F*ing Perfect

Yesterday at 4:13 p.m. I was sitting at my desk spitting mad at myself. When I turned off my computer for the day at 3:30 and started gathering up my stuff to head to my after-work plans, I couldn't find my Truck keys. I dumped my purse, cleared my desk, nothing. I went down to the parkade where my Truck sat, waiting for me to jump in and get going to see if I could spot the shiny silver of my J-initial and Mickey Mouse key chain but no luck. I called lost and found and found no relief. I called my dad so he could bring me my other set of keys and I could get on with my Thursday evening.

I'd had a busy night planned for myself. I was to go to my gym class at 4:30, meet Stephen at the Forks for 6 and then head to my Writer's Fest volunteer job for 7 p.m. There was no room for scatterbrained mishaps.

My first disappointed thought was for missing my gym class. I've been very disciplined lately about doing a core training class three times a week and running three times a week. Although by the time I got to the gym the class was 3/4 done, I wasn't going to waste time pouting so I did my own thing on the machines and the floor. I could see the class from my spot at the glutes and hamstrings station though and I may have let a scowl escape.

Back in Truck, post workout, I turned the key in the ignition and was greeted by U2 singing I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For. I will use my last breath to argue with anyone who disputes the fact that God is a DJ with a wry sense of humour.


At the Forks I took at seat on an aluminum chair in front of the coffee shop where Stephen and I had agreed to meet. My phone rang, on its last bar of power and Stephen's mug came up. A flutter of worry stirred in my stomach.

"I just turned onto St. Mary's and traffic is insane. I guess because of the Jets game tonight. I'm not sure if I'll make it to see you," he said. "I'll call you in 10 minutes to let you know where I'm at."

Stupid Winnipeg hockey traffic messing with my date night. It's pre-season people. Calm the hello kitty down.

I sat by the window waiting for my phone to ring or die. I went over in my head all the places I'd been with my purse and keys and decided that most likely they would've fallen out of my purse at Starbucks. I plotted to call them as soon as I could find their number.

While deep in my plotting and stewing, a pair of hands grabbed my shoulders from behind and lips pressed to my left cheek. Now, I was downtown so I did gasp at first and felt a shot of adrenaline prepping me to fight or flight, but then I quickly melted when I realized I wasn't being assaulted but actually rescued from my mourning by that guy who has a strong like for me.

In the lounge I indulged in a pretty martini called a Blue Eyed Blond. I needed the irony and the booze equally.

"Stephen you can run now," I said. "It's not going to get any better. It's probably going to get worse," I said, in reference to me and my losing things.

He just smiled at me and said, "Oh Jillian, don't talk like that."

I keep saying that if there was a pill or a shock therapy I could take that would help me not forget and lose things I would go all in. My brain failures cause me so much stress and grief. My parents are used to it and have had to rescue me numerous times but I was always nervous about someone like Stephen having to deal with this mess. Stephen is neat, right down to his penmanship. I've never seen him lose anything. Not even his patience, which is the key quality someone should have to spend time with me.

On the other hand, my brain of fluff kind of ignited his affection for me. On our second date he picked me up and took me mini golfing and then for gelati. I remember that I had put on my best outfit and was feeling like I was going to wow this guy with my mini golf or at least my good sense of humour. But for some reason when we were out I felt like I was struggling to hold up conversation which was super frustrating and made me feel really shy. At the end of the night he pulled into my driveway and all I could think was how I wasn't going to see this very cute and funny guy again. I was surprised and elated when he asked if I wanted to do dinner with him later that week.And then I couldn't find my mitts. I looked on the floor, in my purse, under my seat, under my bum, nadda. I was trying not to show panic or concern about losing my favourite, pink leather gloves given to me as a birthday present by my grandmother a few years ago and then I found them between the seat and the door.

I admitted to feeling rather embarrassed about the whole incident.

"Why? It's cute," Stephen laughed.

"But it happens all the time!" And then I laughed too because all night I'd been trying so hard to be the perfect date that it felt so relieving to be not-perfect and still have this guy's eye on me. Stephen used to remind me of this story all the time. Except when he tells it he also reminds me that he ended our night by leaning over for a kiss and I gave him something with the level of affection one would use for kissing a dignitary, or, as he calls it, a "toast kiss". Six months later though he's still buying me ice cream. When we do breakfast together he puts me in charge of toast.

I went home last night and put all my angry energy into cleaning my house. I find cleaning very therapeutic. This morning I was going to leave for work early and zip down to the lost and found. I packed up my purse and then noticed something I hadn't seen there before. Keys. Were they my spare set? No. They were my usual set with the Tigger house key and the Mickey Mouse key chain. Hidden in a tiny pocket, I had put them there yesterday morning, thinking they would be safe from falling out of my outside pocket and safe from getting lost in the very bottom of the main purse area. This is what aggravates me almost as much as my mush brain. I do try to be pro-active with my scatterbrained-ness. I know myself so I do things thinking I will prevent loss, stress and frustration but more often than not it just makes a mess anyway. I have no workaround!

I texted Stephen to tell him the news.

"Awesome! Good start to your Friday," he said. And I loved him for it. I lose my keys, no big deal. I find that they were in my purse the whole time, still no big deal. If we were bodies of water I would be a meandering river and he would be Lake Placid.

"Every river has an ocean it runs to
And I knew if I kept going
Someday I'd find you" 

Johnny Reid, Dedicated to You

I feel bad for making my dad come out to deliver my spare set of keys and I feel bad that I was a glum date last night, but at least two good things came out of the whole fiasco.

1. I missed my regular gym class and did my own workout which, according to my sore muscles, was probably more effective than the class. Maybe I should do my own thing more often.
2. I got my house cleaned up.

You're so mean
When you talk
About yourself, you were wrong
Change the voices in your head
Make them like you instead
So complicated
Look how we all make it
Filled with so much hatred
Such a tired game

Pink, F-ing Perfect

Tasty like a raindrop

I am 362 items behind in my reader feed reading, but today I started going through the feeds and discovered this:

I thought Marie Fredriksson had some crazy incurable brain tumor that ended her singing career. Apparently they released a new album in March, which I also missed. I need to get out more. Hopefully before September 7.

If I keep going through the rest of the news I've neglected will I find that George Stromboulopoulos is coming to Winnipeg in search of a bride? That someone has found a way to grow money on trees? That cookies are the secret to youthful skin? Google Reader, give me more!

Miracles will happen as we trip

I was supposed to go to the gym tonight but I am blogging instead. And I washed Truck, which probably burned, like, five calories, so I can go ahead and enjoy that stick of gum or glass of Crystal Light now. Woo.

Betchya didn't think you'd see me back here, huh?

I hung up the phone this afternoon at my desk, shook my head and asked whoever would answer me (there were two possible persons beside myself), "is it a full moon today?" It was the only explanation I had for the odd conversation I'd just had.

I recalled to my mind's eye the vision of the very round, very bright white orb in the sky at seven o'clock this morning, while thinking to myself, it's going to be a crazy one today.

In the window from which I was observing the lunar awesomeness I have hung a snowflake mobile, of sorts. It was on sale in January at Hallmark for some ridiculously low price (six bucks comes to mind).

No lights

It's solar powered, so it lights up blue when the sun goes down. Or rather, it is supposed to light up. I tested it in the store by covering the solar sensor with my hand, and it worked. But when I hung it in my window and waited for nightfall, it did not glow. I thought that perhaps this was due to a bright street light or the background light of the kitchen and decided I'd reposition it later.

I decided today that the mobile is not faulty or hyper photo-sensitive, but enchanted, which is my more optimistic way of saying, haunted. Not long after I put it up I caught it moving on its own, although I can't totally rule out that the passing by of a large truck didn't transfer some vibrations. More recently I would notice it light up at random moments for short periods of time, as it did this morning. I went to the closet to grab my coat, notice the full moon and the thing was dim. I went to the table to pick up my keys and the thing was lit. I turned away and then looked back and it was off again. No vibrations, no knocking it with my klutziness, no change in light. Just enchanting, really. (I'm really focusing on that word at the moment because something just fell off the counter in my kitchen and made me jump out of my skin.)

Lit up, with the lights off

Today on the way back from coffee break I noticed a book left in one of the free newspaper stands. The title made it irresistible for me to pick up: The Ghost In Love.

The book looked well loved, so I first worried that it belonged to some poor student or patient who dropped it accidentally. But there is no bookmark in it, so I think it was just rejected. I'm sure it is a stinker, but the description on the back cover still has me curious.

Welcome to the luminous and marvelously inventive world of The Ghost in Love. A man falls in the snow, hits his head on a curb, and dies. But something strange occurs: the man doesn’t die, and the ghost that’s been sent to take his soul to the afterlife is flabbergasted. Going immediately to its boss, the ghost asks, what should I do now? The boss says, we don’t know how this happened but we’re working on it. We want you to stay with this man to help us figure out what’s going on.

The ghost agrees unhappily; it is a ghost, not a nursemaid. But a funny thing happens—the ghost falls madly in love with the man’s girlfriend, and things naturally get complicated. Soon afterward, the man discovers he did not die when he was “supposed” to because for the first time in their history, human beings have decided to take their fates back from the gods. It’s a wonderful change, but one that comes at a price.  

The Ghost in Love is about what happens to us when we discover that we have become the masters of our own fate. No excuses, no outside forces or gods to blame—the responsibility is all our own. It’s also about love, ghosts that happen to be gourmet cooks, talking dogs, and picnicking in the rain with yourself at twenty different ages. 

Crazy.

A man decides after seventy years
That what he goes there for, is to unlock the door
While those around him criticize and sleep
And through a fractal on a breaking wall
I see you my friend, and touch your face again
Miracles will happen as we trip

But we're never gonna survive, unless
We get a little crazy
No we're never gonna survive, unless
We are a little crazy


--Crazy by Seal

It Starts Sometime Around Midnight

Last night my phone rang just after midnight. I was in bed and figured the call had to be a wrong number, totally not worth getting up and stumbling to my purse for. I kind of wish now that I'd had a little birdie tell me to run, not walk to pick up the phone.

Before I went to sleep last night I was writing in my journal trying to express how happy I was feeling. I thought about all the good things I have going for me and how I just keep on putting checks beside things on my dream list. Happiness isn't something you can keep in a jar and look at on the shelf whenever you happen to think of it.

Remember the day
Cause this is what dreams should always be
I just want to stay
I just want to keep this dream in me

--Losing Your Memory, Ryan Star

I'm not about to take you off a cliff with me. This isn't that kind of story. This is actually one of those stories where things get even better than I knew my world had room for at the moment. See, this morning at 6:30 while I was waiting for my oatmeal to finish cooking in the microwave, I picked up my Blackberry and checked my missed calls and a text message. They were from Kristin, not a wrong number. She had called me to tell me that she got the call from Ottawa. She was getting her heart.

Kristin has said that sometimes she would forget that she was waiting. Truthfully, I had forgotten too, even though just last week I was at her place to help her celebrate her second anniversary with her LVAD--the pump that was doing the work of her left ventricle. I've only ever know her as this girl who was the best, most inspirational example of how to wait for something big.

In November we were driving out of town for a school presentation and she told me about this guy she had started seeing. I was all giddy for her because like any twenty-eight year old she'd gone through her share and more of bad dates, mismatches and disappointments.

"It's a Christmas miracle!" I said with glee and then started gushing about ice skating dates, mistletoe and hot cocoa by the fire.

"Stop it! You're such a Charlotte!" She said, referencing the classic and romantic character of Sex and the City fame. I protested this because I fancy myself much more of a Carrie, and like Carrie, I saw the cute story unfurling in all of this. First she was getting her romance heart and then the physical heart would follow, I was certain of it.


When Kristin and I go out and do talks to high school students she tells the story about the time she got a call to go to Ottawa only to have to turn around and go home because the heart ended up not being good. Kristin says that when she got the call she started phoning everyone she knew. "I think I phoned my grade two teacher," she would always say. When I got the news today I felt the same way. I just wanted everyone to know that something really, really wonderful happened today. And yes, she does have a tough road to full recovery ahead, but this is a strong girl with a lot of love around her. And for now, we're just all so happy that the long wait is over.

What 30 means to me

Finally I have some time for blogging. This also means I have time for catching up on the two weeks of PVR'd TV programs. I apologize if this post starts trailing off on quotes from House.

I'd wanted to say some words on my birthday to my family, but I ran out of time to pull my thoughts together so all I could muster was a story about how I had been singing along to a favourite tune on the radio that afternoon (That Song by Big Wreck, a tune of nostalgia if there is one), feeling great until the announcer came on and said "hard to believe that song is 15 years old now". I have favourite songs from high school that are now 15 years old. I am an oldie, moldy crust of bread.

So you crank that song
And it might sound dumb
So just leave the room
While I sit'n stare
Cause yeah that's rare
I really love that tune
Man I love that song
I love that song
I love that song
--That Song, Big Wreck


Turning 30 didn't really cause me any pain. Yeah, it's kind of a big number and yes, it means I have closed the door on the 20-something category. But really, the best thing about your 20s is that you're young. And the worst part about your 20s is, well, that you're young. I won't miss the days of being another recent grad with a generously spaced resume and limited awareness of my own strengths and talents.

At 21 I was a college/university graduate, at 22 I was seven months into my first career job and at 24 I was in the world of corporate communications at a large Canadian company. I also bought my first vehicle, brand new, and started blogging--my first public act of writing since grade school. A year and a half later I bought a house.

So many big and exciting moments happened in the first half of my 20s but 29 was probably my favourite year of that decade because in that year I believe I found my own two, very well-shoed feet. Some of my most frustrating, upside down and lost moments happened in that year, the year that my mom had to come to my house to scrape me off the floor where I was drowning in a puddle of my own tears. But even in that moment when I didn't want to open my eyes or for my mom to stop holding me, I had inside of me a flame I'd never sensed before. It's my pilot light that never goes out, even in the darkest moments. My fire in my belly is the small but mighty voice of wisdom that either took 29 years to grow or 29 years for me to finally hear it and believe when it says no matter what, everything will turn out and I'll be okay.

In mid-November I went to a craft show and spent probably 45 minutes reading all the fun and inspirational quotes a girl had printed on magnets, coasters and plaques. The most basic magnets were only a dollar. I bought a stack of them. One of my very favourites featured a quote from contemporary poet, Maya Angelou:

“You may encounter many defeats, but you must not be defeated. In fact, it may be necessary to encounter the defeats, so you can know who you are, what you can rise from, how you can still come out of it.”

When I'm in a hole at the depths of despair, I can't climb out of it fast enough. But once I am in the warm sun again I have an enormous appreciation for the challenge and the opportunity to use strength I didn't realize I possessed.
 
I learned so much about myself in the last year and a half or so. This knowledge is what made turning 30 so easy breezy. I'm sure I don't know it all, but I feel like I at least finally have a grasp of the territory. For now. Which brings me to the other favourite magnet I picked up:

"Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten"
--Natasha Bedingfield

I took the day off on Monday so I could enjoy a full day of celebrating. I wanted to spend time with as many people I love as I could. It started off with a free, birthday coffee from Starbucks that I drank while visiting with my senior citizen friends from the mall that I used to walk through on my way to work. Brownie and Emil gave me a box of chocolates along with their good company.

After that visit I went to the Urban Oasis Spa. (Thank you, Manitoba Blues Club, for that gift certificate parting gift.) I thoroughly enjoyed the steam room and the mineral pool before receiving a wrap treatment. My sister met up with me after the wrap and we got our nails done together, which we've never done before. After that we went to the bridal salon and Sister selected her wedding gown with big nods of approval from me and Mom. After that I rushed home and put on my party frock for dinner with the family. I'll let the pictures tell the story from here.

Sweet Sisters!

Birthday manicure and birthday glass o'wine

I told my sister, who planned my special night, that the most important thing of all for me was the Birthday Cake. She nailed this.

What a slice looks like

What the whole inside looks like. Cake, then cream, then cake, cream, cake, cream, fruit and chocolate garnish topped by a smattering of candle wax.

When I got home that night, alone with me, myself and I again, I lit one more candle, sat down in front of it, and unleashed all my joys, gratitude, and heart-bursting hopes for the future. When I was about done I said, "God/Universe, I don't know if you heard--" and before I could finish the sentence with "any of that" and the rest of my not-really-so-eloquent-yet-full-of-passion-and-conviction speech, the candle went out. Poof. No draughts and plenty of wax and wick left to burn. Spontaneous de-combustion* I guess. Or, a simple message reminding me to not worry, sit tight, drink lots of fluids and go to bed so I can get plenty of rest for the ride to come. I went to bed a little before midnight but I woke up on Tuesday feeling like I'd been hit by a truck and have been battling the sniffles all week. Ugh, this has been the most unpleasant welcome to a new era I've ever encountered.

Last magnet of inspiration, I promise (I have a very inspiring refrigerator):

If I'm not happy
in this time,
in this place,
I'm not paying attention.
--Jodi Hills

*un-combustion? anti-combustion? None of these is a word, according to Webster. Whatever, 30 means you are old enough to write your own dictionary.

My body tells me no, but I won't quit

My day started at three a.m. when I woke up in a sweat with Young the Giant's "My Body" stuck on repeat in my head, among other things.

I had a full day of presentations with classes of grade 11 biology students ahead of me. This day is going to be brought to you by Starbucks, I moaned when it was time to get out of bed.

After nearly leaving the house without my laptop I found my way to pick up one of my speakers--of the people variety, not the audio kind. (My head is still foggy and I couldn't figure out how to make that differentiation in a simpler manner than that.) The Creme Brule latte was helping.

I had three speakers talk today about their experience with organ donation. All of them have amazing, inspiring stories that I love hearing over and over, like a favourite TV episode (which is good when you have to make the same presentation with them five times in a row in one day).

I came home with a heavy heart though because one of my speakers, a kidney recipient, is facing kidney failure again a year and a half after transplant. He is 72 and would be the first to tell you that he has lived a full, good life and that dialysis and transplant gave him time to enjoy retirement from his career as a school principal and spend time with his grandchildren. But the odds of him getting a second transplant are not great and dialysis is not fun. In the next few months he will have to decide if he wants to go back on dialysis or let the kidney failure take its course.

This guy has so much life experience and wisdom in him and I have seen only a small part of it. He has a cute sense of humour that gets the students from high school to med school laughing along with him. I don't let my mind think about my 28-year-old friend Kristin not getting her heart transplant because she has so much life to live, but I also can't imagine the lights going out for this gentleman who continues to inspire, teach and affect people. His transplant only gave him 18 months or so free from dialysis. Was it worth it? Absolutely. If it had only given him an extra week it would have been worth it. I am so grateful it lasted long enough for me to get to know him.

I love this job but I know it is going to break my heart.


My body tells me no
But I won't quit
Cause I want more
Cause I want more
My body tells me no
But I wont quit
Cause I want more
Cause I want more

It rides out of town

Oh, it's my road
It's my road
It's my road
It's my road
It's my road
It's my road

And it's my war
It's my war
It's my war
It's my war

His eyes are open
His eyes are open

--Young the Giant, My Body Tells Me No

You were always on my mind

I had a funny day on Monday where everyone seemed to have me on his or her mind. I got emails from people I hadn't heard from or seen in weeks and months. It felt like it was my birthday. One of the people who thought of me was my manager, who had some boots she needed to unload.

Brazilian leather.

Halston Heritage.

$47

The boots had been purchased last year on sale at The Bay. She never wore the sweet things because when she put them on they felt too high. Shopper's regret. It happens.

I drooled. I swooned. For freakin real? I put them on and made one of my co-workers hold up her 4 x 6 desk mirror so I could steal a peek. I claimed them. They will be best friends with the Betseys when they get home.

How in the world am I going to begin to pay back the good Karma that came to me this week? Lemme put on my thinkin' boots and work on that.

True Blue, Baby I Love You

Whenever I'm out and about in Winnipeg I can't help but notice all the vehicles sporting the new Blue Bomber licence plate. The team has given us a fair bit of heartbreak over the years, but this city still bleeds blue. I love that the team has chosen to dust off the old logo and jerseys--still my favourite look, probably because it was what the team wore when I was being introduced to the game.

And the Jets are back. I remember them leaving and not really understanding the big deal of it all. I'd only ever seen a couple of games from up in the nosebleeds courtesy of some free tickets that got donated to school patrols.

But oh how this city has pined for the return of that team. They told us for years that it would never happen, that the Winnipeg market was just too small to support a team anymore. I'll admit I shook my head at the ones who clung to hope. It was a long wait, but all the stars lined up, and now after a 15 year absence our beloved team will play for us again. You want to talk about patience and believing in a dream? Ask a Winnipeg Jets fan. Or an Ikea fan, 'cause we're getting one of those next year too.

Winnipeggers are notorious for being quiet about their civic pride. I know I don't chirp about the place. (Funny, I have the radio on right now and they're replaying a spoof PSA to Jets players about the wonders of Winnipeg. Most restaurants per capita in North America!) Modesty is an honourable trait.

Around the city now I feel a definite change in energy. I imagine if Canada was to have a reunion of sorts with all of the capital cities, Winnipeg would show up and people would drop their beer. Little Winnipeg, who used to be so shy and awkward, has finally grown into herself. She's looking hot.

I never really felt that Winnipeg was part of my identity. My home is here. My work is here. My family is here, but I can still be me anywhere else. I wouldn't lose part of myself if I left. But I identify with this city's recent blossoming and the step up into the now. It fills me with energy and determination. If Winnipeg can reach for her dreams, endure the bumps and challenges along the way and come out shining in the prairie sun, so can I.

Gotta Wonder about that Woman

I got up early this morning because I wanted to be first in line at the lab for my blood work. As I pulled on my jeans I thought to myself, hmm, these are the same ones I was wearing the last time I passed out. I followed this thought with a shrug and went on to pick out my shoes. I was conscious that I had picked out wedge heels, not flats (the jeans are too long for flats) which could be risky in the event of a faint, but, feeling adventurous, I put them on anyway. They're red and always make me think of Wonder Woman, my favourite superhero. I channel her power through my feet.

I knew today that I was going to be facing another needle in my arm. This time, the needle would be in there longer as the lab tech would be taking numerous tubes of blood. I was nervous, but also told myself that I would be fine as this time the needle wasn't going to be a surprise and I could talk myself out of any anxiety.

When I arrived at the clinic I phoned my parents.

"Hi," I said. "I'm going in to get blood work done. In case anything happens, I'm at 123 Scurfield". My dad laughed and took note of the address. I went in, took a number and a seat. I flipped through a Men's Health magazine, reading about custom-made bikes and good-for-you carbs.

My number was called and I went in to the small room. I had considered telling the person that the last time I had a needle in my arm I passed out, but the guy wasn't very friendly and I was convinced I was invincible in my Wonder Woman shoes, so I said nothing and sat down.

The lab tech tied my left arm off with a rubber band. I looked away while he stuck the needle in. I heard a click and sensed each time he changed the tube out.

"Are you almost done?" I asked.

"Yeah, why, are you feeling faint?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said.

I breathed deeply and did my best to focus. The clinic had the radio piped in and Chad Kroeger was singing Hero.

I am so high. I can hear heaven

I am so high. I can hear heaven
Oh but heaven, no heaven don't hear me

That's the last thing I remember before waking up, on the floor. Again, confused out of my mind because I didn't recognize the guy asking me if I was okay. I mentally asked myself my name and where I was. I felt confident in my answers. This time, knowing better how to save myself, I layed right down and waited for the light-headedness to pass. I lifted my legs to help with the blood flow back to my head and heart. A guy walked up and asked the lab tech something about when his turn would be. I knew what I looked like--just a girl who can't take a little sight or loss of blood. The tech asked me if I'd like to go lay down on a bed. I said no.

I slowly sat up, then proceeded to low crouch, then fully upright. The lab tech handed me a bottle to go pee in. Perhaps he hadn't noticed that I'd already released most of my bladder on the floor, but I took the cup anyway, stepped over my puddle, walked out into the hall and then into the toilet to see what I could do for a sample.


"It happened again," I said to my mom on the phone from the privacy of the washroom.

"Oh no, really? Do you want us to come pick you up?"

"Yeah, and bring a towel," I said.

I had brought my pink zip up so I tied it around my waist and thought about that Always Maxi Pads commercial from the 90s where the girl lamented that she had to "leave the party with my sweater tied around my waist" because she had made the wrong choice in feminine protection. I'm seriously considering Depend undergarments for my flu shot appointment next winter. Is this what approaching 30 is all about? Going to the doctor on Thursday. Tests to follow. Yay.

***

Before today's episode I was thinking of blogging about work. I got to go to the legislature on Thursday night to support a bill that would officially recognize awareness week for my new pet cause. My department's medical director The Doc, gave a speech that I helped him with. It went very well and The Doc had good feedback from the ministers. I don't know what else to say about that except that it makes my heart sing.

It's just an expression

While getting ready for the gym today I noticed a multi-hued bruise just above my knee cap. I touched it. It hurt. Hm. When did I get that? Must've been recently. How? Mysteriously, as you often do, silly girl. I had a hazy memory of hitting myself with the heavy ramps I used to wheel my lawn mower into the back of Truck yesterday. My dad needed to borrow the mower, so if that was the cause of the bruise then at least it was in an act of love and not just poor coordination, as is the usual case.

The most unfortunate part of the bruise was that I was scheduled to do a portrait session with my photographer friend, Doug (affectionately known as Delores here). I worried about the bruise ruining the pictures. I made a mental note to check the rest of my limbs for unsightly blemishes. Later I would fret that the humidity would mean my hair would be limp and gross looking and that my workout would mean my face would be extra red. Gah. Pictures stress me out.

Last Sunday afternoon when NAF was here we were wandering around at the Forks. He snapped some pictures of the river for his blog.

"Wait, there's one more picture I need," he said and pointed the lens at me.

I made a face and groaned. "Not today."

"Why not today?" he asked.

"I was prettier yesterday," I said although I have no idea what that meant. If anything I was "prettier" on Friday when I was sporting my new frilly dress. On that particular Sunday I was wearing a typical weekend t-shirt with some black, easy-breezy, wide-legged pants and, the biggest fashion faux pas that I allowed myself to indulge in, my tired and worn black runners (the ones from New York that I cannot bring myself to toss. Not ever).

"You're one of those people," NAF said as we headed up the river bank.

"One of what people?"

"The ones who never like how they look in any pictures of themselves when really they take beautiful pictures." He showed me the image. Well if I hadn't have made such a "please don't take my picture now" face maybe the photo would have turned out lovely. Great. Now that is going to be his lasting image of me from this visit. You see? Pictures are so stressful!

When I was a kid, no, for my entire life I've wished that I could express myself physically through dance, gymnastics or figure skating or taking really great photos. I understand the concepts of beautiful  and expressive lines and postures, but I am so freakin' awkward and uncoordinated, like a baby giraffe who has no awareness of the length of her limbs. That's why I am constantly bruised. I am forever flailing my arms out and getting my legs in the way of unyielding objects. If I can practice and go slow, sometimes I think I can look graceful, and then I feel beautiful. But that takes some work. It's not natural to me like the flow of words onto a page is. Meh, everyone has their thing.

I've always been good with words. I know how to place them to communicate what I want to say. I know how to play with sentence length, diction and imagery to create something for my readers or listeners to understand and react to. If I can make someone feel something, I have succeeded in my expression.

When it came time for goodbye on Monday morning, NAF and I didn't have much to say. All weekend we had traded stories and laughs but now we were both quiet.We'd look at each other and I'd search his eyes for something that would tell me what he was thinking. Perhaps he wanted to say something but the words were locked up in his head. Me, I had words, all kinds of words. But I didn't know which ones to use just then. Instead I hugged him and hoped that he could read in my eyes that I understood and I wasn't mad, hurt or feeling regret. It was a hard goodbye for me, harder than I thought it would be, but I wanted to show him my most beautiful self--a girl full of grace, poise and strength. That was the picture I wanted him to take with him on the rest of his journey.

At my photo session with Doug today I put on my favourite songs and my favourite outfits. None of them showed the bruise. I tried my very best to show my heart, the whole happy-but-scarred, beat-skipping thing.
 
"Let's make sure we get a real smoldering shot," I told Doug. I wanted to have evidence that I could tell a whole heartbreaker story in one, unblinking look. With the very last head shot he did he said, "your eyes are really blue."
 
I leaned over to look at the preview screen on the camera and smiled. That's the look that makes for hard goodbyes.
 
Now I know.

I get a Round

Round round get around
I get a round
Yeah
Get around round round I get around
The Beach Boys--I Get Around

Today I went to a talk on treatments for heart failure, including transplantation. This afternoon I went to a rounds meeting for my department. It was so cool! Rounds is like the status meetings I used to have at my old communications department jobs, but instead of everyone giving updates like this project is with the designer, this project is with client or that project is currently stalled until we can get some answers from so-and-so, the "projects" are patients and their statuses are where they are at in getting or giving an organ like a kidney. I was sitting at a table with four docs, a social worker, a project engineer and four transplant coordinator nurses. One of them asked me if I was going to be in the OR tomorrow (apparently someone is getting something). Not this time, but soon I hope!

Minnie Trip: Entry 6: the one where she returns home

We got to Fargo and had 2.5 hours to do as we pleased. I took the drop off at Wal-Mart and hiked it over to the liquor store on the same parking lot to pick up my two bottles of wine. I was hoping to get another bottle of J wine but settled instead for Cupcake (it's not only cutely named but tasty too) and a German Riesling that I picked purely for the label--Fünf 5. Fun and my lucky number, how perfect for upcoming birthday celebrating.

From there I carted my bag of liquor to Kohl's and then to the mall. After buying my brown printed skirt and my creamy white skirt at the MOA I had spent the rest of the weekend looking for white or cream coloured opaque tights. At the MOA the best I could do was some cream, polka-dotted nylons. At the mall in little ol' Fargo I found tights in every store I popped into. I bought them all which means I came home with about $25 worth of tights in various shades of beige.




Before heading home Amara and I got someone to snap this picture of us. Notice we are sporting the same t-shirts. These were $5 specials at Old Navy. It was Amara's idea for us to pick out identical items as mementos of the trip. The shirts say Hope in sparkly lettering and the O is made to look like a diamond ring.


 

For the ride home Amara and I snacked on the second bottle of $4.50 wine, $3.50 cheese from Ikea and some Naan bread and olive hummus. The border was mostly uneventful. I claimed $409.31 and passed. The second bus in our convoy had some problems though that delayed us a bit.

And now I am home. I loved this trip. I remember feeling so happy and relaxed (the mojitos may have helped, sure). I purposely ate my steak dinner slowly on Saturday night to help extend the evening a bit more. I am glad I paused to take those few pictures of holiday decorations in the mall, but I wish I'd stopped to enjoy the atmosphere a little longer. I remember at one point dodging shoppers on my way to Lady Footlocker, just past Godiva Chocolate where I'd sampled something scrumptious, and hearing a beautiful rendition of Ave Maria--one of my very favourite Christmas songs--and wishing I could stop to catch the singer perform on the stage a level below. Did anybody else realize how fortunate they were to be in the mall that day and have the opportunity to take in the sights and sounds of the season? I have most of my Christmas shopping done now, my baking done, perhaps that means I will get to pause, listen and see the season unwrap here at home. I hope so.

eyes hood bee

Day one of the Writers Festival main stage events. I attended. I showed up an hour early because I thought the show started at 7:15 but actually it starts at eight. I killed time walking around The Forks and kicked myself for not being at the gym. I should be, I should be...

It was a drizzly, damp, foggy evening, which seemed like the perfect occasion for a latte, not to mention a good way to sip away some time. I talked myself out of it though, saving myself a good 200-300 calories and four dollars. At least I won that battle.

When it was closer to eight I went back to the venue and browsed the book table. I bumped into someone I used to work with at Good-Wooden Leg and got into a conversation with her about the writing thing. She's been doing some workshops. She asked me what I've been doing in pursuit of my calling. She was the second person to ask today.

I barely listened to the readings tonight. Mostly I was distracted by my guilt and inner nag. I should be, I should be, I should be.

I should be writing every day. I should be preparing pieces for submission. I should be editing my 50,000 word manuscript. I should be going to the gym five days a week, at least. I should be drinking more water. I should be eating less carbs. I should be dating. I should be doing laundry. I should be, I should be. Eyes hood be.

On the way home I heard a new song on the radio. These are the lyrics:

When I see your face
There's not a thing that I would change
Cause you're amazing
Just the way you are
And when you smile,
The whole world stops and stares for awhile
Cause girl you're amazing
Just the way you are

Just the Way You Are--Bruno Mars

Personally, I'm a much bigger fan of Billy Joel's take on the sentiment, however, the song was a good cure for the I Should Be ear worm in my head. I am who I am and that's good enough for me. I don't need to be anything else today. I am not wasting or losing time. I will get done all the things I want to do. I am focused right now on certain aspects of my life and when I have those things in order, I will move on to my next challenge. I don't need to change a thing or do more to be amazing. I am there already and that isn't a characteristic that is going away.

Dear Self, here is a song for you. Love always, Me.

Don't go changing, to try and please me
You never let me down before
Don't imagine you're too familiar
And I don't see you anymore
I wouldn't leave you in times of trouble
We never could have come this far
I took the good times, I'll take the bad times
I'll take you just the way you are

Don't go trying some new fashion
Don't change the color of your hair
You always have my unspoken passion
Although I might not seem to care

I don't want clever conversation
I never want to work that hard
I just want someone that I can talk to
I want you just the way you are.

I need to know that you will always be
The same old someone that I knew
What will it take till you believe in me
The way that I believe in you.

I said I love you and that's forever
And this I promise from the heart
I could not love you any better
I love you just the way you are.

Just the Way You Are--Billy Joel

Life is a highway

Home. I pulled into my driveway at nine, as the GPS lady promised me I would. I unloaded my small haul from America, plugged in my dead cell phone and started reconnecting with the world I left behind on Friday evening.

Friday. It feels so long ago. I turned down after work drinks with K so I could go home and pack. I stopped at Starbucks on the way so I could get a smoothie for the road. It was sunny and warm and I had the whole long weekend ahead of me. I had a fun ride down.

Hot Border guard: Where you headed?
Me: Turtle River.
Hot Border guard: Whatchya doing down there?
Me: Camping.
Hot Border Guard: By yourself?
Me: Meeting my parents down there.
Hot Border Guard: So your parents forced you to go camping with them this weekend huh? Doing anything else down there?

Figuring it would have been inappropriate at this time to bat my eyelashes and ask in a Canadian maple syrup sweet voice, "what are you doing later?" I instead replied: Maybe some shopping.

Hot Boarder Guard with dimpled smile: Alright then, you try to have fun camping this weekend.

I continued my journey onward with my spirits and music high and pulled up to the motor home around 8:30 where I was greeted by my parents and Elmo. Home for the weekend. I've fallen in love with the drive to the border now, the way I know other Manitobans love the drive north to the beaches or east to the Lake of the Woods area. And the motor home, it's not a cabin on the lake and I don't even get my own bedroom, but the motor home has become a special home away from home for me. Wherever it is, there is a warm place for me.

This weekend I went shopping with my mom, rode bikes with my dad and scratched Elmo behind his ears whenever I could. I hung around a bit late today, not wanting to leave. While my journey was ending today, my mom's and dad's was just starting. Dad retired this week and now they are travelling for the month of September. No real destination, just wherever the wind blows (although I warned my mom to stay clear of hurricane territory). It felt weird this week. First my dad had this big accomplishment--he finished his 37-year career. For all my life it's been me or my sister accomplishing things, but this time it was my dad's turn to celebrate himself. And today, when I pulled away from the motor home and waved so long, I had an idea what it might feel like to be a parent sending her children off to summer camp or university for the first time. Where did the time go? Will they be okay? A month is so long, I'm going to miss them so!

The ride home was less enjoyable. The skies were grey and the wind was wicked. The line up at the border was long (2 miles or more, 100 minutes).

Back at home I plugged in my dead phone, retrieved the message from Lisa (she's home!!) and a text message from Judy (still stuck in the border line up). OAF IM'd me, requesting stories. I checked my fridge for something lunchable. I didn't buy anything I can wear to work tomorrow, well, maybe. OAF is going back to school tomorrow, like so many others. Lucky.

I was feeling pensive while I was bike riding this weekend. The park had a lot of hills. Sometimes I had to chug pretty hard to climb them, even in a low gear. The best feeling was when I was almost at the top and I knew that I was going to make it. At that moment I relished the challenge, way more than the easy sail down the other side. Coasting isn't really that much fun for more than a moment or so. (Although that moment is truly something--the hum of the tires, the wind in my face, the break from peddling.) The other thing that really isn't fun is peddling down a flat stretch in an easy gear. I need some resistance so I don't feel like I'm just spinning my wheels. It's good to know the kind of ride you like and the gear you operate best in. It's also pretty cool to look back at some of those hills you've climbed and be amazed at how far you've come.

I'd go on, but it's getting late. I'll try to post more regularly if only so that my mom and dad have something nice to read when they have Internet access on the road.

Notes on the weekend of July 16-18

My friend Irene has dubbed herself my Fairy Godmother matchmaker and planned out a Manventure evening for Friday night. Amara picked me up and we met Irene at a neighbourhood lounge to start the scoping. It was a hot summer Friday night, there was a Bomber game on the TV and drinks were pouring, but would you believe that when Amara and I walked in the room all we saw were other pairs of women sitting at the tables?

We kept optimistic though and decided after the first drink to change our venue to a busy little place in the Exchange District. Again, slim pickings. We finished the night off with some club dancing. No romance found but the determination of my friends to find me a new special friend is so heartwarming in itself. You guys are the best.

After finishing two over par on Friday I thought that Golfer guy hadn't made the cut to the playoffs for the weekend, but when I checked online on Saturday morning I saw that he had just made it in, yay! But I'd already missed his tee-off and had a hair appointment so I wouldn't be able to go watch again. I checked in on the scores throughout the day and was happy to see he had a much better game finishing at par. Golfer guy did play on Sunday but by the time they posted his tee-time I already had plans for the day.

Saturday night was also the Bon Jovi concert at the stadium. Lisa and I had tickets in the north endzone.

"I have a broken heart too!" Lisa told me as we walked to the stadium.

"Oh no!" At first I thought she meant some dumb guy had gotten to her, but she was actually referring to the ticker in her chest. Her doctor detected a heart murmur. It's an innocent one though so no worries. Oh yeah, my heart checked out a-okay with the cardiologist this week. I still have the Teletubby in my heart (Tinky-Wenckebach!) but Doc says it had no relation to my fainting spell last year (Lisa also had a fainting spell last fall, we are true bosom buddies). I guess next time I sprain my ankle I really should just sit down for a moment.

The concert was super. Standing in an outdoor stadium with 40,000 other people singing Living on a Prayer with Jon Bon Jovi was worth the price of admission--$55 for me, $5 for my lucky duck sister who got a last minute ticket in the same section.

Men at Work talking about the land of Oz

On Tuesday night a travel services company hosted an information night on visiting Australia and New Zealand. The particular tour company they were featuring that night specialized in packages for the 18 to 35-year-old group. The event was being held at a popular downtown watering hole.

Travel.
18 to 35-year-olds.
Fun location.

Sounds like an opportunity to learn more about something I have an interest in and possibly meet other people in my age group, possibly of the guy-variety who also share this interest. Can you picture the twinkle in my eyes?

I told Lisa about it and she said she'd love to go since she had always dreamed of going to Australia. I didn't know that about her. I, honestly, didn't have any deep yearning to see the place. I also am having a hard time right now imagining a time when I will have $2000 or so to jet off across to the other side of the world for fun, but as I noted, my motives for attending the event were more social. Whenever someone writes into Miss Lonelyhearts complaining that they just can't meet people, she always tells them to join things, volunteer, get out there. Well this is me, out there. You know I'm out there, right? I'm a joiner. I try things all the time. I do always have some kind of fun.

Miss Lonelyhearts, I'm calling bullshit on this strategy. Only girls showed up to the event. There were seven of us. We outnumbered the travel staff by just one.

The presentation was good. It actually made joining a tour sound like fun. You fly yourself to the destination, meet up with your group and spend the next three to 16 days travelling and doing excursions with them. You get a tour bus, nice looking accommodations, nightly entertainment and a tonne of choices in activities like surfing, skydiving, sailing, rolling down a hill in an inflated ball. Hey, this was starting to sound like something worth saving up for.

After the tour company rep gave her presentation one of the guys from the travel services company who sponsored the event got up to speak. That's right, I said one of the guys. There were two of them. One was geeky cute but made mention of a girlfriend. The other one (the one who got up to speak) was tall, dark and handsome. I don't know his marital status, never did find out, but he helped a great deal to turn the social aspect of the evening right around.

After the presentation was done, TD&H drew names for door prizes. Guess who was the last name called? Yup. I got the best prize of all--a big fat guide book of Australia.

The others got up and left once the speaking was done. Lisa had just turned to me and said, "well...?" when  the geeky-cute girlfriended guy came by and asked us about our travel plans. We explained to him that we didn't really have plans yet, that we were just starting to investigate our options. He moved on and then TD&H came by to chat with us. He gave Lisa the tote bag that he has pulled the names out of and asked us about our travel plans. He talked. A lot. Which was completely fine by me. I tried to be very encouraging of this by nodding, asking questions, answering his questions, although he didn't need much encouragement so mostly I just got to sit there and enjoy studying him. He had two earrings in his left ear and looked like he had spent the last 10 years or so playing football. I'll bet he had a motorcycle.

So the night was a win. I got a free book and a TD&H personal resource should I ever wish to explore The Down Under.

Come Hell or High Water

Someone told me long ago: There's a calm before the storm
I know
and it's been comin' for sometime.
When it's over
so they say
it'll rain a sunny day
--CCR Have you Ever Seen the Rain

Mother Nature is having her way with my house. On Wednesday I went down to the basement and discovered a dead bumble bee in the middle of the floor being masticated by red ants. The bee was dead so the hows and whys of it are of no matter now. The ants however, are a problem, although not as much of a problem as the large puddle I came home to on Saturday night.

From the CBC.ca website

Homeowners, public works crews and emergency responders in southern Manitoba are beginning a major cleanup after severe thunderstorms pounded the region over the weekend.


Environment Canada said 53 millimetres of rain fell on Winnipeg on Saturday and several major streets remain closed because of flooding.

The towns of Portage la Prairie and Emerson each recorded record amounts of rainfall, a spokesperson for the weather agency said. Emerson has declared a state of emergency because of the damage done to property in the community.

Read more

My friend George noted on his Facebook status that he felt "feels 10 years younger...because for the first time in 10 years, he has to bail out his fricking basement". Me, I felt 10 years older for being a homeowner who had returned to find that her house needed a diaper. I got to work with my mop, pushing the water into the storm drain. I spent an hour on the clean up getting it mostly dry before deciding I could go to bed at midnight.

I had a lousy sleep full of weird dreams.  At four I was awake and could hear the rain again. I decided to check downstairs. The puddle was back. Feeling helpless, I went back to bed and waited until it was a decent hour to phone my dad.
Springtime in Winnipeg didn't used to mean monsoon season. Winnipeg has suffered some depressing and wet summers the past two years but I think we thought we were getting back to the sunny side of things this year. Climate change. Yes, I'm a believer. I've been here long enough to know that this isn't the weather I grew up with. This is something different. Is it the product of the human lifestyle or just a cycle in nature, I don't know, but I have to wonder if I'm seeing the beginnings of a new Atlantis.

My dad came over in the morning with his ShopVac and sucked up the water. He got about 15 gallons of water and it continued to seep in. The ground is just so saturated and the sewers so full that the water has nowhere to go but old basements. Fortunately my basement is just a storage space for me although I did have a lot of books in cardboard boxes that will need to be aired out.

Dad burnt out the ShopVac. The sun and blue sky are back out now although the forecast is calling for more precipitation tonight and tomorrow. Good thing I have that canoe.

She's a good girl, loves her mama

I tried running outside today. FAIL! My lungs burned, my throat felt like it was taking on blood and my nose dripped like a facet. After a measly 10 minutes I was a done deal. SO MAD. I knew transitioning from the treadmill to the road wouldn't be a cakewalk but I was not expecting this.

I tried something else new today that went much better than the running. I went to a life drawing session with Nigel and his friend Andrea. I don't know what made me try drawing again since I haven't seriously sketched since junior high art class, but I am so pleased with myself!

I met Nigel and Andrea at the Cre8ery Gallery in the Exchange district for a drop in session. I tried to put together an artsy outfit but couldn't quite get one together so I just went with jeans and an interesting combo of layered t-shirts. I tried to make my hair extra messy to compensate. I would have worn my glasses but I wore them all day at work and they gave me a headache so I had to pop my contacts in.

The gallery supplies you with a seat/easel contraption, some rocking tunes (re: Tom Petty!) and the nude model. The model does mixed poses that she holds for 30 seconds to start and gradually increases the time as the session goes on. You don't get much out of the 30 second poses but they are a good warm up and gave me a chance to get reacquainted with my 2B pencil and sketchbook.

I had two thoughts that stuck with me as I drew: 1) The human body is really beautiful. I love the way the shadows and the light make it interesting. 2) Is there a writing exercise like this? Could I go to a place and be given an object to write about from different perspectives for increasing amounts of time?

I didn't go in with any expectations for my work, which was probably the best way to approach the activity. I just wanted to spend some time with a pencil and see what happened. I usually started off with finding the longest line in the pose and sketching that out, then added the other side. It was refreshing to spend some time creating something on paper without using words.

These were my favourite pages of work:



I gave the model some Amazonian legs here; so generous of me.



This was from the last two poses. I struggled with the angles of her legs and was starting to get frustrated a bit.



These were from the minute and a half poses, I think. Look at that bum! I am so proud of that bum! Doesn't that look real? I should put this one on my fridge.

I hope to go again. Look at me, Little Miss I Go to The Cinematheque and do Drop In Nude Model Drawing. Where's my beret and closet full of black huh?

All the vampires walkin’ through the valley
Move west down ventura boulevard
And all the bad boys are standing in the shadows
All the good girls are home with broken hearts

--Free Fallin' -- Tom Petty

That makes sense actually

On Friday night I made my pilgramage to the Starbucks on Academy Road. I had meant to rotate the places I visited, but when I thought about the other locations they didn't seem as appealing as this one. I liked the idea of having an easy place to park, a place that was busy but not too busy that I wouldn't get a spot to sit, preferably in a comfy chair or a tucked away table in the corner. This place had all that so I stuck with it.

Last week I noticed a pirate sitting on the other side of the store from me. He had a beard and a laptop and wore a rather stylish looking black eye patch. I wasn't very focused last week so I messaged OAF to tell him about what I was looking at.

me: I am in Starbucks and on the opposite side of the shop is a pirate.


OAF: Male or female?

me: male.

OAF: Talk to him! Just for five minutes. He's single and (even though you're not attracted to him) he'll say some hilarious stuff.

I sat there for the longest time trying to figure out what I could say in order to play out this scene that OAF had made up. One of the baristas came around and offered me a sample of tea and a chocolate oat bar. I watched her approach the pirate and saw him turn down the offer. Who would turn down the offer of a sample of tea and the infamous Starbucks chocolate oat bar? On top of that, now if I found myself wandering over there it wasn't like I could say something casual like, "hey, sample night!" I turned back to my novel project. I was stuck. I thought about how I could write the pirate into the story but couldn't come up with anything. I ended up adding in some teenage girls who walked in later. I sludged my way through maybe 1,000 words that night. I noticed when the pirate got up and headed out that he had a gold ring on his left hand. OAF had been wrong, although I suspect he was just trying to give me something to do other than chat with him.

The guy was there again this week. I wondered if he noticed me too. I was kind of loud when I was ordering my tea. I don't know why but my voice just seemed to project itself when I said, "Tall Vanilla Rooibos tea, please" and then later when I said, "Is this just the tea, or the tea latte?" because the kid got my order wrong. I was dressed in mostly black because I decided I wanted to look "gothic" that night, just on a whim, or well, more likely inspired by my love of Vampire Diaries. I don't know if it is possible really, for a blonde girl to look gothic. Even though I put on my skinny black jeans and my bat wing black sweater I still had that shock of blonde hair and bright blue eyes that looked anything but angry or emo or whatever. I painted my nails with Vamp It Up, a dark blood red color I got from Avon. I didn't go through the goth phase when I was a teen. I had a beige and blue plaid shirt with a matching hair scrunchie from Smart Set in the mall. That was the closest I got to the grunge look. One of the teachers told me I would never get a date if I kept dressing like a boy. My idol around that time was the Sarah Michelle Gellar Buffy The Vampire Slayer. She was blonde and she got the attention of David Boreanaz's Angel, unfortunately their having sex opened up a portal to hell. Anyway, the attractive pirate was married.

I started out this novel project with a bang. I knocked off the first 10,000 words easily. The next fifteen weren't much of a struggle either and I celebrated being halfway to my target days ahead of schedule. The next ten were a little harder to get down, but by 35,000 I was actually convinced that I would finish the feat. I had an idea as to what I wanted to happen in the end at this point, but I wasn't sure how I was going to get there exactly, and how I needed to pace myself so that I would start my ending in the right place to cruise into 50,000 words for the finish. This is where I started really over thinking things. Up until then, I was just filling up pages with words and letting the journey take its own course, but now I actually had a destination in mind. My daily quotas were a struggle. Interesting things would happen though when I would shut down for the day. My brain would figure out solutions to my blocks. It would inevitably come up with something every time. My favourite math teacher in high school used to tell us that when we got stuck on a math problem sometimes the best thing to do was to put it aside and let our subconscious work on it. I completely believe in this idea.
 
Today I procrastinated a bit on getting down to work. There was a song in my Yoga/Pilates/Tai Chi class that I loved but didn't know the name of or the name of the artist who sang it. It had a John Mayer sound to it. I kept meaning to Google the one line of lyrics that I had but I always forgot. This weekend when I was thinking of it again I realized that I couldn't remember the lyrics anymore. So then I did a mad search of "Goodlife Fittness Music" and "Goodlife BodyFlow Music", which didn't give me what I wanted at all. I hoped that I would find a Blogger or a Tweet or a Facebook page or something that had listed the track for the last choreography release but no. I was playing around with my searches again this morning some more and finally got some results. I found a blog with the names and artists of the songs, but I didn't have a clue which song was the one I was looking for. I randomly started plugging things into YouTube to sample the songs but still hadn't found what I was looking for. All of a sudden though I could remember the lyric and I could hear the song in my head again. I Googled the line "I'll be right beside you dear" and found it! Snow Patrol's song Run was the one I was looking for!
 

Light up, light up

As if you have a choice
Even if you cannot hear my voice
I'll be right beside you dear

Snow Patrol, Run (Leona Lewis also sings this song, I don't know who did it first)

I threw my head back on the chair and exhaled once I confirmed that this was in fact the song I was looking for. I remember doing hamstring stretches to this song, balanced on one foot and trying to touch my nose to my knee (I can come close, you know) and how that one line, "Even if you cannot hear my voice, I'll be right beside you dear" just got inside of me and helped me push forward. Songs like that go on my personal soundtrack.
 
So with the song mystery solved I could finally get to work. On Friday night I left off with one of my characters saying to another, "That makes sense, actually." I sat and stared at the screen for the longest time trying to figure out where to go from there. I could feel the characters looking at me going, "Okay, now what?" And I was kind of looking at them going, "sorry guys, I'm not sure. I wasn't really expecting this. I didn't know A was going to be so smart or that D was going to turn out not to be a total jerk." So it seems that whenever I get stuck like that I change scenes and move on to something else. I eventually had to face the stuck situation and do something with it though. When I did, another strange and unexpected thing happened. I got tears in my eyes.  My own freakin story was making me cry? That's not supposed to happen! I don't cry for movies or books! What's the deal? Well I had to push my character to do something scary and I think I was worried too about the same things she was. I mean, I wanted everything to work out for this person, I wanted them to get what they wanted (but at the same time too, as a writer, I did NOT want to write a fairytale all wrapped up in a pretty pink ribbon). I really got stuck again and then all of a sudden this other character started talking, and I still don't know who this character is, but they started talking to the one who was scared, and they offered some wisdom and reassurance and things started moving again. Do I sound crazy yet? Good. Writers usually are a bit "off" aren't they? Sometimes they wear a lot of black too.
 
I could see a resolution to everything that satisfied me and satisfied the character so I worked my way to that, all the while keeping one eye on the word count. I got to the second last scene and again, the waterworks kicked in. Oye. I think I understand why it was touching me so deeply, and I don't really want to get into it here because I've already said too much, but it was an interesting experience. It's my hope that it means that what I wrote was from such an emotional, honest and real place that it will have resonance with an audience too.
 
I am about 3,000 words shy of the 50,000 goal. I believe I have written the ending today though. The story is done. I don't want to stop though because the official challenge was 50,000 words in one month and I feel that if I don't meet that challenge it would be like skipping out of the last 200 meters of a marathon just because I personally felt that I was done enough. So I'm going to try to go back and fill in some thin spots, which will be hard to do without being tempted to edit.
 
Editing is the next step. After I have put in the full word count in the alloted number of days I plan to leave the story alone for about a week and try to remember what it was I did before I locked myself in a room with a keyboard and my headphones. After the week-long vaction I will go back and clean the thing up a bit. There are places where I forgot a character's name and instead of searching back for it I just gave them a new one, or where I decided suddenly that they didn't come from Vancouver but actually it was Calgary. There are places where I know I got bogged down in making the plot progress on a daily basis so the story is full of "and the next day..." and "by Friday...". Stuff like that. Once I am satisfied that those details have been taken care of and that all the pieces of the plot at least make sense, I will contact the coordinator at the Manitoba Writers' Guild and employ the use of her matchmaking skills. No, not for a date, (although doesn't "I wrote a novel in 30 days" sound extremely attractive?) but rather for a writing group. Based on what you are looking to get out of the group, the Writers' Guild will put you in touch with other writers. It is my hope that I can go to a group or a single person and say, okay, I know this thing is still rough, but I think there is something good in here and I just need some help working out the kinks and shining it up.
 
So that's where things are at right now. This is me, being a writer. It might just work.

Will you still love me when I'm 84? How about tomorrow?

I was grumpy yesterday. I don't know why, the mood just struck me. Maybe it's the return of the cold weather. I couldn't remember the last time I had felt comfortably warm but figured it was probably on Saturday evening when I was working by the fire with a glass of red wine at my side. I can just imagine myself when I'm old and reminiscing about the good times I had when I wasn't fighting to keep warm

I phoned my dad this morning to tell him I was less grumpy today than I was last night when I talked to him on the phone. Last night I was grumpy because I had missed him calling me to say they were going to Costco and ask if I needed anything--which I did, bread and McIntosh apples. I missed the call this time because my phone was charging and not because it was on vibrate or silent mode at the bottom of one of my bags. I had lost my phone again for about a day last week. I wish there was some way I could put that thing on a lanyard and wear it around my neck. I am also a big fan of mittens on a string if that isn't already obvious.

"I'm grumpy like an old man who didn't get his pudding," I told my dad.

"You're what?"

I explained to him then the scenario of a little old man in a nursing home who waits all day, maybe all week for a dish of pudding with his meal but for some reason does not get it. That little old man, in my mind, would be grumpy. People might laugh and think it's an awfully silly reason to get all bothered over, but for this man pudding is the difference between a good day and a bad day, and that is what I felt like. Grumpy for no real good reason and in need of an afghan because I am cold all the time. Perhaps as you read this though you are thinking someone should check me for a fever because I am sounding delirious.

I had a meeting at the bank today with My Bank Guy. I told him today that I am writing a novel. I mentioned this because we were looking at my investments and I had not yet told him of my early retirement plan that requires me to write a best seller. In case the markets crash again this is my Plan B.

"You have to let me read it when it's done," he said. He was really excited about this project for me.

"Yup." I nodded. Later though I thought about this some more. Maybe it was not wise of me to mention the novel writing project. Would he read this story I am crafting? Would he even be in the section of the bookstore one would find this book in, if it made it to the shelves? Then I started replaying the whole story in my head and letting the internal editor take a critical look at it (so far I've done a pretty good job at keeping that nasty woman locked away in the linen closet where her comments are muffled by fluffy towels). Then I said, STOP! You are telling the story of Character A. It's not even your story anymore, it is Character A's. You're just putting it into words. All that matters is that you tell Character A's story in a way that is respectful and true. And Jillian, you can make paint drying sound interesting, so what makes you think that you can't entertain anyone with this story you're working on now?

After the bank and dinner with my parents I went to the gym for a short run. I figured out today that I could probably do one of those 5k fun runs. They're usually fundraisers for some honourable charity which means I would be paying money to run. Crazy talk. Must be delusional. As I was running today though my knees started aching like someone whacked them with a hammer. I know, I know, I really have to get out and get some proper shoes. Even after the run my knees continued to ache, which made me feel even more like a grumpy old man.

And now I think I would really like a dish of pudding.

Give me your answer, fill in a form
Mine for evermore
Will you still need me, will you still feed me,
When I'm sixty-four
--The Beatles, When I'm 64