Wednesday, March 29, 2006

Ticker talk...

Do you believe in true love? Do you think there is one perefect person we're meant to be with? Do you think we are not complete until that person comes into our lives?


Do you think it's possible to build a future and be in love with a number of different people? Do you think we choose someone who has what we want in a life partner based on our values?

I've been thinking a lot about both views since my friend e-mailed me looking for love advice.

I told her the following:

  • Don't look so hard
  • The more we look the more we risk finding what we DON'T want.
  • It's better to be alone than with the wrong person.
  • Realationships are meant to be happy and enjoyable, not hurtful or stressful.
  • Think about what qualities you're looking for in a person.
  • Develop those qualities in yourself.
  • Treat yourself kindly.
  • You are OK all by yourself.

I've had my share of loney days, sour break-ups, fights, and good times too. Heartbreak aside, being in love is the greatest feeling in the world. Everything around me becomes sweeter and more alive. Sometimes love doesn't last. When the feeling goes away, it hurts. We are left wondering how something that felt so good before could hurt so much now. We analyse, second guess, cry, and dwell. Sooner or later, we let it go. We move on wiser than we were. Is it worth all the pain we wonder? If we are lucky, love comes again and we risk it all a second time.

I know it does feel different when we meet the right person. We just know. It's not that we're complete or whole, it's that life is better together.

Natalie Merchant says, "Life is sweet, in spite of the misery." I think she meant love too.


Tuesday, March 28, 2006

There's no place like home...

Remember how I mentioned having a yucky stomach a few days ago? I thought maybe it was in my head. It wasn't. Yesterday I woke up with a full blown tornado in my belly. I couldn't leave my bed, and let's just say what followed was rather messy. The poor person who helped me had to do all the dirty work. She was so sweet. I could tell she felt sorry for me. On top of the messiness, I had to hurry to catch a bus home. I left thankful that I had good help in my worst moments. I hope she knows how much it meant to me.

My visit home was short. I wanted to stay and sleep in my "old" bed. I wanted to stay and get a little TLC from Mom, good food, and just to feel cared for. When I'm sick, I always miss home. The sheets smell better, the juice is fresh, the tea is hot, the towels are clean and there is always someone who asks if I'm feeling better. Mom was worried about me last night. I doubt she slept much. I guess Moms are always going to worry...

Since moving out, I've had to make it through sick days alone. On these days, I can't even stand myself. I am lucky to have people around me who care about me and call to see how I am. It reminds me that I can't be all that bad. I'm still not my best self yet, but I'm alright. Part of me wants to go home, but I won't.

Maya Angelou said, "I long to be home wherever I find myself." For me, this is when I'm with my family and people I love. I can always go home and feel safe and loved. Beyond that, I know that if I ever get lost, I'll be able to find my way back.


Sunday, March 26, 2006


I am grumpy right now.
I miss home.
I have a yucky stomach.
I am lonely.
I wish the Observer were here.
I am loathing in self-pity.
I have no reason to do this.
I have love.
I have friends.
I have family.
I have independence.
I have coffee.
I have food.
I have clothes.
I have shoes.
I have a wheelchair.
I have the use of a computer.
I have a TV.
I have music.
I have books.
I have an apartment.
I have confidence.
I have a bed.
That's a lot more than some people have.
I am lucky.
I just don't feel that way today.
But I know I am.


Saturday, March 25, 2006

Skinny jeans...

Do you have a pair of skinny jeans? I do. I'm wearing mine now. If you're a guy, you probably have no idea what I'm talking about. That's OK; I'll explain. Skinny jeans are jeans that fit when I'm thin, not-as-thin-as-I used-to-be and just in a bit of bulkier-than-normal state. No matter how much I've eaten, or not eaten, I can always count on my skinny jeans to fit. They're worn in, stretched out, faded and broken in. Skinny jeans are the best when I just want to be comfortable. They are also great for when I'm bloated and feeling fat. On the days when I feel like a fat cow, I can wear my skinny jeans and feel better. Mine cling to my body, but I still like them.

I have to admit that when I first bought my skinny jeans from Old Navy five years ago, they were loose, but I'm OK with my bigger self. It's taken time to accept this new, not stick-thin me, but my skinny jeans have helped. They have reassured me, that even though my body has changed, some things still fit. If you can't tell, I worry about my weight a lot. I don't consider myself vain, it's just that I want to be healthy and my very best self.

I saw an episode of Sex and the City a while ago where Miranda was happy because she fit into her skinny jeans after having a baby. I guess we all have a pair. There's just something comforting about a pair of pants that always fit.


Thursday, March 23, 2006

A cold shower....

Every morning someone comes to help me get out of bed. I never know who is coming through my door. Sometimes I like the person; sometimes I don't. Either way, I need help getting up, showered, and ready for the day. I'm stuck with whoever shows up. There are days when I want to say, "You are rude and lazy. Get out my face," but I can't. I smile and say, "Good morning."

I have places to go and people to see, so I need to be clean. I need to feel like me. Most mornings I shower. Usually the person who gets me out bed helps me. No questions. No refusals. No grief - until two weeks ago.

This lady I don't particularily enjoy came to get me out bed. I know I made a sour face when I saw her as I pulled my head from under the covers. She smiled fakely. "Good morning. What are we doing today?" I told her I needed a shower. She said she didn't have time. "Well, I really need one," I said, hiding my discontent. The lady groaned. I knew she was not pleased. I knew she didn't like her job. I knew I didn't like her, but I also knew that didn't matter. I just needed my shower and a cup of coffee.

I was bitter all through my shower. What right did she have to complain? She showered every day. What couldn't I? I wanted to say, "You are laaazy. You have little compassion. When you're old and can't shower yourself, I think you'll feel bad about how you treated me." However, I knew this wouldn't help.

I've mulled over the incident for the last two weeks. I'm still mad at the lazy lady. Today I thought of exactly what I should have said.

"You look like you take good care of yourself. You must shower every day."


Tuesday, March 21, 2006

At This Point In My Life...

Done so many things wrong
I don’t know if I can do right
At this point in my life
I’ve done so many things wrong
I don’t know if I can do right

If you put your trust in me
I hope I won’t let you down
If you give me a chance I’ll try
You see it’s been a hard road
the road I’m traveling on

And if I take your hand
I might lead you down the path to ruin
I’ve had a hard life
I’m just saying it so you’ll understand
That right now, right now,
I’m doing the best I can
At this point in my life

At this point in my life
Although I’ve mostly walked in the shadows
I’m still searching for the light

Won’t you put your faith in me
We both know that’s what matters
If you give me a chance I’ll try

You see I’ve been climbing stairs
but mostly stumbling down
I’ve been reaching high
always losing ground

You see I’ve been reaching high but
always losing ground
You see I’ve conquered hills
but I still have mountains to climb
And right now
right now I’m doing the best I can
At this point in my life

Before we take a step
Before we walk down that path
Before I make any promises
Before you have regrets
Before we talk commitment

Let me tell you of my past
All I’ve seen and all I’ve done
The things I’d like to forget

At this point in my life
At this point in my life
I’d like to live as if only love mattered
As if redemption was in sight
As if the search to live honestly
Is all that anyone needs
No matter if you find it

You see when I’ve touched the sky
The earth’s gravity has pulled me down
But now I’ve reconciled that in this world
Birds and angels get the wings to fly

If you can believe in this heart of mine
If you can give it a try
Then I’ll reach inside and find and give you
All the sweetness that I have
At this point in my life
At this point in my life
At This Point In My Life

Monday, March 20, 2006

Beautiful Buford...

I miss my old goldfish, Buford. He's three and a half - not bad for a goldfish. All of my other goldfish have lasted a month max. My brother, Shane bought me Buford when I moved into my first apartment. I picked his name because I liked it, not realizing it was from a 1970's movie called Walking Tall where the character Buford gets murdered. My Buford is one tough boy. He's survived starvation, overfeeding, extreme temperature changes and constipation. He's been through a lot with me including moving, grumpy people, bad meals, exams, the flu, break-ups and everything I've forgotten to mention. We go way back Buford and I. He was, and still is, the only roomate I've ever had. We've had deep heart-to-heart chats over the years. He's a great listener, never judges, and lets me do the talking.

When I moved to a new apartment over six months ago, Buford was slightly neglected. All the changes put his meals and bowl cleanings on the back burner. When I realized he almost fried in my sun room, I knew Buford needed a home where he could get regular meals and consistent bathing, but that wasn't too far from me. My parents' house seemed to be the perfect home for Buford. He sits high atop my bathroom shelf beside a plant far away from our impish cat, Jack. I think Buford thinks he is in the Amazon. He's happy. We still converse when I'm home and nature calls. I miss him being a room away, but his well-being is more important.

The thing I love about Buford is that he's not your typical orange goldfish. He is white. Buford has a funky, unique edge. To me, anything a little different from the norm is beautiful and deserves respect. Buford is no excepton.


Saturday, March 18, 2006

The never-ending ring......

People complain that I never pick up the phone. I do. Living alone means the phone is always for me. Sometimes I just don't feel like talking at that particular moment but rest assured, if you call me, I will call you back at some point. Some people just keep calling, one time after another. It does take me longer to get to the phone at times, but there is no need to call back three or four times in a row. I have caller ID. I will see your number and call you back as soon as I can. I also check my messages ASAP, so if someone were dying, stranded or in trouble, I'd respond pronto.

When I'm doing something where I need to focus, I ignore the phone. Rude, yes it is, but when I'm on a mission, nothing gets in my way. If I'm writing and am on a roll, forget the phone! What if I lose my train of thought or inspiration? It's a risk I cannot take.

All ranting aside, I feel lucky to have people in my life who care about me and want to talk. If the phone didn't ring every once in a while, I'd be lonely. On the days when the ringing just won't stop, I need to remember that it could be worse.....


Friday, March 17, 2006


I'm tired. Really tired. I did NOTHING today. I slept, drank coffee, took pills, ate, watched some telly, saw the Observer, said goodbye to the Observer and now here I am. Tough life, eh? On the way to see me, the Observer missed his bus through the fault of a messed up public transportation system. He had to wait another hour for a ride. Poor Observer. Having missed my bus more than a few times, I know the panic, stress, frustration, and boredom involved in waiting those hours. The only good thing that comes from waiting for the bus is that I really appericiate making finally it home. We had a short visit, but it was sweet, as always.

I learned an important lesson when I forgot to take my nightly dose of medication. When I realized I had done this, I took a stronger dose the next day to undone the damage. Bad mistake. I take laxatives. I couldn't leave the toilet the following morning. Applying this lesson to life in general, I guess I realized that, when we make mistakes, it's best to admit it, learn from it, and let it go. Trying to correct or overcompensate can cause more damage.

I watched the first disc of Oprah's anniversary DVD this afternoon. The Observer burned it. It was pretty high quality. Anyway, there was this one clip about a woman suffering from Anorexia. Tracy Gold, a recovering Anorexic was telling her to nourish her brain with food so she could think. The woman, who was gravely ill, looked at Tracy with desperation and asked "How?"

Oprah pointed out that "how" is the question of life. How do we succeed? How do we feel better? How do we make money? How do we make peace with ourselves? How do we let go? Sadly, the woman died, but I'm sure her legacy will live on. I'm sure people ask, how can someone stop eating? It's so much more than food. The real question ought to be, how are people made to feel so unworthy that they stop taking care of themselves? This applies to any type of inner pain. We all fight our own battles. It's just that some are more obvious than others.

In the face of every battle, we need support. We may not always win, but at least there are people around who believe in us. Most of life's how's can be answered with one simple thing: the power to believe in ourselves and our ability to learn from whatever battles are in front of us. If you're reading this, take a minute to remember every person who believes in you. Then say thank you, because sometimes they are all we have.


Thursday, March 16, 2006

Hold On...

Hold on to yourself for this is gonna hurt like hell.
Hold on Hold on to yourself. You know that only time can tell
What is it in me that refuses to believe
this isn't easier than the real thing.
My love, you know that you're my best friend.
You know that I'd do anything for you
and my love let nothing come between us

my love for you is strong and true.
Am I in heaven here or am I...
At the crossroads I am standing.
Oh god if you're out there won't you hear me.
I know we're never talked before
and oh god the man I love is leaving
won't you take him when he comes to your door.
Am I in heaven here or am I in hell
at the crossroads I am standing.
Hold on
hold on to yourself for this is gonna hurt like hell.
Sarah McLaughin (HOLD ON)

* I heard this song on the radio today. I bought the album Fumbling Towards Ectasy when I was about thirteen. It's a work of art. The song made me remember so much of my bittersweet past. All of the good, bad, ugly, funny and sad times. I smiled at the end of the song, which is a good sign I guess. Maybe those years weren't all that horrible. They say we need to know where we came from to know where we are. This song helped me do that. - OCG *

Wednesday, March 15, 2006

To shave or not to shave? To know or not know?

Today I saw a man with shaved legs wearing shorts. Weird. They were so smooth. I couldn't stop looking at them. I wanted to laugh. I smiled at him instead. I hear men who are in competitive sports like swimming do this. It made me remember how my twin brother shaved his armpits when he was ten because he saw me do it. I don't think he shaves them anymore.

I had a cup of tea with dinner. Anyone who really knows me would find this shocking because, if you haven't noticed, I'm a coffee gurl. My tummy was feeling a bit stormy. Tea just seemed to go better with my dinner which was a tea biscuit, an apple and two pieces of licorice. (I have quite the sweet tooth!) I enjoyed it and the storm seems to have passed.

You know what I've realized? Feeling sick is awful, but when whatever bug bit us moves on, we feel twice as good as we did before we even got sick.

Do you think honesty is the best policy? Not me. Some things I just don't want to know. They are so many pointless details floating around. I don't see the purpose of people passing on hurtful information if it's not important. Say a good friend of mine heard another friend of mine comment that I'm chunky. The friend who heard this shouldn't tell me. I don't need to know. All it will do is make me feel bad. If I'm chunky, I'll say so myself. If I haven't noticed, I will sooner or later. I don't need to hear it from another mouth. OK, I'm feeling chubby today, which is why I'm talking so much about weight. On the honesty front though, I think it's important to use discretion.

That said, there are things we need to be told, even though it will sting. Things like death, infidelity, failure, and other stuff are best dealt with up front, because these things have impact. I'd want to know if a loved one died so I can honour a life. I'd want to know if I flunked a course so I'd know what I need to work on. I'd want to know if my boyfriend were having a steamy affair so I'd realize we're not meant for each other. I'd want to know if I were deathly ill so I could make every day count.

Before telling someone else any important, but maybe-hurtful information, I'm learning to ask myself the following:

  • Does this person really need to know this?
  • What will happen or not happen?
  • How will he or she benefit from knowing this?

If I can't come up with solid answers to these questions, I keep my mouth shut. Obviously the world will not end if so-and-so isn't told he or she needs a mint.

Like everything else in life, honesty is complicated. We learn as we go that not every bad hair days needs announcing, not every cruel comment needs repeating, and not every man with shaved legs wearing shorts needs to be told he looks weird.

If you think this blog is boring, don't tell me! I don't need to know. If you like it, well, that's a different story.....


Tuesday, March 14, 2006

Paint Brush...

I keep my paint brush with me
Wherever I may go,
In case I need to cover up
So the real me doesn't show.

I'm so afraid to show you me,
Afraid of what you'll do - that
You might laugh or say mean things.
I'm afraid I might lose you.

I'd like to remove all my paint coats
To show you the real, true me,
But I want you to try and understand,
I need you to accept what you see.

So if you'll be patient and close your eyes,
I'll strip off all my coats real slow.
Please understand how much it hurts
To let the real me show.

Now my coats are all stripped off.
I feel naked, bare and cold,
And if you still love me with all that you see,
You are my friend, pure as gold.

I need to save my paint brush,though,
And hold it in my hand,
I want to keep it handy
In case someone doesn't understand.

So please protect me, my dear friend
And thanks for loving me true,
But please let me keep my paint brush with me
Until I love me, too.

Written by ©Bettie B. Youngs

Monday, March 13, 2006

Grinning Grandpa...

Grandpa will be eighty years old next month. He's one of a kind. Maybe everyone says that about their grandfather, but mine really is. Grandpa used to be a pilot. His hearing is shot from all those years in the cockpitt. He can't hear normal volume speech. He can only hear yelling, so that's what we do. I'm not a regular yeller; only for Grandpa. My voice is quite soft, but I really belt it out for him.

After years of severe leg cramping and a numb bottom, Grandpa retired from flying and moved into the country where he farmed sheep, cats, chickens, and sometimes turkeys. Much of my childhood was spent on the farm. I learned to value animals and the fresh food they gave us. Fresh eggs taste better than grocery store eggs. Lamb was never on our plates. Sheep were our friends, not our food. I was lucky enough to watch the birth of a few baby lambs. The sight of blood gets to me most of the time, but strangely never during baby lamb birthdays. I loved feeding them with baby bottles and hearing the "baaaaa" that can only come from real live sheep. Grandpa would sometimes nurse a sick or premature lamb in the kitchen of his warm house. Grandma never complained when she saw wooden boxes full of woll being laid beside her stove. Even with the highest hopes and extra care, Grandpa taught us that not every animal is meant to be with us. He never took losing any of his farm family well.

Unfortunately loss was not unfamilar to Grandpa. He lost his first wife to cancer in her early thirties leaving him to raise three children alone. Love blessed Grandma again nearly a decade later when he met my Grandma, a classy flight attendant who was wise and knew how to cook. Grandma doesn't say too much, but every once in a while, she'll say something that reminds us that it's the witty ones who choose their words carefully. Grandma's cooking always makes me happy to be alive. Her pies are in my dreams. Grandma met his match in Grandma.

When my uncle was in flying school at the age of twenty, he crashed a plane and lost his life. His plane began to go down not far from Grandpa's house and close enough for him to view the heartbreaking crash. I've often heard Grandpa say, "There are some things in life we never get over. We only learn to accept them."

Age, poor health and stress has taken its toll on Grandpa. Though still quick with a joke, he has trouble remembering names and dates and often repeats the same phrases. Visits with him begin, continue and end with the words, "Roses are red. Violets are blue. It sure is nice sitting here with you." Over and over, Grandpa says the same thing. It can be sad and irriating, but at least his words are sweet. Sometimes he has a lost, confused look in his eyes, and I worry about the difficult road ahead of him. Grandpa doesn't look much like the man in the picture above, but I hope that, through each challenge he faces, Grandpa will always find a reason to grin.


Friday, March 10, 2006

Little glassless girl in a big city...

I'm not wearing my glasses. I chose this picture because I wish I was. It's late and I'm too lazy to get them. Everything is blurry. I must be getting old. My pajamas are falling down. My bottom is exposed. My hair is a mess. I must be a sight for sore eyes. Actually, my eyes are sore. I guess that's why I'm supposed to wear glasses. I love my glasses. They are Gucci. I figure; if you gotta wear 'em, wear 'em in style. Don't get me wrong: I'm not a brand name kind of girl. I'll wear whatever I like, as long as it's comfortable. I like Gap clothes, just because they are a classic style.

These guys on the street were just gay bashing outside my window. I hate that. Everyone knows this is a highly populated gay community. If you can't accept that, don't come around here. It's usually pretty peaceful. Late at night when people drink, it can get bit rowdy though. I like living in the big city. No one knows me. No one cares to. I'm just a girl in a big crowd of busy people. There are quite a few strange birds around here. People talk to walls, beg for money, ramble, sell their bodies, curse, dress in a different gender, preach, put their faces right in front of yours, sell overpriced pens and umbrellas, and do whatever it takes to get by. I guess that's what we're all trying to do; it's just that in the city, we see struggling people right before our eyes. It's less obvious everywhere else.

I grew up less than half an hour from where I live now, but it's a different world. There are no homeless people, prostitutes, drug dealers, or pan handlers in my orginal neck of the woods. There are just people who try their best to make a living or whatever makes them happy. Troubled people are everywhere, but in some places, like my stomping grounds, they are hidden. I guess it's easier for lost souls to get even more lost around here, because they are just one of a million faces on the street. Sometimes I like being just a girl no one knows. It reminds that I know who I am which is more important.

Happy weekend!


I carry your heart with me...

i carry your heart with me
(i carry it in my heart)
i am never without it
(anywhere i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing, my darling)
i fear no fate
(for you are my fate, my sweet)
i want no world
(for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are
whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart
(i carry it in my heart)
By e.e. cummings

Thursday, March 09, 2006

Coffee and heartbreak...

I am a dreamer but when I wake,
You can't break my spirit - it's my dreams you take.
And as you move on, remember me,
Remember us and all we used to be.
Goodbye My Lover (JAMES BLUNT)

This morning I awoke to my Dad holding a steaming cup of coffee in front of my nose to intice me to get out of bed. It worked.

I saw James Blunt on Oprah. What a sweet guy! His face is just so innocent and sad. It's obvious that he puts his whole heart into his music. His songs are so sad. He had to have some pretty dark days to come out with some of those lyrics. A song of his called Wisemen is getting a lot of air play. It's good, but I like Goodbye My Lover best.

A break-up hurts any way you slice it. I guess that's why most are ugly. I've never been a part of any friendly uncoupling. I wish I could thank the person for our time together, tell them it was special, that I will always care about them, and that I'll never forget them. No accusations, no insults, no games and no guilt. However, we don't always get what we wish for. I'm ashamed of a lot of my post-break-up behaviour. Most of the things I said and did were rude, impulsive, hurtful and immature. Looking back, I know I did those things to cope (or sometimes worsen) my own pain. I was also angry, but behind the bitterness was a shattered heart.

I've dated nice guys and ones who looked nicer on the outside then they were on the inside. I've made mistakes, had regrets and learned what I want in a guy, as well as what I don't want. After years of playing the game of love, I decided to start looking for someone like my Dad who thinks to bring me coffee in the morning before I've even opened my eyes. My standards went up, but that's when I found what I had been looking for all along.


Tuesday, March 07, 2006

Dana Reeve: A life of love, challenge and honesty

I am deeply shocked and saddened by the news that Dana Reeve has died. I'm not sure what to say. I cannot imagine the depth of loss that her family and friends must be feeling, in particular her young son, Will. The only positive outcome of this tragedy is that she is now with her beloved husband, Chris.

I watched Dana Reeve's interview on Oprah last year. That show made me cry more than any other I've watched. During that show, Dana talked about how important it is to confront feelings of sadness, because the only way to move past grief is to embrace it.

People say that Dana was noble to stay by her husband after his injury. I don't believe she viewed herself in this way. To me, it seemed as though she was spending her time with the person she loved. I wonder how many healthy, successful, equally-abled couples are around who haven't been blessed with the same love Dana and Christopher Reeve shared. We learned from them that physical strength and ability doesn't impact love; devotion and understanding does.

In a tribute on the Today Show, Dana Reeves was quoted as saying, "Life is not fair, so you better stop expecting it to be." She certainly showed us the truth in her words.

My prayers are with her family and every life she touched.


Monday, March 06, 2006

Sweet, sweet music and a moment...

Where did I go wrong,
I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life (THE FRAY)

It's Monday again.....another weekend over already. Mine was good- too short as always.

I went to this dance where the Observer was the DJ. He did a great job. I was proud of him. He burned a CD with my favourite songs on it. I'm now addicted to Check On It by Beyonce. Every time I hear it, I want to swing my hips. If I could walk, watch out! One day while shopping in The Gap (my favourite store) I heard this song I liked, but had no idea who sang it or what it was. The Observer sweetly asked a store employee who kindly wrote down the name of the song and band. It turned out to be called How To Save A Life by the Fray. Their song called Over My Head is also getting a lot of radio air play. If you like alternative/funky/sweet music, check them out! They're different and refreshing.

I've just got back from a nice dinner with the Observer. I had yummy pasta. I don't believe in low carb diets. God created pasta for a reason. While sitting down for coffee in the mall, this guy helped me out by moving a chair. I thanked him, our eyes met and he smiled. It was nice. He was cute. I guess the Observer knew we had, in my eyes, shared a special moment and that I thought the dude was cute, because he laughed at me for a long time. That boy can read me like a book! I like that. I also like that I can think someone is cute and he's OK with it. Maybe he was OK because the dude had a girlfriend. Either way, the moment turned into another sweet moment with the Observer when we laughed about it afterwards. That's the thing about moments; they keep going. The Observer loves Jessica Alba. When (and if) they have a "moment", I'll laugh at him too.

I have garlic breath. I wish I had more time to type, but I've got to brush my teeth!

Peace out.


Friday, March 03, 2006

A bad dream, a dirty girl, and philosophical thoughts...

I'm not sure what to write about today. Maybe that means there's really something interesting going on in my head, but it hasn't been processed yet.

I had a GOOD sleep. The kind where you wake up and think, "Ahhhh, that was just what I needed!" My night of snoozing did include a freaky dream where the Observer kissed this greasy, scanky-looking, bad dancer, shimmery-shirted girl right in front of me. It was strange, scary and just unbelievable. First of all, the shimmery-shirted girl was not pretty. I'm MUCH better looking (LOL). Second of all, the Observer would NEVER do anything like that. I know he loves me. I certainly love him. I know he knows that too.

Well, the dream woke me with a start- or a jolt to be honest. How sweet it is to open your eyes and realize whatever you thought was reality is not. This only holds true for BAD dreams though. You know how sweet dreams leave us wishing we could go back to sleep or somehow turn our dreams into the present? This doesn't happen to me much. The dreams I remember are almost always traumatic. Maybe my life is sweet enough.

I don't really feel down about being a wheelchar user, except when nature calls and then screams at me to answer, but I can't answer because I need help. Sometimes I just sit there uncomfortable. Wost case scenario is an embarrassing, gross incident....This was the unfortunate situation yesterday....ewww! nasty! yuck! Enough said! It was UGLLLY....Just be glad you weren't here. The rare times this happens, I feel sad, frustrated and helpless, but it never lasts long. A good song helps lift my spirits.

Lately, I've been thinking a lot about the idea that everything happens for a reason. I used to agree, but now I'm not so sure. Now I think some things just happen, because life just happens before our eyes. It's faith, love, support, and the courage to keep moving that help us deal with harsh reality. I think I could spend my life trying to learn why I'm disabled and never find it. Is our life determined by a series of preplanned events and regardless of what we do, we're commited to a specific destiny? I hope not. Call me niave, but I like to think the choices we make impact our future. There's a plaque in my bedroom that says, "Life is not about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself." I think it's true.

I bought the plaque a year and a half ago. I bought it for myself, because I REALLY wanted it. I hung it on the kitchen wall and never regretted buying it. I moved and hung the plaque on my new kitchen wall. On a particularly bad Monday, I came home to find the plaque shattered in pieces. My day turned from bad to horrible.

About five months after we had began dating, the Observer gave me a present. It was my plaque. I'm glad the orginal broke. I like the one he gave me better.

Well, I guess I did have a lot to say! Have a nice weekend.


Thursday, March 02, 2006

Buses and other bravado....

That bus picture looks blurry. Buses were not my friends yesterday. I live in the 416. My parents and the Observer live in the 905. When I want to see them or have meetings, I have to catch a connecting ride, because I am changing regions. This involves booking rides in advance and allowing time for delays, bad weather, and life's happenings. It's not the quickest way to ride, but after a while, it's not bad.

I had planned to go to the 905 for a meeting and meet the Observer for lunch afterwards. Well, my meeting was cancelled, but I wasn't missing my chance to have lunch with the Observer. It was short and sweet.

Already in the 905, I realized I made a mistake and was going to miss my bus. I was in deep. It's not like I can just hop on another one. Missing a wheelchair bus means long hours of waiting, pleading, demanding, redialing and self pity. The 905 transportation system kindly agreed to take me to my parents' house, instead of the connecting spot. Thank goodness for their flexibility. Thank goodness my parents were home. Thank goodnes Dad drove me back to my apartment.

I love Oprah, but not yesterday. She was interviewing Meg Ryan who is a bit strange and standoffish. She mentioned that she had been doing humanitarian work in third world countries. Out of left feild, Oprah decided to point out that she is behind building schools in Africa. So what????? We KNOW she helps those in need, but so do others. Not everything has to be about HER. Oprah shrunk her waist. Now she needs to shrink her head. I doubt she has ever had to wait hours for a bus or ask anyone to rescue her from being stranded.


Wednesday, March 01, 2006

Still I'll Rise...

Still I Rise

You may write me down in history

With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust,
I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise

Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise.
(Maya Angelou)