I'm the Narrator

Jar of Cares

2007-06-10T19:46:00.000-04:00

June is an overwhelming time for me. Exams are looming, and I’m scrambling to get everything done. This year the end of the school year involves some major additional tasks that are unique to my particular work assignment and situation. I have also been updating my resume to begin the search for a term in September, and looking for new roommates for July 1. My brother is moving away in a week and a half to Ontario, and I’ve been alternating between missing Shale, and looking for someone new. To state the obvious, there’s a lot on my mind right now.

This afternoon I was feeling frustrated at all the little things that have been going wrong. I haven’t had time to contest an error in my tax assessment, the front burner of my stove is on strike, the cell phone people took my money, but aren’t providing me any service, etc. I was trying to listen to music too cheer myself up while I did a pile of ironing, and the CD player failed to read the disks. That was apparently the last straw. I wondered if I was going to cry.

Instead, of crying, I unplugged the iron, went for a walk in the sporadic sunlight, and returned to my chore an hour later. While at the ironing board, I noticed a Mason jar on my record player. In March of 2006, I had been feeling overwhelmed with worries, and had listed them on paper. There were at least 21. Then I painted the paper, cut them into little strips, curled them up, and placed them in the Mason jar. I prayed about each of the things, and then closed the jar up and set it aside, as a reminder that I had submitted the concerns to God. This past summer, and again in the fall, I opened it up to see how many worries had been resolved. I removed several, such as concern for my mother’s life, but many were still relevant to my situation. This evening I unfurled the painted strips again and looked at each of them. There were eleven cares. Three of them are still on my mind today. Eight are no longer worries. I can replace each strip with a new concern, but the point is that I have had resolution to many of my worries and insecurities this winter and spring. I just wrote a new list of worries, and I find that aside from missing my brother, they are all questions. Many of them will have answers very soon---as soon as tomorrow for one or two. This is comforting. A month from now, I might still be stressed about a few of these things, but many will have passed.

Another aspect of the cares jar is that while some worries were resolved by events happening to me, a few were resolved by decisions that I made independently. I have solved some of my own concerns. I’m pleased about that.

The End Again

2007-05-13T20:48:00.001-04:00

I broke up with Shale with Tuesday. I think this was the right thing to do. I waffled between thinking a break up was inevitable, and wondering if I was falling for him for months. I felt closer to him than ever two weeks ago, and then a series of things started me on the negative side again. I think I’ve had an attitude problem about him for a while. I wanted to change the way I thought about him, but I didn’t. I realised this week that I thought I “should” be with him because he’s such a sweet and attentive boyfriend. I decided that I wasn’t being completely honest with myself, and I’ve been waiting for certain thoughts and feelings to go away, but they didn’t.

Shale’s father was relieved when we broke up because he thinks Shale needs to date more people. I agree. Shale’s friends were also relieved because they never liked me. Apparently they said I was intelligent and well informed, but not beautiful enough. I’m surprised they didn’t just dismiss me as a F-ing hippy. Shale himself is pretty much in the same place I am. He misses me, and is mourning the plans we had for the summer, and the opportunity to do the hiking, colouring, movie watching, beaching, and other activities that we enjoy together. He told me that his golf game is a mess, and I told him that was understandable as he’d had a bad week. He said that there were Mayflowers everywhere on the course, which inevitably brought me to mind at every turn. He doesn’t seem to be hurt or angry yet, which is good. Maybe I managed not to damage him. I guess time will tell.

I’m missing him, and finding it hard to concentrate on my work. I am mourning our habits and our plans just like he is. We talked about going to Montreal this summer, or Iceland. We talked about taking ballroom dancing lessons someday. We had a list of movies we were working through. We had restaurants we met to return to. I am sure though, that I did the right thing. I didn’t take enough pride in the wonderful person that he is. I didn’t have the excitement that I want to have for the man I spend my life with. I’m scared though. I’m scared that I’ve copped out, by leaving instead of adjusting my attitude and accepting who he was. I’m scared that I’ll be single now for the rest of my days, or at least the rest of my baby-bearing years. I’ve been scared before though. It’s part of life, and I’m usually pretty good at marching through it.

Today I listened to some old mix tapes while I did my marking. I listened to two that I made ten years ago around this time. They were in the car when I crashed it nine years ago, and the tapes sat in a ditch until my father found them when the snow melted. They were reminders of who I am, and have been for a long time. They contain songs that reflect my values and temperament. They have little verses from songs mixed in between whole songs. They’re beautiful, and a little unpredictable. They were also reminders of strength and perseverance. One of them sounds a little wonky in one part, but they still work after everything they’ve been though. I take comfort in that today.

Angels and Questions

2007-03-14T22:50:00.000-04:00

It’s been a busy five weeks since I last wrote. I work very hard on the weekdays, and the weekends are a blurry mess of work and play. Even March Break has been very busy so far. I have not had a chance to do much work so far because I felt that my annual Angel Day letters had to come first. Today is Angel Day, and I finished the last of the 15 letters around noon, and then spent the rest of the day doing the relaxing things that I don’t always take the time to do anymore. I played my guitar, went for a walk and sat in the tree, and did some journaling.

Angel Day is what I call the anniversary of a crazy car accident that I had when I was 19. I mark it every year by writing people letters about how much I like them. I keep the number small now, but I wrote 40 letters a few years ago. Now I just write to my closest friends and family, and I try to write to a few new people that I have met in the past year. That way I am still spreading the positivity beyond the same few people.

I spent some time today trying to think of what I want to do in my recent and long-term future. I didn’t come up with much in the way of answers. I had plenty of questions though. I still have this fear that the passage of time is also the waste of it. I keep thinking that there are things that I should do with my life that I am not doing. Part of the trouble is that I don’t know what they are, but I can’t shake the feeling that they exist. How can a girl pursue her dreams if she can’t fathom them?

I’ve always thought that my accident was a second chance for me. I needed to adjust my attitude about life, and it was the necessary wakeup call. I often wonder when I remember the incident if I have made worthy use of my second chance. I don’t know. When I write my angel letters to people, I know that I am doing well, but the rest of my life I’m unsure about.

I wrote the following this evening while I was thinking about all of this

Angels watching over me
Someday I’ll know why, maybe

I still have that gratitude
That I’m still here
That I can dance
Free for all there is to do
Loving those I have to love

Sometimes I’m still hanging there
Dangling upside down
Wondering how I’ll land
Waiting for what comes next
Forgetting I can already stand

The dance is now

To think
I’ve dangled

When I could have danced

I’ve tried to live
I’ve tried to love
And still sometimes I am ensnared
A seatbelt that protected
Also held me back

It doesn’t matter
If I’ve lingered in the wrong moments
If I’ve hung when I could walk
If I’ve cried when I could laugh
Every moment has its beauty

At least for me
With Angels here to keep me free

Hooray!!!!

2007-02-07T22:31:00.000-05:00

It's February, 2007. In February, 2005, I hit the bottom. I had been in limbo, hoping to return to the North. I had waited two months for help, and then I got slapped in the face by the system. As a result, I stayed in Nova Scotia and started substitute teaching. I've been subbing ever since. I was very fortunate to get four months at a school last year, and to be called regularily by the same few schools. I had it nearly as good as subbing gets, but it was still rough at times. And then last week I was hired for another long-term substitute job for second semester. I was happy to be chosen, and daunted at the task, and disappointed that it wasn't a term position. Long-term subbing is regular teaching without the benefits. A term position gives benefits, and it secures teachers at this school board senority over substitutes for any jobs in the fall.

When I first heard that the job wasn't a term, I was really disappointed. I was sad about it for a day or so, and then I decided that it was still a great opportunity to teach full time again. It's nice to have my own classroom, and to see the same kids every day. It had been so long since I had planned my own lessons that I was starting to doubt my ability to do so. I realised that any teaching experience is better than subbing.

The new semester started Monday. There was quite a bit of rumbling in the class that it was going to be a long semester as I gave them a seating plan and established rules with them. I was worried that it might create problems, but today and yesterday were better. I think it's possible that we will have a good semester together.

I think that I will only be as good a teacher as I allow myself to be. I am working hard at positivity about my ability to teach. I think my biggest problem as a teacher is that I doubt myself. I have been stopping myself every time I noticed that I am doubting my decisions again. I tell myself every day that I'm doing a good job. I also pray every morning, which I'm sure is helping.

This morning the principal asked to speak to me. She had manipulated a few variables and managed to pull term status out of a hat for me. She went out of her way to give me this, and I am giddy with gratitude. It's a miracle. This is my chance to break out of the subbing game and hopefully into a series of term jobs which could eventually lead to a fulltime gig. It's been a long two years, but now I'm in a completely different place in life. I'm happy, I have healthier relationships, I'm seeing the job I do in a positive light, and I'm starting to be successful with it. Hooray.

Teacher Lady, Again

2007-01-12T21:19:00.000-05:00

It’s Friday evening, and I just got home from work at 8:25. I was the only teacher in the building for hours. I started substituting January 3 for an English and ESL teacher at a nearby high school. She was sick before the Christmas break, and unable to do any marking, so I have a huge stack of marking that I am slowly slogging away at. I am doing the planning as well. Unfortunately, two of the three classes are studying Shakespeare, and they were both behind schedule because the teacher had missed so much time before Christmas. As the school is semestered, they write final exams in two weeks, and have to prepare for those too. I’ve been working late every day so far, and there is still much to do. There have also been meetings to sit in on. I assume that I will be there until after the exams, but that is only three more weeks in total. I will still be getting the low substitute wage for my time, despite the hours I’m putting in. There is some chance that I will replace the same teacher for the new semester starting in February, but no one is sure what the hiring procedure has to be yet, or whether it’s a term teaching position or a long-term-subbing position. If it is a term, anyone will be able to apply for it, but if I was to get it, I would be on the term recall list for next year.

I’m working very hard for these few weeks, but I couldn’t do that for long. The other facets of my life are suffering until I can slow down and attend to them. I can only work this hard because I know it's absolutely necessary, and there is a definite end in sight. I think I’m doing a good job so far. The students are complaining because we’re flying through Shakespeare, but that isn’t by my choice, so I’m not worrying about it. I have a habit of doubting myself when I teach, but I’ve been careful not to do that much in the last week and a half. I’m in a very difficult situation, and I’m doing the best I can. Most of the time, I’m enjoying myself. I find myself walking home between 6 and 8 at night feeling tired, but also vaguely happy. When I wake up at 6:20 am to do it all over again, I am still tired, but I am not dreading my day. So far I have a much better mindset than the last time I was doing all the planning. Yay for teaching!

Update

2006-11-26T18:57:00.000-05:00

I haven’t written much here this fall. I’ve been busy with other endeavors. First of all, I’ve been substituting every school day since the third day of September. In the fall, there are many inservices and holidays, so that isn’t as good as it sounds. I haven’t had a 10 day pay-cheque yet. I have been very fortunate though, to only work at three schools this fall. I have not had to receive any automated calls this year, as three high schools have been calling me in person every possible day of class, for most of the fall. That being said, it’s still not very fun. Substituting wears me down.

I wrote about my month-long fast less than half way into it, but I never wrote a follow up to that. I didn’t finish my fast with definitive ideas about what I was going to do, but I had some new directions to explore. I chose a volunteer activity. It's a program that isn't quite off the ground yet, so I've only had one information meeting so far. I also did a lot of reading about issues, and started a new blog where I talk about those sorts of issues. If you’re interested in seeing it, email me (my gmail account is mossagate2) and I'll send you the url. Please note, all disagreement on that blog is completely welcome. Dialogue is an important part of social change.

Another thing I did during my fast was visit a different church every week. I did not continue that afterwards, but I would like to. It hasn’t happened yet because I find it easy to decide that it’s too cold to walk 30 minutes in a skirt to some particular church, or that I’m too tired to get up early the one day of the week I don’t have to. (I don’t have to on Saturdays either, but I often do anyway for various reasons) I have gone to my old church once since the fast, and other Sundays, such as today, I have slept in.

The fast was an interesting time for Shale and I. As I mentioned in September, we had become something more than friends again, and the fast put a strain on that. Instead of driving us apart though, it brought us closer. Around half way into the month, we decided to be boyfriend and girlfriend again. We’re not sure exactly what day that was, but I think it was about two months ago. It’s going differently from the previous time. He used to be annoyed by elements of who I am. He used to think I was a crazy (as if no one ever thought that before! J) and that I was too stubborn about who I am. Now he seems to have accepted those facets of my personality, and even appears to like them. I think it takes him a long time to get comfortable with people, and now that he is comfortable with me, he seems to like me much more. He even voluntarily tells me that he likes me, which is new for him. We are much closer than we ever were last time. One thing that troubles me sometimes is that he has changed so much since I first met him, but I don’t think I’ve changed at all. Isn’t unevenness like that unhealthy in relationships? We’re still very different, but I find that he’s actually interested in many of the things that I talk to him about. He has never thought about them before, but when I bring topics up, we both enjoy the conversation. He is supportive as I read and think about social and environmental issues. He’s also supportive when I have particularly bad days at school. He’s comforting and considerate. I’m enjoying round two of my relationship with Shale.

November Flashback

2006-11-07T21:38:00.000-05:00

Those that know me know I hate November. I listed the reasons for it here. I'd like to explore another reason on this special anniversary. My first negative November memory occurred when I was nine.

It all started on Wednesday morning, November 5^th, 1986. There were events before that, but I wasn’t aware of it at the time. I was an eight-year-old grade three student. I lived outside the small Nova Scotian town that both my father and I had been born in, and that his parents had gone to school in. We lived within a kilometer of cows in several directions. We did not have much money. I know this because the only new clothes I ever got were those made by my aunt. I fell pretending to be a figure skater on black ice behind my little country school. The boy spying on me in the bushes ran out of hiding to get the woman on duty, who called my mom. Mom took me in to see my doctor, who assured me that my arm was not broken. Children did not break their bones in the manner that mine was hurt. I was pretty sure it was. It was very sore. The only thing that would have made up for the pain was a cast to get me all sorts of attention in class, and signatures too.

I didn’t sleep well that night, or the next. I was supposed to use my arm normally, but I was in a lot of pain. Then Friday, Mom took me out of school again around lunchtime. The doctor was at the hospital that day, so we went there to wait for him. We waited for a long time, and after a while we went to McDonalds for lunch. This was great because the Happy Meal toy that week was a little package of Lego. Happy Meal toys have really gone down in value in twenty years. Finally, in the afternoon, I had an X-ray taken of my arm. I remember waiting a long time for the doctor to come and look at the images, and show us. My arm was indeed broken. There was a fracture near my shoulder. I did not get to have a cast, but I had to wear my arm in a sling for several weeks. I was pretty disappointed not to get the cast, but I would still get to tell my friends that I had a broken arm.

We got home late in the afternoon. Mom had purchased an extra Happy Meal Lego pack for my brother, and I was excited to show the Lego to my father and brother, and share my news with them. Dad listened to Mom’s account of our day, but he had news of his own. He had quit his job as a machinist mechanic. He would be starting a new office job in Halifax that month. He would come home on weekends for now, but eventually we would be moving to Halifax area as well. Dad was strangely animated. He was usually quite subdued at suppertime. I would try to talk to him, but he would only say “Um,” in response. On November 7^th, 1986, he was pretty excited. He had received a phone call that afternoon at work from a man in Ottawa informing him that he had been chosen for a brand new position in their organization. He gave his notice immediately to his menacing boss.

Dad’s news caused me ambivalence for a while. I liked this new, excited Dad of mine. I caught some of his enthusiasm, but I had trouble processing the idea of leaving our rural home for metro Halifax. We moved just before I turned nine. I had some excitement about a new house and school and new adventures but when we moved, I missed my hometown. I also encountered rather hostile neighbours and classmates. I was an outcast for the next nine years. Throughout my later childhood and teenage years, I looked back on our move to Halifax area as a bad thing. I remembered November 7^th as a day that cast doom on the rest of my childhood.

I am far enough removed from my childhood now to see Dad’s November 7^th announcement in a different light. I think it was a very unusual thing. My father had dyslexia. This was not recognized in those days, so he did not graduate from high school. He went to vocational school where he learned mechanics. Landing an executive-style job was quite the coup d’etat. I’m fuzzy about the exact numbers, but I believe Dad’s salary doubled when he switched jobs. I know that we became a two-car family, and I know that I no longer lived on hand-me-downs from Mom’s friends’ daughters. We moved from a rather poor, rural area, to a nice subdivision near a lake, with nice big houses. Many of our neighbours were engineers and marine biologists. I was emotionally wounded by my peers, but in other ways I gained a great deal by my father’s career move. It’s mind numbing to imagine what my life would have been like if we’d stayed in the small town. I was accepted there for the most part, so I might not have has the same bullying, but I wonder what influence the small place would have had on me. I love the people that I knew there as a small child, but I’m also grateful for the people I met in the following nine years. My father was also happier than he would have been as a mechanic. We gained a phenomenal health plan, which my family has benefited from greatly over the years. My mother is a very social person. She made a great number of new friends that have enriched our lives.

Upon reflection, it is obvious that I have disliked November since that day twenty years ago. I need to change the way I think about it. It was a very big day for my father. Dad must have been a little uncertain about a job with so much reading and writing. He must have doubted himself as he was pitted against people with several university degrees. Sometimes he has had to work much too hard, but he was done well. My father's career has been a success that I will always be proud of. In some ways I didn’t fare well in our new life, but there were many positive things about it too. I met so many wonderful people as a result of our move. Dad’s decision was a big factor in who I am today, and I wouldn’t trade that for anything.

Quest

2006-09-23T15:38:00.000-04:00

I’ve been feeling a little lost in my life lately. I’m healthy and happy, but I’m not really doing what I want in life, and I don’t think I’m who I want to be. I’ve known that I’m a little stuck and without direction, but I haven’t done much about it. Then, nearly two weeks ago, when I was having one of my rare moments of prayer and reflection, I decided that it was time to shake myself out of complacency. I decided to enter a month of prayer and fasting. I am still eating lots of food every day, but I have given up chocolate, junk food, and some other activities that I enjoy, including drinking. I don’t find anything wrong with my lifestyle necessarily, but I wanted to be reminded daily of my search for direction. I wanted to allow room for other good things in life that I think are important, but don’t always allow time for. Every day for a month I am praying at least 10-20 minutes.

So far, I’m enjoying my fast. There are seasons in life. Yes, I look forward to October 11 when I can break into the bag of pink M&Ms in my closet (is there any product that hasn’t jumped on the breast cancer bandwagon?) but after a summer of feasting and frolicking, it’s good to be a bit more serious for a time. I find myself doing some reading. I read about what’s going on in the world. I want to know more about today’s major issues, and think about what they mean to me. This fast is partly about wanting to make a difference and not knowing where to start. I’ve been doing a few things that normally I would think of doing, and find reasons not to. I joined the protest when Condoleezza Rice came under the guise of thanking us for our support after 9/11 to call for more support in Afghanistan and US policy in general. I attended a local church Sunday. I went to hear Raffi the children’s singer talk about his new book and philosophy entitled Child Honoring. I’m looking beyond my usual comfort zone for some the something more that I’ve been lacking. I'm on a quest of sorts, and I don't mind if it takes me to strange places.

I bought Raffi’s book and got in line for him to sign it for me. The guy introducing him had said that this was a new Raffi, so I told Raffi that I could see that it was another facet of the same Raffi—the same love for life and nature and children. I am one of those people who have meaningful conversations with strangers now and then. Maybe that’s why, when he agreed but said that he did change his focus some, I ended up mentioning something of my search for new direction. He told me to love the question, to enjoy not knowing, and someday I would find myself walking in the answer. I replied that while I knew it was okay not to know, I feel like I’ve been not knowing through my entire twenties, and I’m twenty-eight. When he gave me my book, he stood up from his signing chair and gave me a hug.

My friends in churches like the idea of my fast. The interesting thing is that my non-churched friends like the idea too. Onyx seemed to want to do something similar, when I told her. She also looks forward to hearing what changes I end up making as a result of my inner search. Shale and I resumed our quasi-relationship in the summer. He is directly affected by my fast, but he is respectful and understanding of it. He agrees that it could be good for the two of us in the end. Linus, who was raised in church but doesn’t practice, pointed out that my fast has much in common with the Jewish Days of Awe: Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. I’m not seeking forgiveness for my sins, but I am examining my life and trying to align myself closer with God. I don’t hope that God will prescribe a good year for me in the book of life, but I am hoping that I will get some direction from God as to how to make my future days more fulfilling. I like the idea that my fast is similar to a major religious observation. I must be on to something.

Reunited

2006-08-20T11:48:00.000-04:00

I had a high school reunion recently. I didn’t give myself the option of not going. Fillmore used to rant about how he wasn’t going to the one year reunion, or the five year. I figured that if they had taken place, he would have been one of the first in attendance, because he thought about it so much. Fillmore is now in British Columbia with a very pregnant wife, so he couldn’t come even if he had admitted that he wanted to. I thought that it would be nice to report on the event for him. That wasn’t my only reason for going, of course. I like stories. I wanted to know what happened to everyone. I also thought that going was the healthy thing to do.

There were only about 45 people there, out of over 330 grads. It was very short notice, and they didn’t get a hold of everyone. Some people that they contacted said that they hated high school, so they wouldn’t come. I didn’t hate high school, but it wasn’t very fun, and I hated junior high. All the people who had made my life hell in junior high also went to high school with me. I think that’s why going to the reunion was important.

Of the few people there, there were some that I never knew well at all. In a big school, that happens. There were some that had been part of the beautiful people that the rest of us felt excluded by, more ordinary people that I had classes with but never knew well, people I was friends with at some point from grade four to twelve, and people that had been mean or hurtful to me at some point. The mean people included one of my neighbors who made fun of me and everyone else for seven or eight years, the goofy guy who nick-named me Ethel in grade seven (after the character in the Archie comics), a couple of girls who picked on me in junior high, a girl who pretended to be my friend and then ridiculed and rejected me in grade four, and a guy who called me “fu**en ugly” every day on the school bus in grade ten. The latter guy and I had belonged to the same group of friends in grade eleven and twelve. We had adjusted by establishing a teasing relationship, which everyone accepted, but they didn’t know what it stemmed from. He had married my friend from high school, so I greeted him as a friend. I’d been hoping he’d be there. As for the other people who had hurt me, the reunion was the first time that we met and interacted as equals.

The girl from grade four was very friendly, and genuinely pleased to see me. I got the impression that she thought of me as someone she’d been friends with in elementary. She even mentioned details about my family. It was surprising to discover that she married the guy who had named me Ethel. He was also friendly, and probably didn’t remember much more about me than my face. (He had never been a clever guy, in fact I think he was one of the fellows who took a sawed off shot gun to high school one day, just to show it to someone) My neighbor and I found ourselves in the same line for the Pearl Jam concert last year. I was with Wolf, and he was with his siblings. He spoke to Wolf, and he and I made eye contact, but didn’t speak. I was determined that it would be different this time. He smiled and asked me how I was, and I shook his hand. The two mean girls from junior high were less friendly, although they were with a girl I’d been close to in grade eight, so we chatted for a while. The one who had been the meaner of the two was a bit drunk and silly. She wasn’t happy to see me at all. She had never been very smart or very attractive, and she’s also rather short. I think perhaps she didn’t like me because I was taller and smarter, but that didn’t really occur to me in junior high.

I had few friends in junior high, but one of them was at the reunion. She also got drunk, and she had an emotional moment with me. Fourteen years ago this September, our circle of friends ostracized me. They circled around me at the cafeteria and told me off in front of everyone, and then they stopped talking to me. They were my only friends in that class, and I was seated with them in every subject, and they didn’t talk to me for the rest of the year. It was the end of the world. I survived. Most of this circle were mean to me, for the following nine months, but the girl who was at the reunion never was. She and I had been good friends. She was a follower though, so when her friends “dumped” me, she didn’t have the backbone to continue being my friend. I understood that, and have never blamed her for her part in it, but apparently she’s been feeling bad about it for about ten years.
“I think sometimes about if I was ever an alcoholic,” she said, “And I had to do the step program. You know how you have to get forgiveness for something you did in the past? Well, that’s what I think of, every time. I didn’t stand up for myself, or for our friendship.” I assured her that I forgave her back in high school, and that I think of her as a sweet person I was friends with in junior high. It was a lengthy conversation in which I tried to make her feel better about herself and what had happened. It was odd, but nice to be in that situation.

I went to the reunion because I expected to talk to everyone without the old boundaries and roles, and I did. I knew that there was no hierarchy of better people, and that most people there would have figured that out by now. I wanted to look at the people and the events of my past through these different, healthier lenses. All the unhappy incidents that occurred to me in the nine years I attended school in that feeder system would make a very long and pathetic list. I still carry around scars from those days. I still realize from time to time that the thoughts and beliefs I have about myself stem from something some kid did or said in childhood or my teen years. I can’t forget the past, but I can look at it from a different angle. I can look at the smiling adults who hurt me so much and know that it didn’t happen because they were naturally superior to me or because they were jerks that I need to hate for the rest of my life. I enjoyed talking to the people who had been my childhood tormentors. They are nice people with families and careers, and it’s easy to think, “that was then, this is now.” Separating their past actions from who they are today makes it easier for me to separate those incidents from who I am today. It was a fun reunion, and it would have been more fun if the nearly two hundred other grads had come. I’m not really interested in walking away from my past because it made me who I am, and there are many positive things to remember. I feel like the reunion was part of my effort to walk away from the pain of the past though, and to rewrite my memories into a more accurate version. I hope all the people who didn’t come because they hated high school will find other ways to get past their past.

Anniversary

2006-08-17T14:48:00.000-04:00

It has been one year today since the last time I had Effexor. I remember people being worried that I was making a mistake getting off it, but I knew it was a part of the problem rather than the solution. People tell me that I look so much better now, that I carry myself with more confidence and energy than last spring and summer. I believe them because I feel a lot better. I’d say I’m no less happy than the average person, these days. Who knows, perhaps I’m even happier than average. I know people who have found the medication that works for them, and they are better off on it long term. That was not the case for me. Effexor definitely contributed to my symptoms. I’m proud that I finally convinced the doctors to let me off it. I’m also proud that I’ve had such a healthy year without medication.

Evaluate This

2006-08-09T20:21:00.000-04:00

The trouble is that I was brainwashed by the school system. At some point, I internalized the whole system of standards and evaluations. I think I did it early on in elementary. I took the report cards and the parent-teacher conferences seriously. I thought they were a relevant appraisal of my progress as a person. I didn’t always understand what the expectations were, but I wanted to have the As, and then the VGs (Very Good) or Es (Excellent), as the system changed. I think I only would have had NI s (Needs Improvement) for a few categories, such as social interaction or something, and maybe hand eye coordination.

I accepted the idea that there are certain skills and accomplishments that everyone should have at each age level. I learned to read and colour within the lines at 5. At 8 I was multiplying and using cursive writing. I did well with most academic lessons. It was the ones that aren’t on school report cards that I was slow with. I didn’t learn to ride a bike until 8, and my brother still teases me for that, and I didn’t learn to swim until 9, but for the most part, I reached most of the expectations for my age. I took the idea of standardized expectations and applied it to all aspects of life. And to make it worse, this idea has haunted me for the rest of my life.

I think the first time I lamented a birthday, I was 16. I felt like I didn’t match up to my idea of 16 because I had never been kissed by a boy, unless you counted some kid when I was 6, and I didn’t count him. That was my main concern for a few more birthdays. That isn’t the concern now, but I have felt like I fail to measure up to what someone my age should be. Every birthday puts me further behind.

At 28, many people are happily employed in the field of their choice, married, and often with children. They often have a car and a house as well. Twenty-eight finds me single, with a frustrating job situation, paying rent with two roommates, and busing wherever I can’t walk. I know that I’m being hard on myself. My lack of a teaching position has more to do with the school board than me. Poor sub pay combined with student debt leave me unable to buy a car, which I don’t always want anyway. It would be great to be married, but I haven’t met anyone I’m that compatible with. I can’t help that I can’t find the right person, especially this year when I have actually been looking. None of these things are a measure of my worth. I know this on one level, but I still feel twinges of unhappiness with every birthday.

I don’t know why I think that everyone should follow the same pattern of development. I know that people don’t all learn the same things at the same rate. I know that we all need to follow different paths, based on our learning styles. I don’t consider myself to be like everyone else, so why do I think I need to follow the same schedule? Sometimes I wonder if this annual unhappiness is more of a habit than a sincere self-criticism. I don’t want to do it anymore. I’ll be 28 tomorrow. I have two university degrees, a cat, and a number of great friends. I’m poor, but I have only a mid-size student loan, and I don’t live with my parents. I have been off meds for nearly a year, and I’ve been having a lot of fun lately. Yay for me. Yay for 28.

My Best Friend's Wedding

2006-07-28T23:34:00.000-04:00

It’s nearly midnight and I should be climbing into bed, but I can’t sleep without trying to sort through my thoughts a bit. Amethyst gets married tomorrow. Many of my friends have gotten married, but she is my best friend, and this will be my first time (and possibly last?) as a bridesmaid. It’s hard to believe that she will be a wife in about 15 hours. She’s happy, she’s in love, and she is a calm and organized bride. She’s been very considerate of everyone in social gatherings, making family, new friends and old friends all feel included. As her sister noted, she is so unflappable, that when she actually did get a little overwhelmed, it seemed to be scheduled in at the perfect moment. She allowed herself to cry briefly alone with her fiancé while waiting for friends at the airport, and then she put her smile back on and partied with us all night.

I was apprehensive that I would feel left out because there is such a large contingent of people from her Catholic ministry life here, and barely anyone from our mutual past. However, when helping with wedding favours and decorations this week, I found myself fitting in easily with the rest of the wedding party. In the last two days we have had a few social occasions where I’ve met the entire gang here from Ottawa, and I find them mostly friendly, despite the fact that they are such a self-contained unit. This boisterous group includes the priest who will marry Amethyst and her man. He is their boss in Ontario. I like the wedding party and their friends that I have talked to so far. It's been fun to match faces to the names and stories I've been hearing for so long. I think that some of them had heard quite a bit about me too, and apparently some of it was positive. I am looking forward to spending another day with everyone tomorrow.

Tonight at the rehearsal I learned that I walk down the aisle first. I’m apprehensive about that, but there are few people there who know me, so if I trip or something, no one will likely tease me about it (or even remember at all) after tomorrow night. Catholic weddings are basically a mass with a wedding squeezed in the middle, so I’m a little nervous about doing everything correctly. I have warned the other bridesmaids (all very committed Catholics) that I might need some guidance. One cool thing about the Catholic service is that the wedding party sits for the service. I get to sit in the front row with my back to the congregation, rather than stand at the front facing the crowd and trying not to fidget too much.

The rehearsal was a little emotional. It sank in a little more that my best friend is getting married. I’ve known her in a few relationships and wannabe relationships, so it’s nice to see her now with the man of her life. At the end of the rehearsal, Amethyst asked the wedding party to sit at the back of the church. Everyone else filed out while we wondered what was going on. Then Amethyst and her fiancé came back and thanked us for being their attendants. Amethyst explained that they chose their attendants based on who they felt they could count on for support throughout their marriage, as well as right now. Then they gave us each a gift. The groomsmen received tie clips with their initials engraved in them, and the girls received necklaces and silver watches to wear tomorrow. Then Amethyst hugged us each on the way out. She made each bridesmaid feel loved and appreciated individually. It was a beautiful moment, in an empty church sanctuary.

I’m sure tomorrow will be beautiful too, and it will be fun to be dressed like three other girls, with pretty flowers in our hands. With all the things to do and think about, it’s easy to forget what tomorrow is really about. Amethyst is stepping out into a new passage in her life. It’s exciting, and I’m honoured to be included in it.

Tralalalalala

2006-07-19T11:21:00.000-04:00

I had a wonderful time at camp. There were camper injuries, inattentive counselors, a 26 hour water shortage, and other adventures, but it was still camp, and I have discovered that no matter what happens, I’m happy just to be there. There is a feeling that many of us get as soon as we drive through the gates of the camp. We feel like we belong there, and some people say that it doesn’t matter how much time has passed either. I feel like who I am as a person makes more sense there than anywhere else. It cost me some money to get there, and some time and energy to prepare for it. There were two 18 year olds on staff, some 16 year olds, and a few 14 and 15 year olds, so I was basically the only adult on site, and that got a bit tiresome sometimes. I think though, that all told, I received more from camp than I gave.

I love to sing camp songs. I love the randomness and fun for the sake of fun of camp. I love to be outside in the wilderness all day. I also enjoyed leading Bible Study. I wasn’t sure how I would feel doing that, but I apparently my faith in certain things is intact, even if my church attendance is not. It was rather ironic, but nice to be the “God person” at camp.

A lot of what clutters our everyday lives is not at camp. No television or news media, no telephone calls or MSN, no shopping, no advertising, no bars or liquor, no traffic. Only meals, chores, games, Bible study, crafts, singing, and swimming remain, and throughout it all, relating to people. Camp life is pretty simple. I have all the skills I need to do everything there, so I can focus on patience, compassion, responsibility, and other attributes. To me, these are the important things in life. Camp is an escape from reality, but I think that what happens at camp is more important than much of what goes on in the rest of the world. Camp is a safe place to work on things that will apply to real life. I always thought that when I could handle everything at camp smoothly, I would be able to handle ordinary life.

Another thing that I enjoy about camp is that time slows down. Perhaps the change of routine is what creates this illusion. Maybe it has more to do with the number of different memorable activities and experiences crammed into every day. It could also be that camp has opportunities to relax and appreciate the day built into it. Regardless of the cause of it, I was grateful for the slower week. I’ve been regretting how weeks are just rushing past me this year, but last week went by at a good pace.

They say that this camp of mine is on its way out. Enrollment is down for a number of reasons, and the board running it is tired. It saddens me to think that the feeling that I get there won’t be available for the next generations of campers and staff. One of my old counselor-buddies and I have resolved to see what we can do to help the situation. Camp has given me so much over the years. I want it to be around long enough for me to give as much back.

Whirlwind

2006-07-08T06:26:00.000-04:00

The last few weeks have been very busy, despite the fact that school was winding down and there has been no need of a substitute since June 23 or so. During the week of exams I stayed with Lady and looked after her some, but I was also doing safe grad committee work, and trying to get a hold of the girl I had been tutoring to recover her texts books and materials. I thought at the time that the safe grad and tutoring situations were stressing me out, but now I expect that I was really just focusing my anxiety about Mom on that. After the prom and safe grad, there were a few end of the year celebrations with Dartmouth High staff. Some of my friends with term teaching positions were offered jobs as soon as job fair closed. They are on the “Term Recall” list. Everyone who is on that list needs to be hired before they can hire substitutes like me. I sorted through the results of the job fair to see what was left over, and put together paper copies of my resume and a cover letter. The job application process is all online with the Halifax School Board, and they even say not to call to confirm that they got your application, but I thought some in-person resume dropping wouldn’t hurt. I rented a car and went to a few schools.

I was using my father’s laptop to put my resume together, because mine was in the shop. The CD player wasn’t working well. I got it back Monday, and they had cleared the hard drive again. I spent much of Monday and Tuesday putting everything back on my computer, until repeated appearances of the blue screen of death put an end to that. The three year warranty expires in about two weeks, I think. I called my father about borrowing his computer again, and he offered to help me pick out a new one, since it seemed like a good time to do that. My brother and my father both went shopping with me, and I purchased a desk-top computer with lots of ram and lots of hard drive space, and also a lot of crap on it that runs on start up and slows it down. I have yet to figure out what of all that I can get rid of. It took me a few days to get my new computer all set up the way I like it. In the meantime, I was also getting ready for camp. I leave tomorrow to direct camp for a week, at the camp I used to work at when I was in my undergrad. I barely have Bible Study planned, and the break down of the days, and other activities we will do, but I am packed.

I’ve also been spending a lot of time talking to a boy, and some time hanging out with him too. This boy seems to really like me, and I enjoy talking to him. I like the attention he pays me. I like his intelligence. I’m afraid though, that I’m probably just rebounding. There’s no question that I still miss Shale. I don’t want to hurt this boy, but perhaps it’s too late to think of that now. There is another guy that intrigues me. I’ve only spoken to him a few times, but it’s enough for me to wonder if maybe I’m not that serious about this other boy. And then there is my friend Basil, who lives out in the woods of Southern Nova Scotia. I’m not convinced he couldn’t be more than a friend someday too. It’s too much complication. I have been thinking that I should just give up dating for a while.

It seems like everything I do lately has to be complicated. For example, when I was printing resumes, the printer smeared ink. When I tried to clean the printer, I managed to get a piece of paper towel stuck inside. I used Swing Kid’s printer instead, but hers was also dirty. There have been countless little complications like that this week. When I was installing programs and hardware on my old computer and then my new one, I often had to install things twice, because some stupid little thing would happen. One such thing was accidentally pressing eject on the disk drive when I was trying to plug in a USB cable that would complete installation. Even figuring out how to get to camp has been an ordeal. (It's five hours away, and I don't have a car. If I took the bus down, I'd miss my friend's wedding). I finally worked it out, but it has been a week and a half of phone calls and adjustments. I feel like I’m plagued with bad luck this last little while, but I don’t really believe in luck. My explanation is that I’m out of alignment, I guess. God’s going one way, and I’m not quite with him. Perhaps I’m even generating negative energy; bringing bad things on myself. Hopefully I will have a chance to pray, and tune back into what’s going on in my life on a deeper level. Sometimes at camp I get swept up in the stress and responsibility, but really, camp is one of my favourite places on the planet. I will try to slow down and enjoy the peace and beauty of being there. I will try to listen to the wind as it whispers through the pines. I will not go hunting the bears, like I used to. I’ve seen enough of those lately.

Before I go to camp, I have a celebration to attend. Loreal is getting married today. Opal is her maid of honour, and Lapis and Peabody are in the wedding party too. It will be a fun day, and the weather looks good for a wedding. Both Opal and I will have people consolingly saying, “You’ll be next!” but we’ll try to ignore them and have a good time.

Shale Tale: The End

2006-06-14T17:58:00.000-04:00

By the time I saw Shale late in the weekend, I had decided to stop dating him, and then I had changed my mind again. I figured that at least I would put it off until the 5 month mark on Wedneday (today). Fifteen minutes into our date though, I knew there was no putting it off anymore. This would be our last date. I wanted to enjoy our time together and have the conversation when it was pretty much time to go. It was hard not to be sad. At Jack Astor’s, I grabbed the crayons before the menu. (Some of you know that I find colouring therapeutic) Along with the tree and the balloon that I drew, I wrote the Inuktitut syllabics for Taima. Taima means stop, enough, or the end. Shale probably knows what the word means because I use it often, but he can’t read syllabics. I wrote it to remind and commit myself to ending things with him. Later I took a different coloured crayon and scribbled violently over the word, but I knew it had to happen all the same. Shale asked me what it was all about, but I didn’t explain. I tried to bury my sadness after that, and I was fairly successful. Shale wasn’t happy either. His hand wasn’t quite a fist, but it was clenched some. He was carrying a lot of tension. Apparently he had decided to talk about the possibility of not dating as well.

When it finally happened, I brought it up, and he agreed. He doesn’t seem to think more of the new girl than he did me at first, but he doesn’t know what could happen with her, and figures he needs to date her a while and see. It was obvious to both of us that he couldn’t see both of us anymore. I told him that it wasn’t fair to the new girl as well as being hard on us. Also, I explained to him that things were no longer mutual. I cared about him a bit more than he cared about me, now. Maybe it was just habit or female wiring rather than romance, but the feelings were there, and I was going to get hurt. Lopsided relationships are never good. Perhaps even if he hadn’t been pursuing things with the other girl, it would have been time to quit. We agreed that we wouldn’t talk for a month, even on MSN. This was my idea. I figured that we need to force ourselves to keep our distance so that we can actually feel broken up. We’ve officially not been a couple for two months, but very little had actually changed. He thinks that we’ll be friends after the month quarantine. He doesn’t have the experience with exes to understand why I don’t think we will.

Once we had established all of this, I cried some. I told him that it didn’t seem fair to me that I had learned to accept him and he hadn’t completely learned to accept me. I told him that it wasn’t fair that he had some new girl to spend his time with and distract him from missing me, while I’d likely be lonely, as well as missing him. He agreed that it wasn’t fair. It felt to me like there was an element of competition in the relationship, and he’d won. He was less hurt, suffering less loss. The situation frustrated me some, and I hit him ever so slightly to express exasperation. He told me I could punch him a few times if I wanted. I guess he felt like he deserved any abuse I wanted to fling on him, but he didn’t. I had put myself in the situation, and actually, I don’t regret it. I told him hitting him wouldn’t change anything, and that it wasn’t his fault.

After I cried, we cuddled for a while, and I felt better. Shale didn’t though. He was still carrying a lot of tension. Occasionally he would notice and try to relax. I told him that the worst was done, that nothing bad was left to happen. He was still dreading the moment that he dropped me off at home, and kissed me goodbye for the last time. I knew I wasn’t going to cry again, but I think he was expecting some drama. Shale really hates to have people he cares about sad. It’s one of the reasons that he and I are imcompatible, because sadness will likely be a perennial factor in my life. He felt miserable while I cried because he felt responsible for it. I don’t know if he felt more unhappiness because he was going to miss me, or because he felt bad for his part in making me unhappy. I didn’t cry very much, actually. We had some nice conversation, and a lot of laughs before I went home.

I was right; I didn’t cry saying goodbye. Shale did. We had just kissed goodbye when I noticed his eyes were moist. There were some actual tears before he got out the door. In these last few days, when I miss him, or feel rejected for the way things ended, I cling to the image of him wiping his tears.
“It will be okay,” I murmured, without meaning to.
“I should be the one telling you that,” he said. I shrugged. I thought of my roommates and my friends and the lonely spells that were probably coming in the days ahead. “Some one else will,” I answered.

So far, I haven’t needed too much reassurance from other people. I know it’s for the best. I miss Shale, but I’ve been keeping busy. The bridal shower for Loreal was only hours after I said goodbye to Shale. The contrast between her life and mine was a little much, and some nice lady from the church said, “You’ll be next, [Agate],” but it was still fun. One of the people keeping me company this week has been the guy I had two dates with just before Shale met his new girl. It’s been fun, but I hope I’m not just leading him on. In the next few days, I will have teaching, yard sale preparations and camp planning to distract me too. Then on Sunday I will move into my parents’ house to look after Lady while Dad is away. There will be no time for moping.

Stubborn Girl

2006-06-13T21:39:00.000-04:00

I think I need to give an update on the Shale story. A week ago, he had his second date with a girl he met online. I had met a couple of guys online, and sort of liked one of them. Wednesday morning, Shale told me how the second date went. He really liked her bubbly personality and they had a lot in common, but he wasn’t as attracted to her as he was me. I felt rather edgy talking to him about it. We were on MSN, which allowed me to hide my antsiness, but it also slowed the conversation down, drawing my slight anxiety out. He was also comparing his reaction to her with his early impression of me, which was understandable, but weird. Then he mentioned that he had caved under pressure and had promised to see her that night, even though we had both assumed that we would be hanging out. He was busy the next few days, so she had pushed to meet Wednesday night. He hadn’t told her anything about me, so he didn’t know how to get out of it. He said he would have much preferred to see me that night, but it was done.

I had been edgy talking about what he thought of this girl, so when I learned that he was seeing her a third time instead of seeing me, and that we wouldn’t be able to see each other in the next few days either, I was emotional. I felt disappointed, and also furious. I couldn’t believe he hadn’t reserved any time for me. I expressed my disappointment, and then got in the shower, where I yelled and swore at him for a while. In literature it’s called an apostrophe, when you address people who aren’t present. Then I talked to some other random people, and after an hour I was no longer PISSED, just disappointed again. In the end, he came over to visit on his way home from work, before getting ready for his date. We were happy to see each other. The incident made it obvious to me, though, that it was time for things to change.

During his visit, we talked about things. I realized a few days before that I was more fond of him than I had been. I used to think that he was too normal and boring for me, but I no longer thought of him that way. I had discovered his eccentricities and they seemed amusing and endearing to me. A few days before, when we had last hung out, Shale told me that when he was with me, he wondered why we were dating other people. Now that I was saying that I was feeling more attached to him, he reminded me of the other side of it. He said I was stubborn, because I don’t let myself be influenced much by my friends. I think he means that I’m self-directed. I have my own opinions ideas behind the reasons why I do or don’t do things, and I stick to them, for the most part. His only concrete example of this was that I refuse to straighten my hair and wear pink and black a lot just because that’s his idea of feminine beauty. I don’t like black or pink, and they don’t look good on my anyway, and I like my hair the way it is. He also pointed out that he has nothing to say about God, and I will never stop caring about God, and neither of us were likely to budge on the subject. This conversation reminded me that as much as things have been feeling better lately, we are still very different people, and some of the things that I value about myself, he sees as drawbacks.

Later that night, I had a drink with Milhouse and his ex girlfriend. Milhouse was pretty hard on me about the Shale story. I have a number of friends who have known me a long time, and they have a way of stripping through my bullshit in a few key sentences. Milhouse said perhaps I was dating Shale and other people because I enjoyed the drama and attention of telling everyone about it. When I explained that Shale and I had continued dating because we had no reason not to, he asked me if I was that weak, that I had to wait for something to happen before I did something. Did I have no willpower of my own? Now, Milhouse was not really being fair. He himself had dated the girl he was sitting next to for over a year after telling me he didn’t love her and probably never would. Since she was sitting next to him at the time, I couldn’t point this out to him. I just gave him a heavy look and hoped she didn’t notice. Milhouse did get me thinking. Filmore, another friend of a similar vintage, commented on the last post about Shale that he sounded worse than my first boyfriend. I wrote to Linus about the conversations I had with Shale Wednesday, and also subjected the poor guy to a poem I’d written venting some of the confusion about things. Linus suggested that perhaps it was time to end things with Shale.

It seems ironic to me that the opinions of these three friends from my university days would be so important to me as I tried to sort things out about Shale. Here he was saying that I was stubborn and not influenced enough by other people, and I had to hear from other people to help me figure out my reaction to that.

It’s time to go see my parents at the chemotherapy clinic. I’ll write the last chapter of the Shale Tale later.

I love my attic

2006-06-05T16:18:00.000-04:00

I have many, many things stored in my attic, such as boxes of books, magazines, costumes, and craft supplies for the day that I’m a full time teacher, as well as filing boxes, the old plywood box bed that my family insisted I sleep on for three years when I moved out, and some chairs with a lamp for hanging out up there. I also have some things that I’m hoping to sell at the next neighbourhood yard sale. Some of those things, such as yarn and art supplies, were left behind by Molly when she moved out. Frodo had an assortment of things, and a few of them remain today, such as a lovely warm corduroy trenchcoat, and a large unfinished painting on canvas that some girl started of him. There are many other things that were in the attic since I moved here. I can guess at how some of them got there, and others are a mystery. Here’s a list.

8 window panes (most of them with wooden frames)
7 computer monitors
2 computer towers, 2 keyboards, 2 mice
a beta machine
an amp
a jib sail
a small loom (I think)
3 pairs of converses (different sizes)
3 other pairs of sneakers
a lonely right brown sandal (size 11—would have been perfect for the bridesmaid’s dress if there were only two)
a yellow hanging banner with a brown sun
a drafting table
an easel
a ceramic musical horn that looks like it came out of a Dr Seuss book
an ugly brown striped ceramic drinks tray that would surely spill the drinks
a bicycle
a hatchet
15 Quit Smoking Now booklets
2 Bike inner tubes
a geology book titled Niagra’s Changing Landscape
2002-2004 NSCAD calendar
a T shirt that says: “I quit”
2 cloth bags
4 cans of paint
a rather large container of cat nip
a picture frame containing a collage of photos of people I’ve never met
a multi-media collage/drawing
a paint scraper
a purple, blue and maroon wooden step ladder
a glider chair (without cushions)
a little green mat

Breaking Up is Hard to Do.

2006-05-23T14:34:00.000-04:00

As I reported weeks ago, Shale and I broke up Easter weekend, or at least officially. We still hang out two or three times a week. Aside from the fact that we split the bill at the restaurant now, nothing much has changed. On the other hand, as I type this, I’m talking to some guy who found me on Lava Life. I talk to a few, but I’m not excited about most of them. One guy I already consider to be a friend, but I’m not sure we’d go beyond that if we did meet. I’m beginning to think that I’m flawed somehow. Maybe it’s not in my character, maybe just in my current attitude, but I seem to have trouble caring that much about people. I find myself feeling cynical and distant about guys. On the other hand, now that Shale and I have established that we both want to find someone better for us, I feel closer to him. Perhaps this is my old trick of liking people who are unavailable. Perhaps my feeling of increased attachment is genuine. I don’t know. All I know is that it’s been four days since I’ve seen him, and I miss him. I am waiting for him to call. I don’t know if he misses me as much as I do him. I don’t know if he even likes me as much as I do him. Perhaps, but we’re different people, and experience and express things differently. For instance, although I don’t want to be his girlfriend, or spend my life with him, I do get rushes of emotion for him, and I say, “I like you.” He never says that of me. I have been assuming that while he must like me on some level, but perhaps he wasn’t conscious of me. I thought maybe he was just enduring me for the company. Lately that has been bothering me. A couple of times, I’ve even felt sad about it in his presence, which is odd because I’ve usually been happy around him. The other day, when I blurted out, “I like you,” I then thought about how he might feel hearing that. It probably seemed unnecessary to him, and since it was always met with silence, maybe he didn’t like it. Maybe he wondered if he should say, “I like you too,” even if he didn’t want to. So I replied to myself on his behalf. “Good for you, Agate,” I said, and laughed a little. We were on the way outside for a walk. I noticed as we left the house that I had had a mood swing, and said as much to him. “Yeah, I noticed that,” he said. I thought that it came out of nowhere. I was feeling uncertain, and sad. I had thought to bring my camera, for example, while we were just 10 feet from my bedroom, but I didn’t go get it because the delay might have annoyed him. That was how I noticed the mood swing. Shale said that he knew because I had made the comment, and he felt like it was a jab at him. I hadn’t meant it as a jab, I was laughing at myself for telling him something he didn’t care to hear. I thought that the mood swing was after the comment, maybe caused by the idea behind the comment, but I wouldn’t have thought of that if Shale hadn’t mentioned it. I was walking along, thinking about mood swings, when he said, “I like you too, you know” I told him he didn’t have to say that just because he knew I wanted to hear it, and he told me that it was true, depending what “like” meant. I told him that when I use it, I don’t mean that I’m in love with him or anything, just that I enjoy him. He said that I’m a special friend, closer to him than his others, and important to him. He has always been bad at saying things like “I love you” to his mother and grandmother, but he knows that people need to hear it. I figured that logically the guy had to like me to spend so much time with me, and treat me the way he does, but it was nice to hear him say it. It is quite strange that I still want to know what Shale thinks of me, while I go about trying to find other people to date. This is a rather unconventional arrangement we have. Although I like it, I wonder how it will turn out in the end. That’s really the only trouble with it---that it inevitably has to end.

Ding Dong!

2006-04-27T12:06:00.000-04:00

The girl is gone! What old girl? The roommate girl!
Ding Dong, the silly girl is gone!

I’ve had the tune to “Ding Dong, the Witch is Dead” in my head since yesterday evening when my roommate started moving her things out. She wasn’t a witch in that she was really not very malicious, but she was incredibly hard to live with all the same. She’s also not dead or dying, but she’s gone, and that’s good enough for me. The minute she left the building in the evening to meet the boys who were going to help her move, I let out a squeal of excitement, and Swing Kid and I hugged each other and jumped around the room with joy. Then we grabbed Swing Kid’s girlfriend and did it again.

My needy roommate to whom I never assigned a pseudonym gave me twelve dollars last night to cover the cost of all the things she broke while she was here. I suppose twelve dollars begins to cover it, but not entirely. I’m okay with that. I would rather her out of my house than have her here but all my glassware replaced. There will be no more stupid questions like, “[Agate], should I put this roast beef that I’m throwing out in the compost, or down the toilet?” “[Swing Kid], can you help me? The light bulb in this lamp is out but I don’t know how to get it out” (Swing Kid asked her if she had a new light bulb to replace the old one, and her response was: “Well no, but I’m sure we have some…” She relied on us to supply many, many things for her.) There will be so much less mess in the house. No dishes left to sit for days, no garbage left wherever she happens to leave it, no bananas rotting for weeks on the counter. There will be room in the freezer for our food now that her Popsicles and Taters and ice cream and uncounted pounds of meat are gone. There will be no more theatrical moaning to herald her arrival from work, or to punctuate the evenings and early mornings. There will be no more shuffling of dirty pink slippers accompanied by tremendous, house shuddering thuds as she walks to the bathroom several times a night. There will be no more loud, belligerent telephone conversations that can be heard all over the house. Even her laughter is obnoxiously loud, and irritating.

The silly girl is not “Positively, absolutely, Undeniably and reliably [Gone]” She is staying at her new apartment now, but she will be back Saturday morning to take one last item, and Sunday afternoon to clean the room out. Personally, I’d prefer to clean it myself today and start transforming it into a living room right away, but the girl has always been irresponsible, and I don’t want her to lose an opportunity to clean up after herself. She probably will clean it as best as she knows how, and then we will go in and clean it some more. Today or tomorrow I will wash the blankets that she used in the TV room so much. She had a strong scent. It wasn’t sweat exactly, but it also wasn’t entirely pleasant, and it kept us from sitting in the sitting room much even when she wasn’t there. It would help if we could open the windows, but last fall when the window man replaced all the windows in the house, he failed to remove the old ones. That mistake gave us some added insulation in the winter, but now we can’t get the old ones opened. We managed to get the one in the sitting room up, but none of the three in the silly girl’s bedroom. It’s infuriating. I’m tempted to break the glass and pick up the pieces outside. We need new air in that room, and we will need open windows in the summer anyway. It gets as hot in the summer as it is cold in the winter.

Swing Kid’s girlfriend will be moving in. This will not be much of a change, as she has stayed here every night that Swing Kid did since late November anyway. All it will mean is that they will not be going to her parents’ place overnight anymore, and her stuff will be here. This is how the silly girl’s room (formerly Frodo’s room) will soon be a living room. It is a big room on the front of the house with bay windows. It will be a great common space. We haven’t really had one at all since the girl moved in because she treated our little sitting room like her second bedroom. She even slept in there a lot.

People consider me to be a nice and often helpful person. I wish the best for everyone, and that includes this silly roommate, but I am absolutely delighted that she will no longer be here to depend on me. I felt like we were parents of a 15 year old. She came and went independently, but she was very irresponsible in the house, and she lacked problem solving and comprehension skills. Her maturity level was about that of a 15 or 16 year old, as well. She has had a very hard life, and she has good reasons for being as clueless and needy as she is, but that doesn’t make me want to live with her. I didn’t ask her to leave or do anything on purpose to make her feel unwelcome, but I cringed a bit everyday when she came in and banged her keys on the counter beside the door. I dreaded her return home. I avoided her in the house. Sometimes it was apparent in my tone of voice that I found her annoying or rather unclever. Swing Kid was not any more tolerant than I was. We each had different things that we could handle. Swing Kid was better with the stupid everyday domestic questions. I was better with her emotional outbursts and rants. Now we are both liberated from the burden of her presence in our apartment. We’re delighted. We are so happy, we might even throw a party.

Unemployment Sucks

2006-04-21T05:43:00.000-04:00

It’s been a rough week. It started late Maundy Thursday night, with a conversation with Shale about where we stand with each other, and how we feel about each other. We decided that we have a lot of fun, but we’re too different to be together long term. We are still dating, but we’re also free to date other people. This conversation was not the first on the topic. We had discussed our options before, and I had decided what I wanted, and brought the decision to him. In the process though, he said something that made me wonder if we should have been breaking up altogether.
“Do you even like me at all?” I asked. I asked this thinking of some things that he had said and not said in the previous week and a half. He paused a long time, trying to find the right words.
“Well, I don’t dislike you…”
Shale later went on to explain that while he thinks that I’m a good or cool person, he is often annoyed with me. Our differences make it hard for him to relate. I can understand that, but his original answer rankles.

Then Good Friday afternoon, I moved to my parents’ house for the weekend. Lady had had her second bout of chemo two days before, so she was quite sick. It was a scheduled, expected sickness, but it was still very hard to see her like that. Having been sick all winter and unable to see her, all of this has probably seemed less real to me than it has for my father and brother who live with her. Aside from cleaning up from the dinner table a couple of times, I did no house work while I was there. I didn’t really do anything helpful at all. I hid Easter candies around the house for my mother to find Sunday morning, and candies in my brother’s room for him. Sunday morning, Mom was too sick to go to church, although she really wanted to. I wanted to go too, but I didn’t think it was fair to go when she couldn’t. I got Dad’s Baptist Hymnal out ( he received it at some conference the year the books came out in 1973) and we sang “Christ the Lord is Risen Today.” It is Lady’s favourite Easter song. I also played the Joe Wyse record that we listen to every Easter, and I spent time sitting with Lady and trying to make her feel better, but I did nothing useful. Lady was very grateful for my presence all weekend, and thanked me several times for playing Easter Bunny. She was so touched that she cried, but I didn’t feel that I had done enough for her.

I went home Sunday night so that I’d be here to hang out with Opal Easter Monday. There is no school on Easter Monday here. We had a nice time. I hoped the someone would call with a substitute job request, but none came. For the rest of the week, I have waited for the phone to ring. The automatic TEMP finder system calls my cell phone, so I can leave the house without fretting about missed calls.

I sent Frodo the last of his things this week because I had the time to do it. I packed them into two boxes, and carried them the 7 blocks to the post office. The boxes were 12.8 kg, and 9.3 kg, so it wasn’t really wise to carry them, but I was in a self-destructive mood. He’s been asking all winter for his things, but he has not paid me for any of the previous three or four boxes I have sent him, so I didn’t really owe him anything. I have felt them hanging over me though, so I sent them to get it over with. I have a tendency to feel bad about things I shouldn’t feel bad about. Frodo’s boxes are an example of that. I regret sending them because it makes me a loser. He got what he wanted. I did not, and this is a week when every dollar counts.

I didn’t expect a “thank you” from Frodo because I have failed to receive one from him before, but I sent him an email informing him of his mail all the same. I happened to be online early yesterday morning when he was replying to the email. There was a “Thanks!” in the message, but then in our IM conversation he said the following:
“Yeah, thanks for that. I’ll send you some money sometime, when I don’t think you should be shat out an airplane.”

I knew he needed to be told to trample off, (as the Moose in Brother Bear would say) but instead I explained to him a few things. I told him that there were two drivers of cars at the house the day that I packed the boxes, and neither would take me to the post office with the boxes because they didn’t think I should be sending them, and that in fact, it had been suggested that I burn the stuff rather than send it. He asked who the drivers were, and then what other people thought of him, so I told him. I told him what everyone thought of him. None of them were his friends—only acquaintances through me. He was a bit blown away. He’s so caught up in his paranoia and mental ugliness, that he was oblivious to the fact that he is usually a complete and utter ass to me. I actually got an apology from him. I don’t imagine I’ll get my money, but he said he was sorry. I chatted with Frodo for just over two hours. I had already been feeling anxious before our talk, and after that, I was emotionally wiped out, and it was 9:15 in the morning.

All week I have tried to be productive with my spare time. Besides sending Frodo’s things packing, I cropped and resized some digital pictures, got them printed up on glossy paper, and arranged them on my bulletin board. I read a book about small town life in Ontario. I went for a long walk in the one moment of sunshine that we had. I get my taxes done at the accountant’s (they’re complicated with Northern sick leave, etc). I bought my groceries and drugstore needs. I did some banking. I gave blood.

It’s 8:20 am Friday, and I have not heard from any schools at all. I have housework I can do, but it doesn’t pay the bills. This is one of those weeks when I wonder why I am trying to teach in Nova Scotia. I would make so much more if I went to Ontario, so some other province. There are places where I could be teaching fulltime, not substituting. I came home for health reasons, but I could probably leave again now. I chose to stay because I love Nova Scotia, and I don’t want to contribute to the brain drain. If we all move West or to the US for jobs, what is our home province left with?

Two weeks ago, I had a pay check of $202 It should have been three hundred, but they forgot to pay me for a day. Yesterday I got a pay of $977.54 (two full weeks of work plus the lost day from the previous pay check.) Last week I worked 3 out of 4 available days, and this week I worked zero out of four available days. I will get three hundred dollars for these last two weeks. I get nothing for the Easter holiday. I pay $300 a month for student loans, $300 for rent, plus electricity, oil heat, phone, internet and groceries. Cold and flu season is over, so less teachers will be out. Most inservices are over for the year, so teachers less teachers will be out. I am wondering how I’m going to pay my bills, but if I get a part time job somewhere, I will miss opportunities to teach that could lead to a position down the road.

I was thinking about all of this the other day, when I happened to see the news story that our dear former Premier John Hamm suggested that university graduates who leave the province should have to pay the tax payers back for their contribution to university funds (even though the province pays less to universities than most other provinces). I’m wondering how long I can survive my current situation in this province, and why I’m so devoted to trying to stay here, when I could probably get a real teaching job somewhere else. Now my former Premier is basically saying that not only does he not understand what my generation is going through here, he doesn’t care. We have the highest tuition of all North America, and one of the saddest economies, and yet he thinks we should be penalized for going where we can find a job to pay our student loans back. I don’t know the man personally, but I feel like I’ve been slapped in the face.

I’ve been really discouraged and frustrated this week. Yesterday on my walk, I composed a letter in my head to John Hamm. I arrived home to discover that the lock on the front door is not functioning well anymore. I fought for about five minutes to get my key in the lock. Normally that would be annoying, but not the end of the world. Yesterday I cried. Sick parents, inadequate relationships, underemployment and the small frustrations of everyday life are piling up around me, and I’m not handling them well.