I am just coming down from the weekend that I have been anticipating since September. And, to be honest, I am a little hollow and broken.

I never thought that I would be an on-line dater, but low and behold I became one after an unacceptable time as a single in the big city --- where I was no longer a 22 year cutie and far too grounded to play into the role that my age might suggest I might want to play. So I was matched with this guy in May. We causally emailed for a couple of months. Just before my most recent contract started we started emailing regularily and with intention. We then jumped on the online chat bandwagon until we adopted Tuesday nights to be ours. We took turns phoning each other and staying up as late as our phone cards would hold out. There was no denying that we weren't in each other's backyards or even a stone throw away. Then a month into our psuedo-dating he told me he was coming to my area and wanted to spend a weekend together.

It sounded toooooo good to be true and then it wasn't, then it was again. I guess that's what sometimes happens when you have nothing to rely on by a voice and a hypothetical layer of trust - who knows if it would work out. He planned to come up early in the afternoon so we could make the most of the weekend... well traffic happened. Rain happened. Ticketmaster crashed. I committed at least one serious traffic offence carting us one from one side of the world to another. The parking meter ate the money. The resturant turned off its lights as we reached for the handle. Everything that may not have gone according to plan, didn't. To boot, the chat wasn't as consistent. We were different levels of nervous. But there was still something there. Or at least I thought there was.

We spent the nights laying beside each other. The first tossing and turning trying to establish boundaries the second he was in a beer dream and I was high on cold medication. Our days were loosely planned and the timing was great. He met those closest to me and I dragged him by the arm to my most cherished places. We didn't tick off everything but what we did do was memoriable -- especially those events that we dragged ourselves to the front of the line to witness first hand.

From that prospective it went as well as it could have; however, something that was on my mind was the chemistry aspect. I needed to know if there could be sparks waiting for me. Apparently this vision was one sided. I tried to work my magic and I didn't even fall into one kiss. Brutal.

So at the end of this remarkable weekend as I get prepared for the next phase, likely to be affectionally known as AOLD (after online dating), I can at least feel settled that I gave it a go and I can sleep better knowing that he does exist and is true to his word that he doesn't want to be involved with anyone this far away.

I know my glass can be half empty. I prefer when it is half full of good times and something warm; however, today it isn't really either.

I don't know the minute that brought on this moment but I believe that it all culminated last night around the stroke of eleven. After a tough week out of the gate, complete with illness and fatigue, I bought a new pair of heels and hit the town all for the newest oldie in my social circle.

I can honestly say, that I didn't want to plaster on make-up or strap on a push up bra in the first place, but the sense of moral obligation forced me out of the house fifteen minutes behind schedule.... well that and the fact that I couldn't find anything that didn't make me look like a whale.

I sat on the train waiting to travel from the 'burbs to the inner heartbeat of the city. I wedged myself into a seat and buried my head in the nothingness of nothing... since I couldn't fit a book and extra shoes in my purse, my Ipod was lovingly left in my drawer at school, and my new phone apparently doesn't come equipped with games... I nearly twiddled my thumbs which didn't help me since I showed up to the venue with no sense of comfort.

A past date has been stalker calling me all week and agreed to meet up with me later in the evening, but between the punch, shots, and compliments of the barkeep - it ended up being a sober guy meeting up with the drunk girl. Who like any other intoxicated person tried not to appear intoxicated but more than likely therefore came off as more intoxicated than originally anticipated. Sadly, he was taken out of my horizon in the most intense way possible and came back slowly... but not so surely. I forgot how awkward it all felt. We could walk and talk for hours but I forgot that we had no eye contact or no real physical connection. We could talk intellect for days, but for someone in my position, I am wanting something more. Just before I left, what did shake me was that he brought up something that I had said about one of my own family members and he was using that as part of his current motivation for the next step. It was having a sense of intimacy without being intimate. So I he went off into the night while I went back to the rage of the party and caught up quickly because there is one problem with being the single one.

If you are the one single among couples at a dinner party, it can turn very expectedly awkward. The entire table will wait to hear you speak about why you are still single or wants to know your secret to happiness (since you are choosing to be without a companion) while others are waiting with abated breath to hear how on such a meager salary you can effort rent, food, a vehicle, and a social life... since two considerably more substantial saleries barely cover their loose ends. And against popular belief the problem with this situation is that this particular awkwardness is not limited to only the dining room. It can happen anywhere in particular, for instance, I got to experience it at the club. The coupled boys of the party feel obligated to take the single ones dancing and within a thirty second window their better halves ensure their presence is well known as if to mark their territory to ensure you realise that you made a bad decision. Or on the flip side, those taken males are so vibrant and open with their emotions they often sandwich kiss and hug the single females whenever a potential partner comes near - which is often awesome and extremely helpful. Which makes me wonder how I'm really dating at all right now. Then again, the last two guys have been muppets with fizz less exciting than whatever that candy maker used to wedge in that hard candy. And then while sitting on the banquet amongst the coats, shoes, and purses of others....  I had an epiphany. In my current scope their is one boy I'm becoming attached to but have yet to have materialize... when he does come into my vision it will likely go one of two ways - there will be no click and I'll never see him again OR there will be a click and I wont see him for months on end - which in the short term prospective may even be worse than the first. And leave me in the exact same reality that I experienced last night. Needless to say, that was my third severe kick of reality.

And just when I thought I might be done for the night, the forth kick allowed some of my soft metal bend just a little more. My girls were also in the area, getting ready for the club across the street that caters to those closer to 20 than 30. I didn't really want to travel home alone so I asked if we could meet up after our respective nights out. The hitch in the evening, if I waited past a certain stroke of the clock I was literally stuck without the ability to get home for less than $60. Nearly the time that my cheapest option became a pumpkin, I tried to contact my ladies... the birthday boy and his entourage were on the cusp of being asked to leave since it became quickly inevitable that 30 year olds don't handle their unlimited ticket for the five hour booze truck as well as they did in their frat years.... with no avail. Everyone else left assuming that it would all work out. I waited for twenty minutes and still nothing so I had to hike it and hoped that I wasn't even a moment toooooo late. Thankfully, I wasn't and I secured a seat. And there I was again - taking care of myself, because even when I reach out - at the end of the day I can't depend on anyone but me.

It just kind of sucks as this moment because of what I have done, experienced, and have offered to others - it seems a little cold to even think. And I don't want that to be a continuing reality.

There is so much to say and so much tossed into the mix right now that it doesn't even make sense let alone resemble anything like a set of words that I so deperately need to put down on virtual page. I don't even know when it started... all I can hope is that I can recognize it when it stops. And the worst part is... it should have stopped a year ago; yet somehow it's here in my present instead of my past.

This new year hasn’t been met with enlightenment, abundance of luck, or the good fortune of making realistic resolutions. I did something different this holiday season, I abandoned everything I have ever known to be connected with the holidays and ventured to try something different with the only other person who had experienced my past – my brother. Of course I would be lying if I said it was a perfect holiday and I would also be lying if I said I went with no expectations…. I did. While sitting in my own pool of swass, I emailed and invited myself to his place. I went with the expectation that it would be the two of us and maybe (just maybe) we would work it out. We would tolerate each other and make sense of a relationship we never actively tried to create.

Well since my delusional state, his girlfriend moved it. I had heard rumors about her, but went with an open heart and as a guest into “their” home. It was awful. I tried to understand her and them, but I don’t get it. She was nothing like the person I thought my brother would end up with. It’s not like I should have a say in who he will marry; but on the flip side of the coin, I thought that my “future” sister-in-law might be someone ‘special.’ I feel so awful for thinking it, let alone typing it, but how do they work? I mean watching them interact; I found it hard to believe they were partners in a relationship. Of course, as a single person it made me extremely judgmental allowing me to believe that I would never let myself be trapped in the same situation… and then like all irrational claims it was a perfect time for fate to walk in.

I woke on Christmas morning to a text. I thought the text was from my service provider since it appeared to be from my own phone number, but it wasn’t. It was from my ex. We haven’t talked for months and the last thing I needed was to know he thought about me. Christmas had always been a special time for us as friends and then as a couple. We had tacky traditions, silly games, and miracles to be granted. Last year I gave myself permission to be upset, but I wasn’t. This year, when I woke to that, I was livid.

After leaving me and our friendship the way he did, he has tried many times and many things to get things back to the way they were. Tomorrow he’s getting married.

I don’t have things figured out for myself in the least, but I just don’t get it… how could I have ever spent my time with someone without a backbone. I mean, even when we were dating and we were talking about marriage, he claimed that he could never marry her because of her mother. Fair enough I suppose. I of course questioned him of why he would be thinking of her mother when he was planning to spend his life with me; but I suppose these things happen when your life makes no sense. Beyond that, I “ran” into a few months ago and he hated where they were. He didn’t want any more children or talk of marriage. Now a few months later, baby number two is in the oven and the ring is polished for tomorrow’s ceremony.

And the weird thing is that the thought of his wedding bothers me in a way much different than I thought. I’m sure that from the outside I could appear to be a jealous ex that is bitter that I could never “bag” him. But in reality, I don’t care that he’s making a commitment and his first child is going to have a name reflective of a fucked up infancy… I care that his life is over in a certain way. There is so much he promised himself he would do and he now won’t.

Days, months, years, passed between the first time we “hung out” and the last time we kissed. Regardless of who we were with or what we thought would happen, him and I laid under the covers cuddled in mutual warmth and talked about our hopes, dreams, and most importantly our fears. Looking back, it makes perfect sense that I was the first person he presented his child to at the hospital, he was the first who would hear about my day, I would be the first to help him figure out to dump his girlfriend, and he would be the first one to open his arms for me to rush into upon reunion. I loved every ounce of his persona as his friend. I’ll admit, he could be dumber than a post at times (particularly when it came to girls) but then he would surprise me when we debated the day’s hot topics. We were a part of each other’s consciousness. And from the outside it still baffles me that I may be as close to another person. I don’t question that in a bitter way but with some curiosity.

I have someone in my life who could become that person I have been missing. He is amazing and no where near a perfect match for me… because he’s the thing I need in my life, a really good male friend. I have not yet fucked it up or made it too complicated for us to understand. There was a time where I couldn’t wait to progress what we had, but now that I have new perspective - of how fabulous he is as a part of my life; I am thrilled to have him not that into me… because it makes meeting his family a lot less stressful! Now that he’s simplified one aspect of my life easier, what should be next on my agenda for kicking ass in this new year?

The word parade conjures up several images and feelings about my past, my present, and that which can not be described.

Last weekend I stood in the pouring rain with thousands to remember something so simple and so easily forgotten that I missed the point of it. In my current life I am as busy as the next person; which basically means I work, work, and have a part-time job to make ends meet more comfortable. Between the hours or mere moments between needing to be somewhere and the need to something its funny how time just kind of flies by. Digital everything seems to have overtaken the need to socialize and fraternize with the mundane. To stand there in my old locale clutching the local beverage of choice and nestled amongst strangers who happen to be “friends” due to circumstance it seems to all come together somehow.

The air filled with bagpipes, not because there was a busker looking for a quick buck but rather to pay homage to those with melody instead of tears. Each time I hear it chills run down my spine. Not only because I feel connected to the bagpipes themselves, but it means something… however, is that in itself is enough?

The minutes of silence observed are unlike the quiet years partners, families, communities, and countries observe for loses that will never be replaced. I know I am very fortunate. If I study my family, many members serve the crown and the country on a day to day base. As we conclude another year, I thank my lucky stars that they are all safe and here at home. During the silence of the service of Remembrance, it hit me in my core – this year will most likely bring the travel to the one family member who is ‘deployable’ ; that freaks the shit out of me. Creepy video game simulations and books of war from the past forgotten, this is no game. And I am not one to judge because I don’t use my six years of education supported with three certificates to bring home the ‘bacon’ and my lifestyle is odd to some and I'm sure others judge me in the same way I want to continually ask why he doesn't for a non-deployable 'company.'

So much has changed in our society. It’s hard to consciously remember that it wasn’t always like this. There was a time where you had to type in commands to start a computer program, a toaster oven was the closest thing to a microwave sitting on your counter top, and you had to factor in an extra two minutes to rewind your movie before returning it to the video store since you didn’t want to waste your pop bottle pocket money on an extra fee. As the years go by it almost becomes depressing how much actual parades have changed. To make childhood more exciting there were parades to celebrate local events and the arrival of the festive season. Back in the day it was worth it to sit on the cold cement sidewalk for hours before hand to secure a prime seat for the candy that would come flying your way. Sure the hand-eye coordination of small children is never accurate, but the scramble was an integral part of the parade route. Tragically parades have lost some of their luster since the candy was cut back and the normal flair was put on a budget. My personal parade has suffered some drastic cutbacks.

I live with the resurgence of Monty the Mouse. I found myself believing that Monty finally kicked the can, I had a couple of weeks that enabled my bread to remain uneaten and my heart to keep a normal heart rate when I walked across my kitchen floor... then it all changed. Monty II moved in. It all started when I hung up a coat and something landed on my shoulder before hitting the floor. I nearly died since I couldn’t inhale enough air to scream. Since then Monty II has jumped out of two boxes and sauntered across my floor (since he feels no need to run away from me.) I tried ‘humane’ methods to ‘catch and release’ Monty II, but he hasn’t fallen for my cheap ploys. I then considered getting a cat. A cat seemed like a viable option; however, I don’t really know if I want to lock a cat in an apartment. I placed calls and became demanding of Monty II removal – still nothing. Last night I woke up to him wrestling around in a box filled with travel documents and postcards. I got up kicked the box and tried to scare it senseless. Apparently I didn’t do much. Upon closer inspection of my apartment, I have discovered that it ate my symbolic chocolate kiss and found a stash of my $18/ lbs coffee --- so basically it is hyper and wide awake. Awesome, sinced I'm unable to cope any longer I had put down traps. Traps that promise ‘easy and quick’ removal of this particular vermin. I need to make a confession.

I have lived with friends, a partner, and on my own since leaving my family home. I enjoy living on my own; however, more so recently I has hit me that I don’t live with a male (or a stronger female). In the past, I haven’t had to kill spiders, be the one to check that the front door is locked, or had to search for a hammer (when I first moved in I had to use a pot to hammer in nails because there wasn’t a tool box lingering in a closet, not to worry I have since bought a hammer); but now I do. It doesn’t sound like much, but it makes me want to be more of a wimp than I have to be. I don’t necessarily want to be taken care of but I don’t know how I react when I find Monty II dead in a trap. It makes me want to gag just typing that, this morning was the first morning I put the traps out while I went to work and I was sick to my stomach coming home… it was worse than going to dentist office knowing you needed some ‘work.’ Thankfully nothing was there, but one day soon I may not be so lucky / unlucky.

I know I will toughen up, because I will never call the friend who offered to come and dispose of the carcass; I mean if I have the gull to kill it I should be the one willing to get rid of it, right? I hate that I live somewhere that I could have a mouse. I hate it. I am still looking for my future home and fell in love with a view belonging to a place that I will never be able to leave… even if I go the unconventional route and start popping out eight kids, I’ll just have to stack them in the second bedroom since I would never leave there. I suppose that apartment would be a parade home. The layout and the view would be perfect for entertaining and enjoying in the heart of ‘downtown.’

It’s funny that I am here again. Falling in love so easily with something that is nearly out of my reach, I suppose that’s a drawback to being a Leo. So frickin’ trusting and gullible about the big and little things; and thinking others will do upon me as I do to them. But I suppose I have finally learned my lesson. I went on a limb and filled my fridge with the fixings of a perfect dinner for some friends to celebrate a first birthday on local soil. I spent more than I make in a day on it. I wanted it just right did what any pre-planner would do àmarinate. Two flips into my marinating cycle I received the official cancellation. As a single girl who doesn’t eat red meat with a fridge full of top round steak and fixings that didn’t really lend to single serving meals, it was less than awesome. So instead of just sucking it up and slowly working through it, I made it known that I had already preplanned and I have been cut out. Simple as that. I made someone else “feel like shit” because they had plans more important that me; which is fine. The problem with this parade is that it is really a double edged sword. She had offered me an out from my life and try something extraordinary. And when the good is good between us, nothing can go wrong but we have a serrated past. Many times I have been forgotten or pushed aside for other people or things. It always hurts and honestly I don’t know why I recently called when I was at the base of her building because it was where life brought me… I thought there had been enough time and distance for us to sort it out over tea, but like so many other things I obviously don’t understand the pieces that make up my personal puzzle. Her choice not to pick up the phone or even contact me ensures me I no longer have to coordinate her float into my parade route. It makes more sense that it happened as the final of three things. The other two things being: I went home to tell cancer to fuck off for once and all, only to be too sick to see its victim in his finally days and then to be told by my Mom through knitting group gossip that my previously betroved is thrilled to tell the world he’s expecting another child (a year after I lost our child).

It’s funny how these things happen because just when I think I should miss the parade, I show up anyways... and although there is rain during the parade I look beside me and realize that someone special is standing there holding up an umbrella small enough that I need to come closer and thick enough to keep even the biggest drops of precipitation off the stash of candy I have brought for old time sake.   

I took a long weekend and attempted to go home. Between what I thought I needed and what I planned on - life happened. My late night ferry was replaced by good company, a home cooked dinner, a few too many glasses of something good, and the swaying of 900 in front of a stage. Classic tunes encouraged the crowd to roar and the heads to bob. Dedication of the old and the newness of the young left the six of us in a weird "in-between" stage. I and another found ourselves crushed into the overly dedicated and well aware of the "cling-ons"... a late start introduced me to Seth, apparently a neighbour of mine. Seth was an interesting lad who was at least five years my junior. You could tell it was a good night because my one friend kept telling me there was no harm in a cheeky s'nog. I'm not sure if I was too sober or too aware of my environment to know that kissing him was a bad idea... of course this made me shine a little less in a friend's eye, but when his dancing (oh the dancing) started I knew I had made the right decision.

That's not to say there wasn't kissing. I was just merely the receiver and not the pucker-upper. It's interesting what can happen if the circumstances are such and there is a sudden spark that was never there before... and speaking of before, this stay in the city ensured that I made a proper fool of myself twice over (and to think I got off work late!) First of all, I needed to know something about someone to know the level of death-con I needed to prepare for. I know it sounds silly, but it was my night with my friends and I didn't want a distraction I couldn't control (thankfully money was more enticing then my venue of choice.) And the second foolish opportunity was in the form of a long overdue call from me and a double Malibu pineapple. I am as classy as they come. I at least put laughter into his voice, but in my true fashion I think I mislead him once again into something more than nothing. I don't quite know how to describe this one other than it was a go before I traveled and now the tires are so worn they couldn't travel a foot even if there was any potential energy still lingering; which is fine, but it's a shame because we had great chemistry as friends. 

So après concert I and another crawled back to my hovel of a home for some slumber (too little for us old folks) and at a quarter to a crack of dawn our real day started. You know you're officially old when you can't survive on less than two hours of sleep. I crawled out of bed and into the car and slept on the way to the ferry... and then slept the whole ferry ride.... and slept for another couple of hours and then needed a few more zzzzzz's that I wouldn’t get and I had to cover with foundation (yes, confirming I am old.)

At three o'clock that afternoon I was due left of centre stage to watch the wedding of my year. I had met her through her then boyfriend. In some ways it was typical of a twenty-something romance... she had been dating this one guy for donkey's years and realized that he couldn't give her what she wanted/ needed/ expected. Then instead of worrying about what the future might hold she finally made time for the guy upstairs and a year later I was in my finest straining my neck to catch a glimpse of white.

The ceremony was perfect. As one guy put it - "it was perfect because there was nothing religious and it played perfectly on time... two more minutes and I would have been a goner." But for me it was more than that. I don't know the groom very well; however, I took some wise advice and watched what he did rather than what he said. In every action he declared his love for her. And if that wasn't enough the passion behind his vows ran deeper than the thoughts that pass through everyone's mind on a wedding day. He ached to say those words... rather than just following the JP's prompting. Most weddings offer a single girl like myself something to gaze at (usually three or four somethings right to of  the groom), but this wedding gave me spun me back into the circle I can’t seem to ever shake: Why would I ever settle for anything other than what I witnessed on that alter? I shouldn't, but until I saw it with my very own eyes I can't say I wouldn't have. At least I know true love does really exist.  

Sadly it doesn’t often exist at the reception, especially when you aren’t asked to bring a date. Lucky for me I was put at the single’s table. When I found that tidbit on the seating chart I was thinking it couldn’t be that bad; however, I was slightly mistaken. First and foremost, those not sitting as couples at the table had their other halves in the wedding party. Super. So if you can imagine me with little energy sitting directly across from the three amigos (you know the Groom’s best friends – that didn’t make the bridal party.) Trying to look at the bright side of things I looked at this as an amazing opportunity to meet three great guys and maybe learn a bit more about the Groom. Thankfully the waiter was quite attentive at the beginning of the evening and brought me some wine to loosen up. Apparently I was a rare specimen. Not only could I chat about nothing, I had insider knowledge on something one guy knew nothing about. Yeah, you can imagine where this is going - I was on a formally dressed job interview which included personal questions like: what is your religion? By the time our table had been cleared to make the dance floor. (Why would family and normal couples have to move from their comfy seats when the singles could get up and mingle?) I was ready to dance or leave. I figured dancing was higher up in the stack of cards and after the obligatory grooving I looked up and I had scared away my dancing partners. Good thing too, I have been known to bite heads off after sex.

The rest of my mini-break was good. I visited the old and the new while breaking my frugal (post-trip) spending and gave into the lush stores with a good exchange rate. We even took in a few casinos. Casinos always sound like a good idea in theory; however, they can bring out severe ugliness in a hurry. I am what they would call a “cheap / safe” gambler. I like my money and don’t like to lose it. My meager bets and clenched bills encouraged a win fall that bought me new boats and a casserole dish… yes, another thing to make me old but it is a fabulous dish that I can use while wearing my boots with pride.  

When I returned to the city, I went back to work in the west end core. I endured a long class with the newest batch of go getters dazzled by the acronyms and the sweet smells of productivity. As I left the class wondering if I really was going anywhere that I needed to go, I stopped for a quick lunch. I was standing in line of this popular bakery when I looked over at the cash register and noticed the unusual blackness of a guy’s hair. Thinking nothing more of it I opted for the double chocolate brownie rather than leaving it behind. The line snaked around and I caught myself looking again at the black haired guy thinking what an usual hair cut. And then I heard a friend’s voice in my head: “Quite the hair cut for a married guy.” Reacting to the memory my eyes snapped to his left hand and then to his jeans, and converse sneakers. He was the guitarist from the band I saw on the weekend. As he glanced up he pinky waved at the customer behind me. Yup, it was him.

I think I’m detached to the whole celebrity idea. In my neighborhood there is always a film crew set-up and in my work I always get to help the assistants of the assistants of the stars filming in that area. Then in this specific instance I saw a guy whose songs I knew and the only CD of his I owned was left in my player when my ex moved out (and yes, karma did let it be the one CD of theirs I don’t really like.) Leaving the bakery, I was thinking about the view I was walking towards, the movie crew’s tape I had to step over, a song I bellowed out, and how good the brownie was… when the guitarist stepped out in front of me causing me to nearly choke on my brownie and let a macadamia nut to fly down my shirt. So as you can imagine I’m trying to fish out the nut and say something to the effect of “I don’t mean to sound like a stalker, but I stared at you all Friday night” because you know nothing ever sane starts with those words. Not to worry, some how the nut had wedged itself somewhere bizarre and caught my tongue letting the guitarist move on without harm.

Later that night I had a log of missed calls. After dialing a number you have a small window to consider the call you’re trying to place. I knew deep down I didn’t want to, but I didn’t know why. I had no way of knowing until the words tumbled into my ear… “there’s nothing more they can do. They figure he has four to six weeks.”

These words hung in the air like a bad smell. I couldn’t process the words and yet my brain was cranking out thoughts quicker than my heart was racing. I had nothing to say and didn’t know what to do other than cry.

I wish I could say it was the first time in my life that I had something this huge and nobody around, but it wasn’t. You would think I would be better at it; I’m not. I had no one to hug me, hold me, or tell me meaningless things that would make the speaker feel as if they had provided me with comfort. I had tears streaming down my cheeks, as I do now, and yet these tears were not wasted.

My mind went blank and I needed someone else. Someone who didn’t already know and had not had any time to process the information. I needed the one person they chose not to tell daily events on the actual day because of reasons that I merely categorize as pointless. Thankfully he picked up the phone so I didn’t have to exchange pleasantries with someone I have yet to meet. He let me cry and blame whatever higher being I was channeling at the time because I could not understand the situation. I hate it, but I also don't know what I can really do about it... I mean if I could write a letter to his cancer, much like a child writes to Santa, I suppose it would go something like this:

Dear Cancer,

            Fuck you. How dare you take the best and continue to hide when the brightest among us try to seek you? I realize that you are not a new disease on the block, but your sudden growth is not welcomed here or anywhere else for that matter. I understand that there have been many clues about your causes over the years, but I’m starting to think that you are a mere copy cat rather than a strong independent source. I feel this because you ‘provide’ random tip offs – on the news one week you’re related to ingredients in hair dye and the next you are connected to carbonation – and then you shift your shape in the nick of time… I mean if you were “legit” wouldn’t you have constant traits and be powerful enough to rear your ugly head rather than bury yourself deeper into various souls.

I suppose you could be called the root of most disease evil because you want several dings of a boxing club’s bell when you should only need one good punch to incur a K.O. Your matches not only wear out your victim, but all of those who are sitting around the ring rooting for the other boxer. I won’t give you any credit, have you ever noticed you don’t have any ring side support? This mere fact should indicate you have more enemies than not.

I just found out that you have gone into a final battle with a close friend of my family. Now see here, this may be your third attack on my family, but don’t let this think that you have gained any strength in the real world. Our current boxer has fought a battle with much more courage and dignity than you will ever muster. And although you may feel that you deserve credit of some sort, I won’t give you any.

I don’t care that you are not working any harder than you did in the past. I don’t care that your job is easier because dietary and lifestyle changes have changed. I don’t care that you think it is kind that you have let a match carry on for two, nearly three years. The more I think of it, the more I find myself circling my original statement: Fuck you.

You may feel that you are stronger than ever, but you’re not. Testing and screening is now something that is talked about over the water cooler. Low researching funds are receiving new life because specific strains of yourself are becoming popular through recognition. I believe, it comes down to recognition… fear or ignorance of a specific thing can give that idea a dark power; where as, openness and discussion can shift the power by ensuring the power is giving to the person rather than the unknown.

Back to my previous point: I want to ensure you this battle isn’t done yet. You seem to forget that when this person you’ve picked on is too weak to enter the ring many others are willing to stand in to the ring out of love. His battle is far from over. And although you may feel that you are being “considerate” by allowing extra time for final goodbyes; you are merely dangling a treat in front of a curious cat.

Seriously, you are the one that is aiding the medical profession to give his family a set number of days – what are you expecting him to do, since you have robbed him of his usual energy, his daily routine, and physical appearance? Are you expecting him to stay up all night until he has to sleep? Or should he sleep and hope that when he passes it is as soothing as falling into a restful sleep? Forget it. I don’t want to know your answer. You don’t deserve to answer this scenario.

Instead I will tell you what he will be doing. He will be living everyday to the fullest. He will be telling his wife each and everyday how lucky he was to marry the most beautiful woman he knew. He will be telling her his favorite memories that they created as individuals, as a couple, as parents, as grandparents, and as friends. He probably won’t be spending his days reading tiresome books that he never did get around to, but his lap will be covered with photo albums and drawings with the words “for Grandpa”. His house will be filled with sounds of his beloved Canucks playing better than they have been. His mornings will be filled with sitting outside in his trusty chair – taking in all the sights and sound his life has to offer. These weeks will be filled with memories that he will be taking to the next world, because at this point I can only imagine that heaven is filled not only with friends and loved ones but a giant multi-plex that plays all of our memories like a double feature complete with guilt free popcorn and licorice.

Sure you might laugh at my naïveté, because you’ve been here before and have other plans. I don’t think you understand what you’re up against. And as long as you stand smugly with your arms crossed with the willingness to invade unknowing cells there will be a battle… and sooner or later they will put as much money towards anilelating you as they do on war. Then you will be history and highly unlikely to find yourself comfortably nestled between the bubonic plague and polio. Cancer, I think you need to think of what you are doing right now and what you have already done. It is time to let someone follow a trail and let them see why you’ve got your priorities all messed up.

~L~

So it was an interesting long weekend if nothing else... filled with house guests, laughters, and the smell of something burning.

It was somewhere between dancing in the light of flickering flame (but not too close to the token crazy dancer) and RAID bombing my apartment that it happened. There were four girls running apartment to apartment looking for somewhere to call HOME. Home is where the heart is and my heart isn't in my current rental property. The memories of the day include: rain, crap workman ship, a paint box puking on the walls, Vic the non-Italian stallion, and a place I could call home.

I just signed my first offer on an apartment. Of course I don't have all the money, but the money I attached to the page was all my own. I'm not sure if 2007 is meant to be the year of travel and a house; but then again anything could happen.

Now as I wait for the phone to ring  I am thinking of the number 51. If I get this mortgage, I will be 51 by the time I make my last payment. 51 that sounds scary, but I'm not so sure if it is the number or that it implies an age I can't even comprehend. Where will I be?

Let me break it down simplier:

51 colours in the rainbow?

51 pairs of shoes in my closet?

Aright more realistically, 51 days ago I was in Egypt

51 months ago: I had decidedto try something atypical

51 days in the future: I should be somewhere cold celebrating with extended family

51 months in the future: I should know a little more about my path

But how can I think of anything beyond these next 51 minutes which are the deal breaker.

Well I’ve soared past my perimeters and sought after something I didn’t even know I was looking for… the real me. I found her somewhere between petting the cheetahs, climbing mountains, and paying entirely too much to park my ass is a chair to enjoy a mediocre meal. I’m not so sure I found this new side because of traveling or in spite of my choice to travel.

The age game is not always friendly in this fierce market of competition of anti-aging creams and co-workers that always seems to get younger. I loved being twenty, twenty-two and had some good moments in those other years; but it was twenty-five that I was preparing myself for “the shiznit” mentally and emotionally.

I had a crap twenty-fifth birthday. No party. No cake. No feeling that I meant anything to the one person I was supposed to mean everything to. I was dying to grow up by settling down…. Although we had already settled, things weren’t right and I wanted to see a ring because his words and his actions didn’t quite match… which could make sense considering where we were as a couple, but considering who we were in each other’s life it was entirely unacceptable. My vivid dreams and his words brought any possibility of this to a moot end. And ironically enough the pain and the heart ache I should have felt I didn’t. It was easier than anything I had experienced in my past relationships, because he made it really easy to sever all remaining ties with a couple of words.

I just sat down and read a year of entries… apparently I have always been strong winded, but there is a trend that has taken a year to recognize and be willing to own, twenty-five was the most stressful year to me. That sounds absolutely tragic; however, too often we forget that without a certain level of stress we die. And I have loved and hated the joys, complications, and feats that have come as a result of this stress… sure I have less money then I had a year ago but I have a new perspective of who I am and what I can do.

In some ways I have always been predictable. Those that know me could probably list at least two things that I will always be on top of and for once I halted life and said, “you know what? I’m going to take five from life.” It sounds easier than it is – really. I didn’t realize how many “grown-up” things I was associated with until I had to reroute, pre-plan, and disconnect myself from specific things. I loathed so many of those moments but I had to do it. If for no other reason it made the sweet moments even sweeter.

So in six months I passed through nineteen countries… several on more than one occasion (apparently Amsterdam was quite magnetic to a single traveler like myself.) I love traveling and seeing new things and familiar sights in unlikely places. It’s always weird to have a rush of familiarly over the most mundane items that you forgot to pack or how you become quickly attached to a brand you’ll never see again. While out on the adventure or upon returning home you get quite used to the question “where was your favorite place/ thing?” And that is truly the most difficult question to answer. I think I would have a better chance to recite the mathematical symbol of Pie to five digits than to limit my travels to one particular moment out of a couple of hundred days. I mean where do I start?

For instance…

à I suppose it would have to be back at the beginning when I had the chance to celebrate my travel companion’s birthday in several time zones and with an impromptu birthday cake supplied by a dear friend.

à From there, I would have to say when I visited baby elephants and was kissed by a giraffe. The giraffe used a lot of tongue and could have cared less about the slobber trail he left behind, but I was more frightful of the damage I could have caused him by the copious amounts of sunscreen I had on to fight the Kenyan sun.

à Ever saw a place that looked like a certain Utopia and realized it was anything but? I know I have. Uganda was a place you didn’t want to inform others you were visiting but in all honesty one of the best places in the entire world. The people, the scenery, the heart of the land was so much more than I ever expected… it truly is a secret place that only those that can look past themselves and the hearsay of others can enjoy, especially when you voluntarily put yourself in a rubber raft and fly down rapids bigger than those in the average toilet bowl.

à The most amazing feeling was standing up inside of a moving vehicle and following a pair of lions. I know I know…safaris are not beneficial to the landscape, or the animals… but as you’re standing in a small group in a tin box looking at the vast plains at sunset trying to understand how such beauty can exist with rawness. Nothing beyond those lions matters when you hear the king roar from the tall grasses below.

à So many times in our world we try to understand and compartmentalize what we think we know and what we should know… it’s ok not to know and ask for help, especially when a young boy, who has just woven you a purse from banana leaves, cuts a branch off a near by tree and asks you to guess that spice.

à One of my favorite ‘photo’ shoots, I stationed myself at sunset while cruising on a man made lake seeking animals and reptiles. Sure, we saw an elephant swim and strained our eyes looking for the flick of a crocodile’s tail, but how often is the moon good enough to eat?

à Lions are beautiful animals, especially when you have the opportunity to get up close and personal with them. Tragically both they and you know that the “naughty” stick you hold will do anything but to walk a lion was beyond my wildest dreams.

à Ever stood beside a cliff that discarded 90,000 liters of water every second? It will not only make you feel small, but will threaten every dry inch of your being if you choose to go without proper protection.

à In the middle of no where when there is no toilet or running water it finally hits you that you might be roughing it (Most would have clued in after the two hour trip in by boat, but hey we can all be a little thick at times.) Sitting around the campfire introducing S’mores to people that have never had refined sugar is always more interesting than hiking into the bush in the pitch black looking for a random toilet hole – especially when you chose to take a buddy and only one light. I will never live that down, but my thinking was completely logical and I’m sticking to it.

à I thought I truly knew myself and what I would or wouldn’t do. I knew I couldn’t jump off a bridge, but could I jump from a plane? Yeah, why not? Looking like the child of Ronald McDonald I donned a red and yellow jumpsuit climbed on top of a stranger’s lap and watched the feet below up pass by the thousands. We tumbled out of the plane and fell for thirty seconds before soaring like a bird. Fuck. It was the most rewarding and exhilarating experience I have ever had. My jump partner was a little disappointed that I didn’t yell, curse, or even talk --- but it doesn’t get much sweeter than soaring over the desert at sunset on the cusp of the Atlantic Ocean (my first glimpse of it) when you have the toggles to guide the view.

à Hot water always brings a sense of comfort wrapped in the false notion that camping in an ant infested tent truly is no different then being at home in your own bed with a closet full of clean smelling clothes. While in Africa, we had more hot showers than I could have dreamed of. Sure most of the ice cold ones stick out, but in some of those fire heated stalls it was all good as it transported you a million miles away. My favorite was where our shower stall had a window that let you enjoy the steam and a view of their vast vineyard. Yup, I remember my favorite shower of a continent, that’s how good it was.

à Sitting on top of Table Top Mountain feels like you’re on the top of the world. Combined with cheesecake, a bottle of rose, and some great gals life really can’t get much better… except maybe when you spot a penguin waddling down the street.

à Deciding what to eat based upon what country you were traveling through to ensure the food namesake lived up to the hype… sadly, it sometimes doesn’t and sometimes you find new foods (or types of tomatoes.)

à I scribbled my name on the Eiffel tower, on the south side… and then on the north side… and somewhere not so crowded. Who knew that a straight laced person like myself had so much vandalism hidden in her pen? At least I know they’ll paint over my handy work in six years (since it’s painted every seven.) 

à I was poked and bruised by Captain Jack Sparrow’s sword… too bad I left my pirate garb at home…regardless, he could have walked my plank if there weren’t so many kids trying to ruin our ‘special’ moment.

à The best pasta in Europe is served in Barcelona at this tiny restaurant with heavy handed drinks and the most flirtatious staff.

à While in Switzerland one has to taste test the chocolate and competitively shop for a knife (since knives aren’t given as frequently as flowers.)

à The Berlin Pride Parade is everything you think it will be and so much more. That is if you imagine: suggestive music, dancing in the streets, freely poured drinks, hot 20 year old Med students looking for that ‘older’ woman, loud whistles, the Village people, crotch less chaps and no horses in sight.

à The Green Fairy is all that and a couple bags of chips. Not only did she bring us some cheeky s’nogs, but the promise that romance isn’t totally dead in Europe’s most haunted city.

à The leaning walk up to for your ten minute viewing was as surreal as paying a Euro a minute for my travel buddy to get hit on in the Blue Grotto by a Phil Collins look alike.

à Climbing a volcano and every single lava flow (which is still spouting off steam) with FABIO to hear a Greek god’s best pick up line to a girl holding a Digital SLR

                                          “Can I mount you so I can screw your zoom?”

à And just when I thought I was too old, I found myself dancing on a bar nearly every night for three weeks chugging back the daily specials to repair the damage from the heat and the potential bad kissers.

à Regardless how short lived it was, I loved finding the tingles a world away from previous realities…sure it was pseudo-intimacy discovered with a single touch, kiss, and sunrise. But it did make me think about what I really wanted or hoped to find. Although I understand perfection is sometimes better left in an ideal location while one’s tan is still present and inhibitions are on vacation mode… and every now and then you need someone who makes you melt.

à I thought they had guards to stop you from walking like an Egyptian in front of the pyramids… nope, nor in front of many national sites. After being so far from history it was quite liberating and a little disconcerting to be able to touch things normally behind thick glass – not that I did, but I suppose if I was a different person I could have.

àOh right, could I neglect to mention that I climbed a mountain downwind of camels in the dark with a flashlight. Though that sunrise didn’t rank in the top three – just following these famous footsteps made it a feat in itself.

à It seems quite romantic to ride a bike through a meadow. Between the windmills and the cheese how can anyone really leave Holland behind?

à Basically, the best bit about my trip is that I had lots of moments where I felt there was absolutely no where else is the world I would want to be at that very moment… it could have been the first time I saw specific stars in the sky, when I looked out into the ocean and know all areas of the world truly are connected, my first glance into a local’s life, or in a moment when my heart willingly beat faster because an animal reacted to my proximity or because someone I had only known for a second wanted nothing more than to be in my company.

So there you have it, my short list… which I know is anything but short. All I know is that I’m no longer… “in a hurry to get things done.” I need not to “rush, and rush to get things done.” And for that I’m now a better person because I have come to terms with what I can and can’t do.

My life has not only changed because I took four thousand pictures and spent many days dragging my forty pound bag to new venues; it changed because it needed to. In some moments this change is for the better; however, the key idea is that I don’t regret a minute of it --- even those moments that sucked worst then I ever fathomed were better than spending another minute in my old life wishing or wondering when things would change. That was no way to exist. I had loved and I had lost parts of my being that took my core and shook it without shattering the main bits which is good because it means I’m stronger than I thought, but that is not without moments of vulnerability.

Now that this is all over I have just hit my one year anniversary of independence. How exciting is that? Sure I have had “dates” and cheeky promises of something more, I have reached this place on my own. According to my Granma I will never get married, because I’m not designed like “that” --- which basically means I’m the only  grandchild in the “appropriate” age range who hasn’t shacked up with someone and there is no hope for me popping out a great-grandchild before the younger crop of grandchildren move up in the ranks. And as offensive as that might be, I think I’m ok with that. I love the notion that I will be able to survive on my own and keep myself in a lifestyle in which I am comfortable by not necessarily living beyond my means. Of course it goes against that image I had originally planned for myself…I thought that by this age I would have comfortably moved into a four bedroom house (with some property), popped out a few kids and had a fifth wedding anniversary – so clearly at my early stages of planning I was not only delusional but winning the lottery twice over.

In the real world I have actively become the person that has promised herself I would not go back to my old lifestyle and financial ruts. Maybe not the most ideal route for someone with the amount of schooling I have displayed on my wall; however, I have turned a new corner and offered myself an outlet where there wasn’t one before. And if I end up old alone and crazy I will have my pictures… and as lame as that sounds, I know those pictures captures the stories that heart yearns for, but ensures that when your mind becomes too overcrowded with the mundane the memories will never be lost. And oddly enough those days I smiled for the sake of being in a new place – without any make-up (which were nearly all of them), without any effort in my appearance, without pretentiousness (since I seemed to always be wearing my only clean top) – suddenly have become my favorite because they reflect who I was that moment and who I hope sticks around.

Yup, you got it; instead of “waiting for the world to change”… I have taken a slightly smaller role and aimed for personal happiness which could possible change the world. Happiness is clearly an inside job. It is very true that at any age when you are comfortable with yourself and your choices you really do think you know everything, but you really only know and have experienced the tip of the ice berg. Now that I have returned home after celebrating my 26^th birthday and find myself living in a shag-o-rific apartment (complete with Monty the Mouse) I have come to terms with a few things about who I am and what steps I need to take next to get me “there.” I will admit I have yet to find the map nor do I necessarily like the implied route of course… the words written to me in my most recent birthday card made do something I’ve done more in the last six months then I have done in the last six years…. dance for no apparent reason, not question it when a random acts happen (like when you are waiting to order a drink someone licks your hand) and celebrate the lines inhabiting the area around my eyes – in a year where tears could have won the war, I allowed myself a few too many ounces of fun and because of that I have many smiles to thank for those developing lines.

This is so random. I am sitting here in a cyber cafe in Victoria Falls, Zim. Africa. I am resting on the place that can not be compared to anything else I have seen in my life. As a Cdn girl, you'd think I"d be able to say a thinkg or two about old Nigara - but nothing.. that's the thing about this thing called travel I suppose.

I haven't opened this site since the last time I posted about my tragic moving. In all honestly I could be geeky and claim it was a lifetime ago -- but geekiness aside - it was a lifetime ago. I sorted out my life in more ways then one. Thinking about finishing packing, work ties, and living on a friend's couch make me cringe and tense just thinking about them to be honest --- so it is truly a good thing that I have had my two month anniversary of unemployment and have reached the point of absolute relaxation.

Since you last spotted me I have been to Amsterdam, England, Scotland, Kenya, Uganda, D.R Congo, Tanzania, Malawi, and Zambia. Each country has taught me something intense about the way of the world, the natural order of things, myself, and how travel is truly the best gift one can give to oneself. As I type this I hear the pounding of the falls behind me... and as I leave I will feel the spray nearly 2km from where it originates from. I don't think I'm making much sense right now, but in Africa it has been a long haul. Lots of km's have been trekked and lots of dreams have become reality. Individual encounters have changed me and dictated what I will allow and what I would never allow back into my world... I know I"m rambling, but I think I need to do it.

I will not lie and say that it has all been peachy. I am traveling with approx 30 people in a truck designed for 31. The days are super long and the truck is tight but that's what makes it special. I am no longer scared of what is in the bushes since spotting the snakes, bugs, scorpians, and other creepy crawlies. The tent will never feel like my bed at home but then again, if it did, why would have have spent a load on it?

From here on out, the pace picks up. I only have another twenty days a truly awesome place. It seems so hard to believe that this is merely the trip of my traveling adventure -- it's so overwhleming but awesome. I don't miss my old life. I don't miss my old partner. And I do not miss my work place. Thinking back - how was there ever a doubt that I should stay home instead of embarking on the best thing I have ever done for myself?

I suppose I will continue to ponder this as I leave the cafe and head off to walk with the lions as they stalk their dinner...

Sometimes you need those soft reminders to remind you what the good times really did feel like. I sit here writing report cards, puking, and packing all by my lonesome. I haven’t quite figured out why chaos seems to make my life become more solid but for some reason – everything gets done that way…. Well, part way, at least.

 I have about three weeks left here and one week left in my orgasmic bed. My free hired help is moving me out about five days early so I’m literally going to be camping in my hovel of an apartment while I clean and figure out what else I can possibly get rid of. It’s sick to admit how many books I have. I have done better than I could have expected on the clothes front, but I have only tossed about twenty books – and none of my “textbooks” which is odd since I would have bet I would have tossed at least ten of them. I guess, my weaken stomach and my rational mind are not quite in cahoots yet. Well, I’m sure that might change when I start packing the books down the stairs…. At least the boxes are smaller this time J

 I wish I would write about some lurid tale or at least jump up and down with the excitement. I have been seriously sick since I hit post on my last entry. I still can’t manage solid food and if I reported how many tins of ginger ale had been consumed between then and now – my teeth might ache. Plain water is barely sitting still. Ugh. I suppose no one likes to be sick, but when laying there in the dark one often has interesting thoughts about the world – life – and the possibility of something else.

 I read something recently that eased a feeling I had experienced from before… but then, just a moment ago, I ran across something as I was actively procrastinating that made me want to pick up the phone. I wanted to phone more than I ever had. One line with one specific word embedded into its core, made me think I had been wrong… that I had played the cards wrong – that I treated a flush as if it were a run; but it wasn’t and in the end I wasn’t. I guess that’s what the sound of silence can do to a person (the song not actual silence, since I never hear that in the city.) It’s weird how in one moment, your mind allows you remember how deep a friendship can run and how shallow the lines of love trace upon the sand.

 The heart is an odd thing. It is meant to sustain your life by pumping blood to and from various parts of your body; it’s like the recycle-depot deluxe complete with an efficient outtake and an intake mechanism; however, it doesn’t just do that. As a result to its actions, it feels opposite inactions… and it takes a hit if you take a hit of that you are not meant to touch. Some critics will tell you that it can never break, but it is indeed a muscle – so it can, and I promise you it will hurt like hell.

 I am in the “I you” field with other saps; however, although I use the term I use it loosely. I don’t actually associate it with the organ that sustains my life… I wrote on a wall chart the other day when we were creating questions we would like to answer about the heart. My students are at the age that they could separate their actual heart the organ from the we often use to express our feelings… and then one little gapher put up their hand to ask: “why do we have feelings? Why does my heart hurt when I think of sad things?”

 I know that we (as humans) are not the only mammals that are able to feel specific emotions or to express feelings of varying extremes as direction actions to changes or possible occurrences… however, I tried to put myself in their position and what I might be able to handle. My class has already set me straight about the tooth fairy (which shattered my childhood memories) and have found comfort in the fact that I my age I still have one favorite stuffed toy from my childhood that I will never separate myself from. But what can you tell a child other than that they are lucky to have these feelings and the ability to / learn how to describe them?

 Without feelings/ emotions, where would we all be? Honestly. The human race couldn’t exist. Plain and simple, I’ll stick to my ignorance; but without it – like the organ that keeps the blood flowing through our body, we would be no better off than an amoeba.

 And just when you think the flu medication has gotten to the best of my rambling, I discover an old CD can be dusted off… and thrown into the stereo. Once upon a time, I jokingly wrote a warning on the CD… and now I know why, it has a little bit of all my closet favorites. Including those I’ve shared with special people and those that I’ve sung without anyone else present. I love it. It’s just what I needed to hit the road to recovery and to understand that although it is highly unlikely I will be “falling in love from the first kiss” today, or turn to hear him say “hold my hand,” or finding the time or the energy to run through the “wildflowers” or to enjoy a little “strawberry wine” while wearing my new “tango shoes”… we all have a little inner diva… or lioness, as I’m told.

 "drags me to the shore and says 'maybe you don't love me, or maybe you'll learn to love me even more'..." I have to move my energies onto something else that will make my feel better (since finished work = later reward) Ah, to be special.