Who Am I To Break Down?

I’m finally ready to admit I pissed the last year of my life away (please pardon my language but I don’t think I could be more emphatic without the vulgarity). A large part of my action (read: inaction) had to do with fear. I think everyone has the kind of fear that prevents them from moving in any direction but down and out some time in their life. Mine stemmed from losing my dad. All year, I didn’t want to say that I acted the way I did because I was lost and without a security blanket in a world that suddenly seemed to be all about making decisions that I felt were bigger than me. The grey scale in which I see the world only let me see the events that occurred in a relative manner. I didn’t have the right to cry with all that I’ve been blessed with. Most of all, I didn’t want to admit that my difficulty getting out of bed, in motivating myself to read, to study, or to even talk to people around me had anything to do with my dad because he wouldn’t have wanted to be “credited” with that kind of weakness. I struggled through the large part of this year, reminding myself to do all the basic things in life: to breathe, to eat, to make it to class. I guess it worked, it just cost me my sanity! In hindsight, perhaps if I had admitted this to myself earlier it wouldn’t have taken me this long to feel as strong as I do now, but I have to believe that things happen for a reason. There’s no lesson at the end of this long sentenced confession about the crap factory that was last year. It’s just a verbal victory dance because I feel like I’ve finally caught the reins between my hands. Unlike last year, even if things do go sour, I’ve promised myself that I’d go to the mattresses fighting them. I know I’ll always feel the loss of my dad even more when I make a life altering decision (which seems to be happening more and more often now) but I think I’m just a bit more grown up and perhaps a bit more ready to handle it now.

It’s the Most Wonderful Time of The Year

No, I’m not singing Christmas carols just yet…no I lie, this morning I subjected my family to my own interpretation of “Good King Wensceslas” as I was showering. Anway, just a month ago, all over the GTA, parents and kids alike settled down for the (insert humorous jab at public school) school year. Although most kids hate this time of year, I used to love it. There was something so refreshing about having a clean slate at the beginning of year–new classes, new teachers and even new classmates, an excitement only university killed with the evils of the cumulative grade point average. Anyway, the best thing about getting back to school was that my family was big on back to school shopping. I’ve always hated shopping. And I still hate it for the same reason: it’s so boring that it magnifies every little complaint I have. “I’m hungry” turns me into a foul mooded beast that screams “I’M FAAAAT!!! CAN WE GO HOME NOW?!” periodically. Also, mall lighting does NOTHING for my self-esteem.  Anyway,  the only time of year  I ever enjoyed it was during the fictional season of back to school. Nothing says rejuvenation like brand new stationary even if I had perfectly usable stationary from the year before. Sure takes the sting out of the realization that one little decimal-ed number will determine what you get to do in life!

Back to Reality

This weekend I got to stay at my sister-in-law’s cottage. If there is anything that reminds you that you’re only human it’s seeing the real world instead of just another concrete jungle. I really can’t say much about the experience other than it reminded me of what is Real. I haven’t seen anything this beautiful in a long time.

The cottage is a little bit north of a small town called Mactier. Seeing another small town in Canada just reminded me of how much I hate Toronto. To get to the cottage, we had to cross Healey Lake in a water taxi that we caught in Mariner’s Cove (on of the four docks in Mactier). Just as we got to the cottage, the driver of our water taxi told us to join him in Mariner’s Cove for some “pig and corn” as they were having a pig roast that night! We didn’t take him up on the offer, but it was so sweet of him to ask!

All around the cottage was a carpet of moss so lush that I could’ve been walking on real carpet and I wouldn’t have known any better.

As much as I loved swimming in the freezing lake after loafing around in the sun and as pretty as water lilies are, they have really squelchy root systems that make you feel like slimy things are tangling themselves around your legs. They were gorgeous above the water though.

And how did I get so close to the lilies?

The weekend ended too soon.

The Voice Of Mediocrity

*le sigh of relief* I’m back to using my old (new) laptop (thanks to Adnan for the USB wireless internet suggestion) which means a couple of exciting things:

1. I get to use Skype again to talk to certain brothers that will remain unnamed.

2. My picture of the day can finally get updated because now I actually have pictures to share!

So I’ve come to two realizations today. The first is that, I finally know what to call my blog. For someone as passive as me, “Take me to the riot” just isn’t the right fit. I don’t think I’ve rioted in any of my posts–even my diatribes tend to mellow out by the end because it just takes me so long to finish writing them! If I could tape record my rants right after i leave the dance studio (because let’s face it, that’s the only thing I really rant about) perhaps the name would be appropriate. But the problem with that is that I would have to lower my pitch many notches for it to be audible to human beings, and I’d like to not subject the internet to my shrieking. So for this reason my blog really is The Voice Of Mediocrity. It’s the perfect fit! I’m not the best writer, nor do I write about one thing in particular, and I definitely don’t write about anything interesting. This just exists so I can write when I feel like I need to share something with the internet at large. Although I doubt that I’ll actually change the name of the blog (because as much as I hate false advertising, writing on the Voice of Mediocrity probably wouldn’t be too great for my already weak sense of self-esteem), I’ve finally realized the purpose of my writing!

My second realization of the day, is more of a question: has anyone ever eaten really hot scrambled eggs EVER? it seems like scrambled eggs are always just lukewarm.

I’m Just So Awesome That I Have to Blog About It (Part 2)

It was recently brought to my attention that I have too much money sitting in a chequing account at the bank, so I’ve had to look into investments and all that other fun adult stuff that I’ve never had to do before. Today I went into my local bank branch to talk to them about what I wanted. Although I had heard about what might be good to invest in, I did a little bit of research of my own. By research I mean I read through my economics textbook/notes so that I would actually know what’s what when I spoke to the bank people. I guess my first mistake was dressing the way I dress on an everyday basis to go to the bank. Suffice it to say that jeans and a t-shirt doesn’t inspire people to treat you like an adult. The first person I spoke to was a rookie. I think I was the first person he ever spoke to about investing because I’ve never seen anyone be that unsure of himself before. Anyway, he called his manager over, who advised Rookie on what to do and told me a little about investing with the bank. After saying all the formalities, Mr. Manager asked me where I had learnt about investing, and I (being the nerd that I am) told him that I learnt it in first year economics. To which he replied “Oh, that’s cute”. Right before he said “I’m actually with another client right now, but you can call me anytime honey.” The guy looked like he was not more than ten years older than me! I hate being called “cute” and “honey”! What am I?! Six?! And even if you don’t think he wasn’t being horribly condescending, I just can’t stand being called pet names by anybody, let alone a random bank manager. Anyway, I was left with Rookie for the next half hour, who nervously took me through the ABCs of mutual funds. Twenty minutes later, Mr. Manager came back to supervise. When he stood up to shake my hand at the end, I declined saying that he probably wouldn’t want to shake my hand since I keep coughing all over it which he found hilarious (even though I was completely serious!) Then on the way out I dropped the contents of my bag on the floor, and while I was trying to pick up all my things I realized I couldn’t find my car keys. This set of what I can only describe as an amber alert. I brought it to the attention of everyone I had spoken to in the duration of my stay at the bank, everyone from the teller and the security guard to Rookie and Mr. Manager. Just as Rookie alerted the receptionist and had begun rifling through the lost and found I realized my keys were in a pocket in my bag I hadn’t checked. Smooth…silky smooth.

Only A Hundred and Sixty-Eight Hours a Week

This summer has been an incredible experience as far as dance goes. I worked with a teacher whose dance I can only describe as moving poetry. I was really skeptical when rehearsals began. A month of kalari payat had made me really tired and I couldn’t imagine going to rehearsal every day of the week for another month but in that first two hour class, I actually improved after years of stagnation and rust! Now, a month later, and a couple fewer working joints I’m so glad that I had this experience. (But I’ll tell you all about that later.) The reason for this particular dance related diatribe is the intense schedule proposed by a certain artistic director that I know and love. In addition to presenting the piece we just rehearsed at the end of January, we have to choreograph a new piece for a festival the following weekend. We also have a week residency in Banff, a tour of the maritime provinces, a performance for the Banff Arts Centre and a tour of India in the summer. If I had nothing else to do with my life, this would be great, but unfortunately I have to be responsible (for once) when it comes to dance. Sometimes I wonder what would happen if my life allowed me to do whatever I felt like doing. I think I would just end up dancing in the same company for the rest of my life because it’s safe and I’m terribly afraid of change and rejection. I wonder if that’s what fuels my desire to continue on with this company. Anyway, this new information necessitates the fourth conversation (this summer alone) with my teacher about my involvement in the company this year. I’m far less angry now than I was when I began writing this post, so I won’t go into details about how the amount of disorganization in this company physically frightens and infuriates me but it’s always all or nothing, which makes the decision so difficult to make (especially for someone like me who uses it as a crutch…although I would like to believe it’s just because I love it THAT much). On the drive home from the studio after learning about all these things that the powers that be assume I’m participating in, all I could think was that there isn’t enough time in the day to do all the things I want to do so it’s time for me to start prioritizing. What is life other than whittling away at your to-do list till you get to what you really want?

Back to Horribly Attainable Goals (or HAGs)

The one good thing, (or bad) about blogging is that you get to see what you’ve done since you’ve started blogging. These are things that I would otherwise forget. In a year I will forget what it felt like to be in Chennai, and the fact that my trip to Halifax was the first time I’d ever been sight seeing by myself in a new city and so on. Another one of those things that I always forget is how often I get sick. In the last 8 months, this is the third time it has happened (according to the blog)…is that strange? I’ve decided I have no immune system. Feeling crappy has made me make my to do lists way more detailed. I have to tell myself what to do every minute of the day else I’ll just end up rolling around in bed all day. Micro-managing my time makes me way more productive. God bless attainable goals!

Who Woulda Thunk?

I haven’t got my lap top fixed yet. I might be a computer dud, but even I know that paying $400+ to replace (what I think is) a busted wireless card is just silly. So we’re now stuck in the horrible position of having to decide what to do with an otherwise fantastic machine. Before you start calling me stupid and suggesting solutions, be advised that I promise I will find something to do about this soon–it’s on my list (which of course I’ll share with you later). Anyway, I’ve been really irregular with everything (blogging, email and googling things I don’t know about) lately because I’m much too lazy to make regular use of the communal computer in my mum’s room which I’m hoping will change now given the repatriation of my old laptop.

My old laptop was my dad’s some time in the mid to late 1990s. When I got to grade 12 and decided I needed a laptop (for no reason whatsoever) I usurped it, giving my dad the perfect opportunity to get a new one for himself. It was the realization of a tried and tested computer hierarchy–my dad always got the new stuff first, then it went to my brother, my mother and finally me. Being the youngest (read: most naive) in the family, although I always ended up with the most useless computers, I still thought they were fabulous. This was true until I got to the end of first year, when I met a charming young computer buff(/snob), who in no uncertain terms told me my laptop was shite and prodded me ceaselessly to get a new one. 

Anyway, using this laptop reminds me of simpler times when I was younger, stupider and wonderfully over-dramatic. It actually makes me miss the pointless all nighters and self-important conversations had late at night on msn. Who woulda thunk it? Speaking of who woulda thunk its, I can’t believe I just finished a post about a laptop.