You Remind Me Of...

I have been thinking quite a bit, something I possibly do way too much (and hence, has given rise to this blog) but I have recently had the realization that this whole year has not been about me not wanting to go anywhere, about not feeling like I fit in, about being out of place in a strange land.

Rather, it seems I am stuck in a city that I have nothing in common with. Drive roughly an hour north and suddenly, I remember the person that I am. The person that I love to be. I am more at home in a city that I have never been to in my life than one that I have spent numerous year living in and sometimes, just coming back to.

It is strange, but I had this epiphany as I thought about my day that I had had. There were some weird bits and some wonderful bits and then some bits that were bits, but all in all, as soon as I turned off the highway earlier, I felt more me than I had in a while. And it only got better as I jumped out and started walking around - suddenly, there was not a cookie cutter parade of people but all these wonderful individuals, being brave, trying things out and not sticking to a template. I understand and appreciate that.

Looking around, there were guys that I found interesting. Suddenly, my interest was piqued, something that had not happened in a while. I found myself looking and not only looking, but being looked back at. And that felt wonderful, reminding me of past glories lived and not forgotten. I spent time with a friend and just felt more alive than I had in a while, and I was reminded of other things in my past. People I have written about here and times that were confusing, but sweet and a little bit hopeful (well, some times a lot of hopeful). And I realize that if I must live here for the next couple of years, then I should at least be living the type of life that makes me happy, especially if it is only two hours away or less. So we'll see what this leads to but I think the next year should be an interesting time. Because it is unknown, but suddenly full of much more potential than I thought possible.

Deck The Halls

In an odd way, I have been thinking about Dickens. Not because my anglophile loving self wants to loll about in some wonderful Victorian London traditions and relive the days of yore, but rather because this season always makes me a little bit nostalgic. I guess I am one of tho

se who likes to think about the figurative ghosts of Christmases past, present and future versus the actual as conjured up by Mr. Dickens himself.

Christmas past has always been wonderful to me. I have been lucky enough to be surrounded by family and when I really needed it, Christmas celebrations have always reminded me that I am blessed to have come across so many wonderful people in my travels. I can think of any number of stories, but none seems more apropos than making merry in a pub, meeting someone I fancied and being lucky enough to not be so sotted that I could not also meet a couple of new people I wanted to call ‘friend’. I also remember being entertained and being rather entertaining as well, but then again, all in the Christmas spirit. And I even remember echoing those immortal words once more “he held my hand’ to a friend far away as I tried to explain what was completely magical about all the merry moments.

Christmas present feels a bit unknown. Just three days away and I may know what I doing and who I will be spending my Christmas day with. I even know that the day after Chr

istmas (or Boxing Day as the rest of the world likes to call it) will be spent hunting down some wonderful bargains on all the things I may need next year but Christmas present still feels a bit that. Like a present. Something I have to unwrap before I am truly sure whether I want to keep it or return it. I have been a bit disappointed at friends who are near, and yet seem further away. And at the same time, I am taken aback by people I have known for ag

es, and who seem to surprise me in every moment. So I am not sure what to make of this Christmas present, but if I must make something of it, it will be grand.

And Christmas future! Ah, the twinkle that appears in my eyes. I

can imagine this more clearly than anything that it now or has gone before. Maybe because it is yet to be scripted, or perhaps because I know what I want most in my heart, I know what Christmas future will be. It will be old world and it will be snowfall. It will be forests and highlands and accents that are not my own, no matter how much I try to or inadvertently copy. It will be quaint and it will be city and it will be still, but most of all, it will be glorious because it will be everything I always wanted and everything I could have wished. And most of it, it will be surrounded by family and friends, as it always was, as it is and as it should be.

And This is Why I Hate Octobers...

As some of you may know, my life is in a lot of turmoil in the past couple of months and I have had to make the hard decision to give Cam away to a good and loving home. It is best for her, as my life is not very stable and I want her to have as much love as possible and a good home to go to.

A little bit about Cam:

I adopted her from a shelter in Chicago about four and a half years ago. She was a stray dog and when I adopted her, they said she was about four years old. That makes her about nine years old. For such a mature dog, she is still pretty sprightly but does have a bit of a stiff back left leg. I have been feeding her treats with glucosamine in them, but also the jointcare treats from Pedigree.

She is a people dog: she loves to be petted and cuddled but I have found her to be intensely loyal. She is also very protective of her owner and while she has never bitten anyone, someone with some knowledge of animals, especially dogs would deal well with her. She is fully house trained and responds to many commands, including 'high five' and 'shake'. For a dog, she prefers to take walks rather than chasing a ball or sticks, but she will run after any small animals, such as squirrels, birds, etc. and has been known to sometimes catch and kill (she is an animal and it is instinct).

As you can see in the pictures, Cam is a medium sized dog. She is under forty pounds (roughly 18 kilo). As mentioned, she is probably about nine years old. She is a mixed breed dog, but definitely part chow-chow as her tongue is mottled purple. She has a mostly black coat with some brown, grey, and white brindling on her snout and legs. She has a double coat, which means a shorter coat as well as the longer coat that you can see. This means regular brushing is a requirement, and she also tends to shed.

For the next week, I have placed Cam with an agency that will take care of her, but by Thursday, October 23rd, 2008 I will need to either have found a home for her or else I will need to take her to a no-kill shelter. I would prefer to know with whom Cam will be staying, as she has been a great companion over the past couple of years. And I think she still has so much love to give and she deserves so much love as well.

Venus

For those who know me well, you will know that I am not one who is prone to let a mood take me away. I have my ups and downs, but for the most part, I tend to be on a pretty even keel. Which I am thankful for; I have talked about some of my depressive episodes and the life lessons that have brought me low on this medium, so no need to rehash the details (or, at least, the details can easily be rehashed via the nifty archive feature) but there is something I wanted to talk about: body image.

I have a friend who reminds me that body image is subjective; every time I see her, I think how she is exactly the type of figure I would like to be - tall, shapely, but not too slender. But say that to her face and she is as likely to tell you the million and one things that she finds wrong with herself. Too tall - tall enough to be mistaken for a tranny. Too shapely, with bits jiggling and wiggling. And slender would be the ideal - stick think with no excess anything on the bones. Sometimes, to hear her talk, I feel a bit sad: that my ideal should be someone else's idea of a prison, a cruel joke, a capricious whim of life.

It makes me think I am not shooting high enough. But then I realize that it is not about beauty just being in the eye of the beholder. It is about what the beholden's eye chooses to focus on. For me, I often feel like Venus. Yes, sometimes I think of myself as some mythical goddess of love - able to inspire men to fall at my feet and offer homage (which feels particularly true of my time in England) but other times, I feel like some classically exaggerated fertility goddess. Some Venus with a rotund shape, more wobble than wiggle, and bits that go out when in fact, they should be going in.

In my saner moments - those moments where I am on an even keel or god forbid, flooded with happiness - I know that is not what I look like. I know that any wobble is a good thing as it means curves and flesh meant to be held. I know that curves that go out can be as sexy as curves that go in, almost seeming to touch each other. But in those days where my day is not going well or that outfit just does not seem to come together, I have these moments where I am monster, pretending to be a girl. I am a being from out of the clouds, but more likely meant to cause strife and despair than bring love and kindness.

Big Girl, You are Beautiful

Here's the thing - I love Halloween. I think it is one of the better holidays, as you get to dress up and be someone/something you are not in everyday life. It is all about creativity and experimenting and having a good time. And candy. So, all in all, one of the better holidays without any religious significance (at least, none that we really acknowledge) tacked on.

However, I get annoyed by the whole idea of buying a costume. Sure, I could start with how expensive it can get and how you probably will only wear said costume once; how the best are gone months in advance of Halloween or how most costumes seem to be one theme, repeated over and over again (have a black dress? Go as a zombie/witch/vampiress/sorceress/medieval woman/etc/etc). But my true pet peeve is women's costumes; specifically, plus-sized costumes.

First off, I am glad that some stores do offer a choice. No more having to design or make your own costume if you're a bit more curvy; instead, like every other female, you can walk into a store and browse and buy something ready made. But what are the options? For one thing, while 'normal' female costumes tend to trend towards the sexy end of the spectrum (i.e. sexy grave digger), plus-sized costumes have their own theme. A black sheet draped over the body to the ankles? Plus-sized witch costume. A white sheet draped over the body to the ankles? Plus-sized ghost. A white sheet draped over the body to the ankles with a gold-leaf crown? Plus-sized goddess! The message seems to be that since I am plus-sized, my body is a thing of shame and should be covered up; a thought I just have to snort derisively at.

My second irritation is the costume world's (and sometimes stores too) definition of plus-sized. According to most costume adverts, if I am a size 12 or 14, I should be buying plus-sized. What??? What happens to the girls like me who fall well into the plus-sized camp at size 20? Can't I dress up in a floor-length sheet as well for twice what a normal sized girl pays? Apparently not. I guess the thought is that fat girls like me do not need to go trick or treating - after all, was not it candy that got me into this fine mess in the first place? I feel like it's my constant crusade to mention that, like any other person, I deserve options; I deserve not to feel bad about myself just because I want something new; and not to feel that I fall so far outside of the curve that I do not deserve to show my face.

There's Something About Harry

Over the past week, I have had one person on my mind and it all started so innocently, from watching a video posted on facebook of this person - let's call him HE - singing show tunes. Now, I know the above sentence calls a couple of things to mind: 1) facebook stalking but I was not really; just trying to keep up with my friends from afar; and 2) singing showtunes but trust me, he is not gay, just uber-talented and able to bring rat pack cool to something that has gone the way of the dinosuars.

But I digress. The thing is, I was yet again amazed by how talented HE is. I have always admired HE, especially when he followed his dream; moved on from simply having a job and took himself back into a career he loved. I have admired the silly sarcastic way he has of making his friends laugh, his ability to make the most shocking comments seems insanely funny and almost normal. And I have admired him for the longest time because he impressed me. He made me look at him in a different light and it was the fist time in a long time someone had made me do so.

So I have had HE on the brain. It is a bit annoying but it has also been good. It has made me assess my life right now, and why I seem to be stuck in a holding pattern, rather than off experiencing things to the fullest. It has made me remember what it is like to be madly in love with someone and to wonder/hope/dream that that person felt the same way. And it has made me remember some very very good times with a wonderful friend, who mananged to always be on the periphery of my life but mean so very much to me, without even knowing it.

The Outsider

What makes one person slot into a group well and another feel like they are forever standing on the fringes, observing all the fun but not really part of it? I have made comments on how I could be surrounded by a crowd and feel like I am the only one there, and for the most part, that's true of my life. Even when I am with friends or others I am close with, I can feel a little part of myself that seems detached, observing and watching, noting and recording, and trying to figure out why I stand apart when all I sometimes want is to be included.

I really don't mean to make it sound like I am not wanted; that when I am with others, no one wants to be nice and play with me. It is not that. Rather, I just feel like I don't understand a crowd. With one other person, I feel like I am having a tête à tête and just conversing, finding out more about the person. In groups of more than two, I feel like I either have to choose who I speak with at any given moment or else sit and observe the fun. And for the most part, I seem to observe. People who know me as gregarious and boisterous, quick with an opinion or some observational wit, are surprised at my shrinking violet ways when confronted with anything larger than un pas de deux (on an unrelated note, why are there no ways in English to say what other languages express so well??)

I wish I could chalk it up to simple nerve, a want of boldness or a timid sensibility, but it never really is anything of the sort. I just can't be part of the crowd. I feel that I am too different, I always want, I am never content. I want control and to master the topic; I want to feel included but how can you, when you don't participate? And most of all, I want to let go of all the restraints and hesitations that hold me back from sometimes joining in with gusto. So instead, I sit, I watch, I hover at the edge and hope that someone makes a space for me. That the circle parts for but a second and perhaps I can finally slot myself in.

Blurring the Lines

This is a thought that has been circling through my mind in the last couple of days, and I am only sitting down to write it now as things become clearer to me. I have been surprised by the last couple of months of my life. There are so many things that have happened to me, things I thought would break me, and yet, somehow I endure. And I keep asking myself why. Obviously, it is always easier to just put things aside and to sit back, give up, decide to give in. But while I might have done that before, while I might have attributed whatever strengths I have to others, I realize that I can survive, that I can be stronger, and that the next thing may seem just as bad, but I have survived worse and I can make it through again.

It is strange, to sit back and realize that you are strong. And I am not saying I could have gone it completely alone. I have amazing friends who have been there for me, and there have been moments where I have been completely broken. And sometimes it seems those moments are fast and relentless, coming one after the other. And yet, somehow, I manage to make it to another day, and I realize that I can persevere. That I all I need is a little bit of grounding to get myself a firm hold, and I manage to pull myself back up again.

And in lifting myself back up - sometimes with an out reached hand - I find that the things I was so sure about are becoming less certain. Yes, I feel that life truly is unscripted and you have no idea where it will lead you. I find myself entertaining thoughts that I might not have before, wondering if I could be the person that others need. I find myself moving more towards exploring ideas and boundaries, of often testing what I have established as my comfort zone and moving into territories that are completely uncharted and unexplored.

There are those who know me, know some of what I am going through. And they ask me the questions that I need to answer for myself. But I also find that there is so much more about me I can not explain. Why I hang on to one particular person from my past, when the whole world screams at me to let it be gone for good. Why I sometimes look back fondly on memories of people who will never be in my life again, by design or by default. I look at those who are new to me, though I have always known them, and I wonder if testing my boundaries with them is wise or practical. But for all my thoughts, in the end, I can only ever do one thing: live my life. I can only ever follow a path that I have no guide for and hope that what I do will end up being right for me.

I sit here, right now, wondering what the future holds for me. I sit here thinking about all the things I give up when I make choices, all the ways in which what we desire most is sometimes the one thing that should be forbidden to us. And I think about the middle ground: perhaps it will not be the thing that makes us feel the most pleasure, the thing that meets and exceeds all our ideals but perhaps, in its own way of not inducing waves of gut wrenching pain and doubt, it brings the most happiness? No one ever wants to settle; we don't want to live a life of compromise. But at the same time, perhaps residing in the middling grey is less about settling and realizing that this is what life is meant to be: choosing a path that balances out all the forces within us.

A Day of Frustrations

It has been one of those days I just need to vent and so I turn to my trusted friends: anonymity and the written word.

The thing is - it really has been one of those days. I am excited about finally reclaiming some lost treasures and feeling more like a human being (i.e. an animal with an overwhelming number of choices), but at the same time, having all these choices means I am even more aware of the differences between my life now and my life two, three years ago.

Some thing feel the same - for instance, the underestimation of my talents that seems to occur. I understand that I am not a forward person and I do not tend to brag. I just buckle in, put my head down and expect that the results will show. But apparently that is not enough and I am just not as motivated to 'play the game'. I am not sure, beyond installing flashing neon signs that extol my virtues, what else I can do to at least be given the recognition I deserve. And sometimes I wonder...is it because, unlike the masses, I am not happy to just sit there and wallow? That I always strive to be better, to want more, to move onwards and upwards - learning new things as I go? is it really that strange to want more out of life always instead of just being content and settling?

Settling seems to be my biggest problem in life. I can't be content. And it hurts a little (well, I am lying, it hurts alot more than I expected) when the last person I really felt an attraction to (which seems eons ago and really has been too long) finally seems to have fallen into a relationship. I do not mean to imply that they are settling or that I would have been had I pursued anything (and if you've been following this, then you know that he was a 'might have been') but here is this person that eclipsed my life for a while - even if he was not aware of it - and suddenly, I am left behind. Event over. I do not know what I was expecting and even if this was the expected, my heart is feeling a little sore. A little worse for wear and want of compassion.

Add to that the lack of responsiveness from others around me - whether in feelings, sympathy, or general aid - and my day has become one that I am longing to escape; I am looking forward to going home and turning on the television and sinking into a mindless stupor; all in preparation for a weekend that hopefully will act as a balm to what ails.

Resistance

In advance, I say Forgive Me just in case these ramblings don’t seem to make much sense; I am having a harder time today putting into words what I am thinking. Possibly because the problem is so pervasive and common, that even trying to think about it starts a spiral of all the what ifs and should haves that we all suffer from. See, I said it would be confusing but I should be clear: I am talking about the unrequited love trip that we all go and we all have sent one (or more, depending on your hotness/lovability quotient) people on.

I myself know I am guilty of inspiring love (or at least, longing) in many a boy who mistook my brash manner (read: bold) and flirtatious (read: lovingly sarcastic) manner as a sign of something more. I have ended up at coffee shops and bars and restaurants, sitting across from someone, as the slow realization dawns on me that it is a date. Or, at least, they think it is a date. To me, it is just a random meet up with someone I consider a friend (sometimes acquaintance) in order to chat and laugh and share a good time.

And, sometimes, depending on my mood, it is has either spiraled into a hasty retreat or if I am feeling particularly desirous of being loved, an ego boosting exercise at the expense of someone else’s feelings. Shake your head if you must, but I never said I always played the good girl. Nor am I the only girl (or boy) who’s guilty of keeping someone hooked and available for that temporary assuage of the voices and thoughts that tell us we are not desirable, lovable, want-able unless someone is hanging off our every look and word. Narcissism, thy name is human.

But for all the times I have been on the giving end of inspiring feelings in others, I have been inspired to feel more than I perhaps should for others. I have played a lovesick idiot, boring my friends to death with myriad conversations about the meaning behind words, phrases, looks, and promises. I have spent nights comforted by a fleeting touch or glance, and been crushed by what I interpret as a lack of return and what others, perhaps more sanely, see as simply a busy schedule in a life already loaded with responsibility. I have been the one to want more, to survive on morsels of kindness of compassion – perhaps out of that person’s boredom, general insensibilities, or perhaps –w hat attracted me in the first place – their kindness. I have been the one who is hooked, like bait for the sharks. And loved every second, in an otherwise dull existence.

Idea of March

To me, March seems to be a month of change. For a second, let’s forget the fact that it is the start of spring, that according to colloquial wisdom “it comes in like a lamb, roars out like a lion”, or all the other trite things that become attributed to the month of change and growth and rebirth. Let’s pretend it is all about me. Because, frankly, it is.

March has been the month that seems to always bring the greatest changes to my life. March was the month I flew back home in order to spend time with a friend that I cared for and was falling in love with; and yet, it took a whole five months to elapse (from October to March) for us to decide that we wanted to be in a relationship. And, so in March, we had a semi-serious conversation about where things were going when I lived in America and he lived elsewhere. And, perhaps, with all the imagery of spring in mind, it seemed like possibilities were endless. But, unfortunately, there are limits.

Fast forward through two years of my life, where I am now living in the same country as said acquaintance/friend but neither of us is feeling the love for the other. I am dating, I am feeling hopeful (after all, spring tends to bring a renewed zest for certain pursuits) and looking forward to a week off with my current beau. But March is the month of change; March is the month of “I changed my mind; I do not love you – I just thought I did”. Is it any wonder I was stumped throughout most of March how one could spend time planning to be in love and share love only to hear the next day it had all been some temporary psychotic break for my beau? As a side note, March is also the only month in which I have ever had my heart broken, rather than the one to do the breaking.

Skip forward another year, to an airport scene: longing glances from the cabin window, regrets and sighs, and the winds of March bringing more change. March is the month I left my home to make a new one back in America – March is the month that brought more change, more heart break, more questions. And so here we are, in March yet again, and I am looking back on a year of change.

Change has not always occurred in March, but for me, happiness and disappointment will always be tied up in this month. If I had not loved or left, then I would not be the person I am. But sad comfort when I mark the passing of the month as just another year spent, another year far away from where I have been and where I want to be.

Different Directions

It is strange, but I do not remember ever feeling this conflicted about going out and being social a year ago. I remember often times, I did not feel like being social at all - but given everything that needed to be sorted out and all the myriad problems I had encountered over the preceding months, last year I was relatively social with close friends and people that I wanted to catch up with. I even made the time to sometimes attend some larger events and meet a couple of new people, though I still gravitated towards those I did not have to explain my life to (sometimes it feels like my life is one big explanation).

Yet here I am, a year later, and I loathe being social. The tiniest thing turns my excitement about plans for a night out into just another hurdle to be gotten over and an event to be endured. Honestly, the way I am feeling right now, I would not like anything better than to just crawl into bed and hide under my duvet with some chocolates and quality movies or telly shows. It is like being pulled in a number of different directions - the path that leads to me spending yet another quiet night in and the other one that leads to a joyless night out (truly, nothing more "fun" then being the only one who is not drinking as the night progresses).

It is times like these that I wonder if I am not truly sliding into another depression; when my mood turns black with very little provocation and I start to dread the things that someone at my age and in my time of life should be relishing with joy. I wonder, I ponder.

Ghosts n Stuff

And so another year in the trash; gone and done and all the past hurts and joys and highs and lows nothing but memories. It has been ages since I thought to sit down and write about thoughts and thinking and feeling - not because I have not been doing any of that. On the contrary, I often feel like perhaps I am doing too much of it. But there is something about the approach and onset of a new year that makes me think about things and rehash past thoughts. For me, the new year seems as good a time as any to dust memories off, examine them once more, and determine if they have anything more to offer me.

What new insights have I garnered from my annual soul search? I have been thinking about love - about why I seem to be immune to it, about how (or whether) my heart is ready to jump into love again. About whether I have not pinned my hopes on something that never was and is likely to never be, but the sheer weight of the possibility keeps me from trying or being with any one else. And in true new year style, it feel right to countdown the many things I have come to realize:

10. My heart is not stuck; my head is.
9. That coming back to someone is not a weakness; it is a sign of an attachment that endures.
8. That even though I may return, it does not mean that I have to fall back into the patterns that were so bad for us in the first place (or even that we should be the same things to each other ever again).
7. That possibility is all I want at the moment because my head has so many other things to think on.
6. That there is nothing traditional about my wants and needs; that the white wedding, two kids and a picket fence deal are things that I secretly rebel against.
5. That I have wanted the white wedding, two kids, and picket fence deal. But only when I was in love with someone who wanted that too.
4. That to me, true love is wanting the very thing that matters most to the one I love - even if it seems antithetical to every thing I ever wanted.
3. That true love is a fairytale; and yet some of us are lucky enough to know it.
2. That sometimes to best way to be in love is to be careful and cautious.
1. That I would rather be effusive and exuberant and exhilerated than ever be cautious, no matter the consequences that may come.

Happy New Year!