something about facing what seems to be the worst, and realizing actually how strong you are. You can give that special, bitter little laugh used by those who walked through flames and say: is that all there is? Really? That's the worst you can do, life? Ha!

Dinosaurs

I think I should pick up B a present before I go. He has been so good to me while I've been gone; helping me with resume, job, school, life. He likes old things, so it shouldn't be too hard to find something. Maybe at an antique shop? I was going to get him something from the Viking museum in town, the 'Jorvik Centre', but I couldn't remember if it was him who liked Vikings as a boy, or J. Both of them kept pumping my brain full of information about themselves this Fall, and since it was virtually simultaneous, I'm finding it difficult to remember who liked what. I'm pretty sure B liked Vikings, because I am 70% positive that J liked dinosaurs.
I am a terrible person.

I sometimes get the impression that I've painted myself into a corner, so to speak, by the actions I've taken, the way I've dealt with the things tossed my way. I get this sense of claustrophobia and see doors slamming shut, windows being locked.

It's scary to care about people. It's frightening to have people in your life. They seem to send off these invisible streamers that catch, grip your skin, knot in your hair. You can't run with their emotions hanging off you. It's heavy, it weighs you down, pulls you down, like quicksand. Ties you to the ground. In one place.

Maybe that's what is so appealing about getting on a plane, or train, or in the car for a long trip. For a few hours, or even days, weeks, you get the sense that you've lost those ties, those tails dogging you. And it's exhilarating to be so light. Dizzy with the freedom and with the loss of other people's feelings, you can accomplish whatever you want in the manner you'd like.

London

My wonderful mother has been constantly showering my sister and myself with little gifts ever since we arrived here. Just little things, like new stockings, or new make-up; luxuries neither of us can afford since leaving home.
Yesterday she presented me with a little red book she picked up at an Oxfam: A first edition, signed copy of A Book About Books, by Robert Blatchford. She knows how much I love used books- the feel of them, the smell, the falling-out pages, and if you're very lucky- marginalia by previous owners.
I was trying to read some of it yesterday, but written in 1903 by someone who educated themselves by reading Charles Dickens, it was slow going. Still, this passage jumped out at me "as if it was written in my soul, from me to you" (Tangled Up in Blue, Bob Dylan) :

"How London grows upon one! At first the endless whirl, the cruel rush and greedy hurry of it, with all the misery, vulgarity, snobbery, and vanity of the crowd, the tragedies of its dismal streets, the poverty and ignorance of the workers, and the monotonous ugliness of their surroundings, sicken and dismay you. The pain and the shame of it are more than you can bear. You want to get away- away to the cool beaches and unsullied seas, or to the clean and quiet streets and the clean and quiet life of some sleepy old market town.
But, imperceptibly, London tightens its grip upon you. The mysterious and awful magnetism of the crowd hold you. You mix with the unnumbered, nameless millions until the swirling tides and feverish currents of the great human sea seem to carry you away."

(Robert Blatchford, A Book About Books)

Having gone to London this weekend for the first time since I was 17, I know just what he was talking about. And, really, replace "London" with the name of any major city- Rome, Athens, Paris, Istanbul, Cairo, York the Saturday before Christmas, haha- and it feels the same.

The Last Half-hour of 2012

Fire crackers and loud boys singing words I don't know if I would want to know, even if they spoke slowly and clearly enough for me to understand.
I like New Years posts.
2012.
I had a quiet, sad, spring. For some reason school and work and family stuff exhausted me to the point of illness, and even though I tried to plod on with my head up I could never muster the energy to get the smile to reach my eyes. My friends later told me that they had all been worried about me.
Luckily, there was Jamie the Australian in February. He was a marvellous distraction for the week he visited. It was a good mini-break from my dull reality. Linds threw me my first surprise party for my birthday in March. That was fantastic.

And of course, Greece in the summer. I think I may have faded to nothing, or had some serious trouble if I hadn't had that time away. The sun, and the heat, and the physical labour that knocked me out every night, along with 1.5 litre bottles of Amstel. My friends Linds, Amber and Britt, and a chance to think clearly, which I had been missing for months.

The end of the summer with that Whistler and Christina Lake road-trip with my siblings was pure gold. I was happy, truly, every day, ever since I had gotten back from excavating. And then, like a cherry on top, an added treasure that I could have never expected, a gift greater than anything I had imagined receiving- J.

The fall and early winter was such a mix of extreme highs and unbelievable lows. If there is one thing to be thankful for, it's that at least I'm off the bloody roller-coaster. It physically makes my stomach ache to think too hard about it even now, and I still walk in the Valley of the Shadow daily, but I cling to the hope that there is nowhere left for me to go but up. I believe that someday, with time, I will be able to look back and see a period of growth and learning.

And my winter so far- well, let's count B as a great source of distraction with his symphony, opera, cocktail parties, letters, and gifts. And my dearest roommates who were always there for me, and willing to lend an ear, and even just sit and watch a movie, or pose for my painting projects. That group of 3 have become so essential to my life. Of course now there is England with my family, and this time is special, to be guarded carefully and thoroughly enjoyed.

I look with watchful eyes to the future year. A little bit more scarred, a lot more careful- it's not fear that makes me cautious, rather, a greater understanding of the world and of human nature. But still there is so much joy to be felt, and beauty to uncover, and absurd experiences to be had- when it comes down to it, I can't wait to see what the New Year brings.

Happy New Year everyone.
xoxo

The First Dream I've Had Where I Interact with Him (because usually he is present but I ignore him)

Vivid dreams every night. It's great, and awful. I feel like I'm haunted, and it's terrible, but I relish the FEELING, y'know? FEELING. 

But this morning on the end of sleep/verge of waking, I dreamt I was with my Austrian roommates watching 101 Dalmations, drinking wine and eating a popsicle, when the doorbell rang and it was secondary and annoying, but Kelly started to get up and go get it, but she was pregnant and struggling so I pushed her down and said hey, I'll get it. So I walk downstairs, and all of the sudden it's our old house in Edmonton's front door, with the crescent of glass at the top of the door, and I see some spikes of brown hair and my stomach twists and I think oh no. 

But I open the door anyway, and it is J, and he has his glasses on and is wearing his navy blue jacket with the toggles, and he looks at me through the glass door and his eyes are wet and half-filled with tears exactly like when we said goodbye at Thanksgiving and he hugged me and sort of sniffle/cried. Back when we were still ignoring common sense, and before I went to Winnipeg, and before he stopped taking his meds and relapsed and went back to his dark world where I couldn't follow him.

So I see Him and neither of us say a word, he just looks at me with wet eyes and my heart has stopped beating, my lungs have stopped working, my brain is full of half-formed thoughts like He misses me? Why? How? I'm mad and sad and SO FUCKING INCREDIBLY HAPPY but all I do is slowly, so very slowly, sink onto the step, sit down, and start to open the glass door, never breaking eye-contact the entire time, but as soon as he opens his mouth, and before my bum completely comes to rest on the step, I wake up.

And start crying. 

Oh Life You Heartless Bitch

Sooo...found out yesterday I am 3 courses short of graduating. Thanks for telling me that when I did my program check in the summer, University. You are the best.
Ha. This means I am ridiculous.
And still a student.
And changing my flight home for the third time, and getting back as soon as I can after New Years.
And registering for classes.
And borrowing money because I am flat broke.
BUT...
I have a great place to live.
Fantastic friends.
Learnt a lesson in humility.
And realized that I am already getting bored in York, so I guess going back to Canada isn't the end of the world (well that's a lie).
But I've started to cook dinner for my family every night to keep busy. Every day I get £10 from my dad, and have to spend the whole day searching out local ingredients from the various shops and markets. Fun, non? I'll be recording it here.