It’s not a small world, after all

Musings of a Dis-newb

So a few months ago, I realized I had six days off over the Easter holiday. We could have spent them in a combination of lounging at home and spending time with family. Instead, we decided to plunge headfirst into a whirlwind trip to Disney World. It was a first for all three of us. It was also the first major Grant family holiday that didn’t involve travel with or to see other family.

The Grants take on Disney World

Between Alex and I, we’re pretty adept at planning foreign travel, seeing as how we’ve both had quite a lot of experience doing it. But travel to Disney World was a whole ‘nother ball game entirely. Usually, we suffer from a dearth of information. This time, we were overwhelmed by it.

Shortly after we decided to go to Disney, Alex went to Italy for two weeks for work, leaving me to plan the whole shebang myself. Which was mostly for the best, because adding another voice would have been super confusing. Anyhow, during the planning and execution process, I learned several things I thought I would pass along. I’m sure there are innumerable how to’s for Dis-newbs, but this one is mine and I feel compelled to share my learnings.

Pre-Planning

Use a travel agent

There is a lot to learn when traveling to Disney and I cannot stress this enough. There are websites, blogs, books, friends, colleagues and I’m sure random people on the street who have an opinion about what to do, where to stay and how best to experience Disney.

Coronado Springs

There are four main Disney parks. There are water parks and golf courses. There are innumerable resorts both on the park and off. Sorting out all that information is a headache and best done with the help of a professional. Find one who is Disney certified. I’m not even kidding about this. I went to Isabella Borowiec through the Flight Centre by my office. She was knowledgable, courteous, timely and responsive to all my requests and to my last minute voucher / ticket snafu at Universal Studios. I would recommend her to anyone local enough to use her.

Stay at a Disney Resort

They have Mickey ears for every occasion

If you want to plan an inexpensive vacation, don’t try to do Disney on the cheap. I’m sure there are less expensive ways to go than the one we chose, but as first timers, it was so much easier to spend a bit more for the conveniences. We stayed at a “mid range” resort that was nicer than anywhere else I’ve ever been.

Staying on the park gives you several perks including all your travel to / from the airport and all your travel to and from the parks. We had a four day “park hopper” pass which gave us unlimited access to the four main parks for four days. It also lets you book early Fast Passes and restaurant reservations, which I’ll get into in a bit.

Get a Meal Plan

Mini volcano chocolate cake at the Jungle Skipper Canteen

There are three levels of meal plan. Again, we went mid range, which gave us one “quick service” or cafeteria style meal, one “table service” or restaurant meal and two snacks per person, per day. We soon learned that “meal plan math” was the most important Disney math to learn.

The meal plans only cover the nights you stay so while we were there four days, we only stayed three nights. It was fine for us, as we also went to Universal Studios for a day and fed ourselves on that day. The meal plan was more than enough for the three of us, though, and Disney does food well. Don’t be fooled by “quick service.” Those meals were better than your average fast food or pub grub.

Also, if you stay on resort, you each get a cup which gives you free refills of water, fountain drinks, coffee and tea for the duration of your stay. Be aware, the cup is only valid at the hotel.

Ask ONE or TWO trusted friends for recommendations

Everyone else, it seems, has been to Disney at some point. And EVERYONE has an opinion. I made the mistake of posting on Facebook a request for what to do when we were there and couldn’t even cope with that information.

The Magic Kingdom Castle

And so I asked two friends, one who’d been there a zillion times, and one who was just there, for some suggestions. I also asked my travel agent for suggestions for Fast Passes and restaurants. There are some pretty cool theme restaurants as well as Disney character dining. Disney is a busy place, even when it’s ostensibly not a busy time of year.

I used a mix of friend suggestions and travel agent suggestions and we did have a delightful time.

Book your rides and restaurants as soon as possible

First Official Disney Ride, Pirates of the Carribean

There are a lot of very popular rides at Disney. Even in the off season, on a holiday weekend, the wait times for some of the rides were up to two hours. Fast Pass allows you to skip the line for an hour. So if you book for 9:30, you can show up any time between 9:30 and 10:30 for your ride.

You can book three Fast Passes per person, per day,  if you stay at a Disney resort. After you’ve used these three, you can start booking them for individual rides.

I can tell you, the day we went to Magic Kingdom, we were not able to book a single fast pass for any of the good rides after we’d used our first three. Disney Hollywood was better, but it was also Easter Sunday.

Main Street USA, Magic Kingdom

Some things you can’t book in advance, like Jedi training, so if you want your 4-12 year old to do that, be at Disney Hollywood EARLY.

Disney has an app, My Disney Experience, which allows you to book your Fast Passes and your restaurants. The restaurants are easier to book on the mobile app, because you can filter by date and the number of people in your party. Also, Disney has free WiFi throughout all the parks / resorts.

If you don’t get the restaurant you want at first, keep checking back. I was able to change two of our dinner reservations closer to our actual travel date. But be aware, if you change your reservation less than 24 hours prior, you’ll be charged $10/person. It’s in the fine print.

Word of advice? If you have a dinner reservation choice between 4:30 and 7:30, pick earlier rather than later.

At Disney World

Don’t Panic

There is no way you’re going to see all and do all in one visit. There are four parks, as I said, and that doesn’t include water parks or other Disney attractions. We chose the rides we wanted and just did whatever else we could in the mean time.

You can generally cover one park in one day, but plan to be there for 8-10 hours in order to do it.

It also depends on what’s important for you to see. There are parades and shows in addition to the rides and some pretty impressive fireworks / holographic night shows, if that’s your thing.

Be mindful of time, but don’t let it own you

Jedi Training

Your Fast Passes are good for an hour, which means you can usually cover some serious ground, go on a ride or catch a show in between. Fast Pass won’t let you book a conflict, so if you have a reservation at 9:30, you can’t book anything else until 10:30.

Don’t sleep in. You’re going to want to, especially if you’re going for a few days. By morning of day three, I was exhausted. But when you get to the park, it all kinda goes away and you can keep going more than you would have thought.We got to the parks by 9:30-10am most days, and we were considered late by most standards.

Be prepared to walk. A lot. I cannot stress this enough.

Guess which days I was at Disney?

I walk an average of 7k to 10k steps per day, sometimes more, if I run super hard at lunch.

Disney is a lot of standing and walking, as is Universal Studios. The rides are pretty short and the shows, if you go see them, are about 30 minutes. There are benches but it’s still a lot of walking.

Also, there aren’t a lot of outlets for charging your cell phone or camera. If your battery life is potentially questionable, bring a spare battery or an external charger.

I didn’t notice any charging stations either.

Wait until your kids are old enough to walk around

Festival of the Lion King

I saw a lot of strollers, a lot of screaming toddlers and a lot of sleeping babies. Strollers in crowds are a real pain in the ass. And if there’s one thing Disney has in spades, it’s crowds. There is stroller parking for most rides, if you choose to ignore this piece of advice.

If you’re not planning on making Disney a regular thing, at least wait until your kids are old enough to make memories. We waited until Callum was 7 for a number of reasons. He’s out of diapers, doesn’t need a nap, can walk around a lot and will remember most of this trip. He can go on most of the rides and was an active participant in the vacation.

Beauty and the Beast

Ultimately, you’ll plan what works best for your family, but I’d recommend waiting until the diaper / stroller and nap years are over.

Universal Studios was also amazing. They clearly bested Disney at the “immersive experience” but the parks are not as kid friendly. For the most part, the rides are a lot scarier and more suitable for kids 10 and older.

Write it down

You’re going to do a lot. No matter how you go. We did Magic Kingdom, Disney Hollywood Studios, Universal Studios, Universal Islands of Adventure and Disney Animal Kingdom. I kept a list every day or else I would have no idea now what we did and I’m glad Alex made me.

Character lunch at Tusker House

What I can recommend

Okay, so universally, these rides were recommended and I would recommend to others. They were appropriate for Callum, who is 7 and not overly adventurous.

Magic Kingdom:

• Pirates of the Caribbean
• Peter Pan’s Flight
• The Haunted Mansion
• Jungle Navigation Company Ltd., Skipper Canteen for dinner

The Swiss Family Robinson Treehouse

Callum wanted to do a car racing thing, which had an average 45 minute wait so we didn’t get on. The Seven Dwarves Mine Train is the most popular ride in the park. The average wait was 2 hours. Callum and I don’t really do roller coasters so we were okay to skip it. If you like roller coasters, book a Fast Pass EARLY.

We did It’s A Small World and the Tea Cups too, because it’s Disney, and you kind of have to.

Disney Hollywood Studios:

• Muppets 3D
• Star Tours (It’s a Star Wars based flight simulation. We went twice and it was a different scene both times. Apparently there are 12 different possible scenarios.)
• Toy Story Mania
• The 50’s Prime Time Cafe for dinner

Muppets 3D

If you want to do the Jedi training, which I would recommend, be there EARLY. The Indiana Jones show is pretty cool too. Make sure you have something shiny. If you run into a Jawa, you can trade with them. It can’t be money, but I did manage to unload two bottle opener key chains.

Disney Animal Kingdom

• Kilimanjaro Safari
• Dinosaur
• Festival of the Lion King
• Tusker House for dinner

I took this photo without a zoom

There aren’t as many rides at Animal Kingdom. It’s kind of like a zoo meets amusement park. There are a few shows, of which we only saw one, since it was our short day. I made the mistake of not booking a pass for the Kilimanjaro Safari, since I thought we’d be there early enough to get in without one. We were not and by 10:00, there was an hour wait. I did manage to finagle some Fast Passes from a Disney staff member but I wouldn’t count on this as a strategy. The Safari is amazing and I would highly recommend it.

However you decide to do Disney, you’ll definitely have fun and you’ll definitely make some mistakes. And if you have any questions, feel free to ask your travel agent!

No Country for Businessmen

Well, it’s been a long 9 days. Yup. Nine days since Donald Trump was inaugurated. And in that time, he’s proven he cares little for women, minorities, refugees, the people of Michigan (a state he won by the way) and Muslims. I’d go on, but if you’re reading this, you’ve seen my recent Facebook posts.

I would consider myself politically aware, but not necessarily politically active. When you’re married to a professional activist, it’s easier to divide the labour. He protests; I do the laundry.

That being said, I’ve voted in every election, municipal, provincial and federal, since I turned 18, even voting absentee before I left for university abroad. I volunteer at my son’s school. I donate to Doctor’s Without Borders. I sit on the Board of Directors for my local legal aid clinic. I donate to food banks. I live in a mixed income housing co-op. If I was any further politically left, I’d fall over.

The events south of the border terrify me. They really do. I find it mind boggling to imagine that anyone, ANYONE, could think Trump was qualified to hold the most important office in the world. Even Rob Ford, that world class, world wide buffoon had a decade of political experience under his belt before he was elected mayor.

A country is not a business. And it shouldn’t be run as such. You can’t lead a country under a “for profit” business model. I don’t think Trump understands that, and based on the wake of bankruptcies and law suits behind him, Trump doesn’t know how to do it anyway.

But you’re not Amercian! Why do you care? Some may ask…

The belief that global climate change is a myth affects all of us. Every. Single. Person. We all share this planet and now we’re living in a world where the Secretary of the Environment doesn’t believe the overwhelming SCIENCE behind global climate change. Fuck a duck.

We’re living in a world where flagrant lies are labeled “alternate facts” and Nazi’s are labeled “alternate right.” Where statistics are ignored or belittled. Where privileged angry white men and women spew hate and rhetoric to a public unwilling or unable to question the validity of that anger.

We’re living in a world where North Korea is working on developing long range nuclear missile capabilities. If that’s not enough to answer the question of why I care, I also happen to know a lot of Americans, some of whom I’m quite fond of.

I believe that there was a need for change in the United States. I have lots of friends south of the border who work tirelessly at jobs that pay laughably little. Where health care coverage can be dictated by an employer’s religious beliefs. Where the leading cause of personal bankruptcy is hospital bills. Where there is no funded maternity leave. Hell, there’s barely any unfunded maternity leave.

I have no faith that Trump will do anything good for the United States. I don’t think he’s qualified to head a PTA meeting, let alone the free world. He wants to build a wall to keep people away. You know what other countries use(d) walls to keep people out? Post WW2 Germany and present day Korea. I don’t think those are political models any modern country should aspire to.

Trump wants to register Muslims. Shall we ask Holocaust survivors and their families how well that worked out? There’s so much more I can’t even keep my head straight.

If you want to know the content of a man’s character, you should look at how he treats others. And judging by these last 9 days, Trump’s is questionable at best. Horrifying at worst.

“If you want to know what a man’s like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals.” J.K. Rowling

“You can easily judge the character of a man by how he treats those who can do nothing for him.” Malcolm S. Forbes.

“Then shall he answer them, saying, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye did it not to one of the least of these, ye did it not to me.” Matthew 25:45, King James Bible

Sorry, not sorry.

I had a really big fight with a close friend a few weeks ago. Like really big. Like I don’t know if we’ll ever be friends again big.

I will fully admit that it was my actions that instigated it. But ultimately, the things we argued about were related to both of us. At the end, I asked for a clean break, thinking it would be easier that way. And I blocked him on various and sundry social media sights.

I blocked him for a few reasons, but the most important of which is that I needed to be able to use social media without him popping up when I wasn’t prepared. I know this was probably pretty hurtful and I’m sure it pissed him off. But I needed to do this for myself, so I could sort some stuff out in my own head.

Like I said, it was a big fight.

And when that stuff was sorted, I unblocked him. And sent an olive branch or two. But they’ve gone unanswered. Or unseen. I don’t know. Social media is difficult that way.

When I’ve had arguments with other friends, real life friends for lack of a better term, there are always mutual circles of overlapping friends and acquaintances who can provide insight and often mediate truces. But social media friends don’t work that way. He’s chosen to adhere to the clean break and unless I ask someone to text him on my behalf, which I don’t want to do, there aren’t any other avenues available to me.

I’ve been going back and forth a lot in my head the last few weeks. I know that aspects of our friendship were problematic for both of us. But I also know that there was a real understanding which it seems a shame to walk away from. And I also know a card laid is a card played, so I have to live with whatever the outcome.

I just hate the idea that we won’t ever talk again. I hate the idea that I said and did something hurtful and that there is seemingly no forgiveness on the horizon. And I hate feeling bad for doing something that I needed to do for myself.

But I also have to wonder about a friendship that can be, seemingly, tossed aside so easily on his part. I wonder if he misses me. If he’s replaced me. If he’s found someone else to provide the support I thought I did. I could go on, but it’s all just variations on a theme.

And so around and around I go in my head. I’d like a chance to rebuild something. To try to find a way to be friends again, in a different way. In a way that would be easier for both of us. Time will tell, I suppose, but I also know it may tell me something I don’t want to hear.

If you get to be of a certain age without regret, then you’ve never taken a chance. I shouldn’t regret taking a stand for myself. And I don’t. But I do regret that my actions were hurtful. I’ll just add it to the ever growing list of things I am learning to live with.

 

I got guns in my head

Christopher “Drew” Leinonen. I knew him as @drubicabra and we met three years ago on Twitter. We were baby accounts together. We were Twitter Petite together. We “grew up” together. I didn’t know him well, but I knew him to be funny and sweet and genuine. I’d been meaning to message him.

Drew died on the floor of Pulse Nightclub next to his boyfriend, Juan Ramon Guerrero. They were planning to get married. Instead, their families are planning a joint funeral.

Drew died because someone who “shouldn’t have had access to assault weapons” had access to an AR-15 assault rifle.

That person, Omar Mateen, had access to the AR-15 assault rifle because, after Adam Lanza used the same weapon to slaughter 20 kindergarten students and 6 teachers and staff in Newtown, Connecticut, the American federal government did exactly nothing to prevent access to the AR-15 assault rifle.

Adam Lanza was another person who “shouldn’t have had access to assault weapons.”

Honestly, who outside the military SHOULD have access to assault rifles??

Drew’s death makes me sad and I feel it as a loss. But this isn’t about me. It’s about waking the fuck up and realizing that something HAS to change. That the lies about more guns and bigger guns making people safer are just that. Lies.

When you tell someone you won’t give up your “right” to an assault rifle, what you’re really saying is that the losses at Sandy Hook Elementary School and Pulse Nightclub and all the other mass shootings (136 in the United States so far THIS YEAR) mean nothing.

You’re saying your right to own a weapon that can fire up to 800 rounds per minute (13.3 rounds per second) is more important than people.

Because, so far, the AR-15 hasn’t prevented a single mass shooting. No one with a gun has stopped one.

It’s time for a new discussion. It’s long overdue. But it’s not too late.

Oh Your God

Rufus: He still digs humanity, but it bothers Him to see the shit that gets carried out in His name – wars, bigotry, televangelism. But especially the factioning of all the religions. He said humanity took a good idea and, like always, built a belief structure on it.

Bethany: Having beliefs isn’t good?

Rufus: I think it’s better to have ideas. You can change an idea. Changing a belief is trickier…People die for it, people kill for it…

Dogma, Written and Directed by Kevin Smith, 1999

 

 

 

 

 

 

Disclaimer: I don’t believe in God.

I went to church every Sunday as a child, but I honestly can’t say I remember ever being moved by it. When I got old enough to voice my opinion about attending, I stopped going.

As I got older, my belief shifted from the traditional Judeo-Christian God, watching over us and assisting with his Divine hand. I believed more in a spiritual sense. That there was some benign presence that looked out for us stupid humans and gave us who and what we needed, when we needed it most.

But I don’t even believe that anymore. And I remember the week I lost what little faith I had left. When a mother died, leaving her adopted daughter twice orphaned in 12 years. When a mother of twins had to choose one life over another. When a mother lost her son to suicide.

The ripples of these events rocked my life. As though I were a rowboat in a tempest. And I stopped believing.

Now, onto why I started this post in the first place…

I don’t get enraged by much. It takes too much effort. But I am sick to bloody death of people using God, and his “word” to put forth an agenda of hate. Of discrimination. Of fear and bigotry. Because, if God does exist, I’m pretty sure that’s not what he had in mind.

I have watched people use their belief as a sword, as a weapon, to excuse the most loathsome behaviour.

To post death threats on Facebook because someone supports transsexual rights. Because someone chooses to support all of human kind, created in his image, in all its various forms.

I have watched a mother and son support the building of churches and houses in Africa, while at home they force their brother, their son to leave his home, with his children, because he doesn’t share their beliefs.

I don’t doubt that churches do good work. I’ve seen it. The sponsorship of Syrian refugees. Food banks, shelters, work programs. Supports for the poorest of the poor.

But I have also seen the words of God and the teachings of Jesus to promote the worst of humanity. To perpetuate the deepest hatred and to spread death and destruction across the globe.

I don’t believe for a second that Jesus would be cool with anyone standing outside the women’s washroom to make sure the people using it are “of the correct gender.”

I don’t believe God would get up in arms about two people who love each other committing to spend their lives together, regardless of their genders.

And I certainly think they’d both be outraged knowing that their words were the basis for forcing a woman to keep a pregnancy born of rape.

I don’t disparage anyone’s faith when it is used for the betterment of humankind. But when you use your faith as a weapon, you become less than human.

I don’t care what anyone believes, ultimately. Believe what you want. Just do me a favour and believe it quietly.

Imaginary Friends

So, I have an awful lot of “imaginary friends” for a woman nearing 40.

They’re not really imaginary. They’re real people. They have real lives and real families and real jobs. They just happen to all live in my phone. I text with them on Twitter. Or Kik. I see them on Instagram. Or I talk to them on Voxer. Which is kinda cool since none of them sound like the voices I gave them in my head. One of them sounds just like Woody Harrelson. It’s really quite cool.

I don’t think it’s a coincidence that I started building my imaginary friendships pretty much immediately after the second miscarriage. I’ve had a Twitter account for some time. According to the website, since 2011. But I hadn’t used it in years until late in 2013, when I finally got myself a smart phone and started getting more into the app.

Long story short, I have a LOT of random thoughts that pop into my head on any given day. Twitter was a place to put them. And while it took me a while to get the hang of it, and while it took months to build my follower count, I feel like I’m pretty good at it now. I have a niche. Mostly tweets about the absurdity of my life. Working. Parenting. Facebooking.

And gradually, the more I tweeted, and the more I interacted with followers on my Twitter timeline, the more I started to develop friendships. Superficial at first. A few tentative direct messages here and there. The internet is a weird place, though, so I am selective in the people I will chat with. Eventually, the chats moved into Kik, where the messages are not restricted to 140 characters. And Kik isn’t all sexting and dirty pictures. It’s where I solidified some pretty amazing friendships. With some pretty amazing people.

My bestest phone friend was the first person to ever send me a direct message. We started talking about music. We still talk about music but we talk about so much more. He has been one of my staunchest allies through this journey. I can tell him anything. I’d like nothing more than to give him a hug. I hope someday I’ll get the chance.

The more I got to know the people behind the Twitter accounts, the more I started to learn that everyone is fighting some kind of battle. Everyone has been hurt. Has lost something or someone or both. And every one of us is coping with the pain through humour. Through making people laugh. And we are all connected through these social media apps in a web of support, laughter and tears.

And we all get it. We understand the complex nature of the human experience. We laugh with each other. We support each other. We cry with each other. We celebrate and acknowledge milestones and give virtual hugs to people around the world. We defend each other vehemently against attacks from internet trolls, blocking and reporting. Circling our virtual wagons, to protect our little virtual family.

We notice when someone hasn’t been around for a while. We notice when people’s tweets are “off.” I’ll never forget, when I tweeted about my first internet troll, how many people jumped to my defence. How many people cared enough about me, without even knowing my real name, to stand up for me and tell me they were there.

I’ll never forget the day I sent a tweet thanking some of my friends for lending me their support and someone else messaged to ask me how I was. Had noticed the tweet, noticed it was out of character for me and reached out to check in. I’ll never forget what it meant that he noticed. That he cared enough to ask. It was so touching that it actually made me cry. It’s weird how you can develop a connection in an instant, with a virtual stranger, that is at once deep and reassuring.

I said to one of my not at all imaginary friends the other day that I don’t think you can be funny if you haven’t been hurt. If you haven’t been through something terrible. And the funniest friends I have in my phone are the ones that seem to shoulder the greatest burdens.

There are people in my real life who do not understand my phone friends. Who don’t get what I get from these relationships. But I can’t explain it fully. Brighter minds than mine have said it more artfully than I can. It is closeness and connection with distance. It is knowing that someone is always there. It is knowing that someone gets it.

 

Solitude

So I have had the house to myself, with no Alex and no Callum, for three days. This is the longest I’ve been alone in, well, forever it seems.

Callum is almost 5 now and finally old enough and independent enough to spend a week with my parents. My mom describes him as “busy.” That is, quite possibly, the understatement of the century. I took him to St. Catharines the day before Alex left for Montreal and the emptiness of the house was palpable.

Even when he is outside or at school or with friends, his presence is still in the house. He’s a personality for sure. I am always amazed at his energy level. He has two speeds. On and off. There is no in between.

Alex left for Montreal on Tuesday morning. So I had Tues, Wednesday and Thursday evening to myself.
Tuesday was bliss. I played Half Moon Run on vinyl at full volume and jumped around my living room from the sheer excitement of being alone.

It rained that night so I opened our back door, in our new spare room, and sat in the dark listening to the rain. It was beautiful.

Wednesday I watched Portlandia and had a long bubble bath. Uninterrupted. By candle light. It’s been far too long.

Thursday, though, dawned a dark day. The tears were very close to the surface and in all truth, I spent much of the morning feeling them slide down my cheeks at my desk at work. Thankfully, my little corner is secluded and not well traveled so I just let them fall.

Thursday got better after my lunch time run. Which I almost skipped. Almost. But I didn’t. And it helped. But Thursday was still a bit of a slog, even with the endorphin rush.

I don’t take very good care of myself when I am alone. I don’t cook. I stay up too late. I eat junk food and drink too much. Although I drink too much these days anyway, even when I’m not alone.

Too much quiet left me too much time alone with my thoughts. It would appear that the noise of my little family, the energy Callum exudes like radiation, is required to distract me from the actual depth of my sadness. I hadn’t had a chance to plumb it until this week. And it is deeper and darker than I had once imagined.

Someone, a former client, once described her depression as being in a deep dark pit. There is a ladder in the pit, a ladder she can use to climb out, but the act of even getting to the ladder is too much, requires energy and drive she doesn’t have. I’m not that bad. Thankfully. I am at the bottom of my ladder, I think. Looking up to the light. With my feet on the rungs.

And I must be climbing, however slowly, because on Thursday night I found my smile. It was hiding in Spaced, my favourite television show ever.

The journey isn’t over yet. And I know I will have to climb this ladder more than once but it is days like today, when I have my smile in my eyes, that give me hope.

Honestly…

So I send these little diary entries to a select few. A few friends who don’t follow the blog. Because I need to share them. Share them with people I trust. People I love. Who will give me feedback when warranted and support no matter what.

I am lucky to have them.

I did ask their permission. I gave them all the option to opt out. And they all opted in. I was awash with gratitude, and, quite frankly a bit surprised. I asked their permission because the things I write here are raw and hard for me to say. And I don’t think it’s fair to burden others, even friends, with things they are not able to tolerate, or don’t want the responsibility of knowing.

We all of us choose our level of friendship, our level of commitment to another person. We cannot force connection and I would never want to overstep my bounds, ask them to shoulder more than they can.

Anyway, one of them said he really liked the way I write because I am so brutally honest. And I thought about that for a while. I was immensely flattered that he would say that. That is, after all, what I’m going for. And my next thought was that this won’t work unless I am honest.

The cold truth is that I am very very good at putting things in boxes. I am usually very good at feeling nothing at all. In fact, feeling anything intensely, even happiness, makes me extremely uncomfortable. I don’t know how to cope with all that emotion. So I clamp down on it. Push it down and close the lid. Because numb is what I know best. It’s is where I feel most comfortable.

I sometimes wonder if that’s why I like Twitter so much. It is an outlet and I am there surrounded by people like me. I am connected to so many but there is a distance within the connection that makes everything easier to bear. Behind every avi, behind all our tweets, we are carrying baggage. Pain. Sadness. Fear. Loss.

 

If you can't find the humour in fear and sadness, then you may as well be dead already.

— Northern Lights 🦖🐢🐸 (@PinkCamoTO) July 26, 2014

I almost started crying on Sunday night. I dropped Callum at my parents’ house for a week and was driving home over the Burlington Skyway when Frank Turner’s Redemption came on. Fuck. That one ALWAYS gets me. But I can’t get going with a full cry. I get started for a minute or two and then the tears dry up and I am numb again. I sometimes feel like if I could let it all out I would feel better. But I am also afraid to let it go. Afraid to open that box all the way.

To many people I appear cold and unfeeling. I know this and it’s an image I’ve done little to change. I don’t mind that people see me as heartless. Because my friends, my real friends, understand the depth of my feeling. They know that I am hard outside because I am not just soft, but liquid, inside. And they know that despite the heft and weight of my current sadness, I would carry theirs too, if only I could.

The big problem is that I cannot be there for Alex in the way he needs someone. And this fills me with a tremendous guilt. I know he too is grieving for the future we had planned. For the daughter he wanted. Although we’ll never know if the babies that weren’t would have been girls. Probably not. His side of the family is quite the sausage fest.

I can’t give him what he needs because many days I am only just holding myself together, only just keeping the lids on the boxes. And it takes everything I have. It takes all my concentration. It is exhausting. I am always tired. Bone tired. I didn’t know that was a thing. But it is.

My greatest hope is that no one I love ever has to feel this tired. This shredded. My second greatest is that I will shake it loose.

Do you remember that?

So I remember everything. Well, I at least used to remember everything. And actually, for the remote past, I still can.

I can recount the minutia of conversations from years ago, the inflections used, who was there, where we were. I can smell the stale beer and cigarette smoke cloud and old varnish smell of Kaz’s, where so many of my fondest moments live. Feel the pool cue slide through my fingers, cigarette in my lips, eyeing a shot to win a bet, smoke stinging my eye. The crack of the cue balls. The glow of the jukebox. Feel the sweat on the glass from the chill of my beer. Jody is there. Or Pat. Or Kevin. Or all of them. Steph is with me. We’re dancing to “South of the Border” between the pool tables and laughing. I don’t laugh like that anymore.

I can remember the texture of the air at the Port Dalhousie pier on a humid August night. Listening to the water lick the stones and sitting on the cold concrete drinking sickly sweet Tim Horton’s coffee and staring across the lake towards the Toronto skyline. There is someone different beside me in every memory. Dylan. Steph. Jody. Brian. We’re listening to the ducks calling to each other. We’re almost alone here, but the music from Lakeside is pushed down towards the shore by the breeze. I went there a lot to sit. I still do in my head.

I can feel the grass pricking up under the blanket as I lay staring into the blue sky and drinking terrible white wine behind my student house in Wales. It’s June. I’m leaving soon. CD player in the window. Sarah McLaughlin’s “Surfacing” at full volume. The wine had a giraffe on the label. That’s why we picked it. It was so bad we had to add orange juice to make it palatable. Caitlin is with me, her hair slightly crooked from my terrible haircut. She’s lighting a Marlboro light and Hamish is walking past, on his way to his house. His hair is so red. He’s Canadian on exchange too, but he’s kinda stuck up. We don’t really get along.

I can still remember all those stories and people. The taste and feel of the memory is still fresh as the day it happened. I could keep going. Pick a time frame, and I could weave you a story about it, pulled from the fabric of memory alone. Not anymore.

I worked three jobs at one time. Remembering every shift without writing any of it down. Remember deadlines and phone numbers and people’s names. Things got harder to remember as I got a bit older. After I had a kid. With all the additional appointments and details that come with being wholly responsible for a tiny human. On no sleep. But that got a bit better as I got a bit more sleep. I didn’t have quite the steel trap memory I did in my 20s, but it was still one of my super powers. Seriously. It was quite impressive. It’s actually something I was known for. Not anymore.

Stuff that happens now disappears into the ether. I can’t remember meetings. Even when my email sends a reminder 5 minutes beforehand. I can’t remember appointments. I can’t remember tweets unless I write them down immediately. I can’t remember concerts! Now that’s the part that really hurts. The part that let me know this memory thing was starting to be a real problem.

I program things into the calendar on my phone and when I get reminders, I can’t remember what they’re for or when I booked it or why. It’s frightening, really. It’s like being adrift and untethered. My husband laughed when I mentioned I can’t remember much these days, saying now I know how he lives. But it’s not funny. And I didn’t laugh in return.

I get flustered more easily. Confused more easily. I snap more easily because I can’t keep track of my life and I can’t focus on more than one thing at a time. I used to be able to multitask like a motherfucker. Now I get confused if I have to do any more than one task at a time; it requires my full attention.

I don’t know how to fix this particular problem. I don’t know if it will get better as I get better. If I get better. Because, well, it’s still an if. Sometimes I feel fine. Sometimes I feel fantastic. And two seconds later, I am full of glass. Splintering and sharp. The swings make me dizzy and disoriented. And I can be so mean. I don’t want to be. I don’t mean to be. But I am also scared. And sad. And tired.

Calling in my Chit

So when I first started this blog, I promised I would “flay myself in prose” as part of this little experiment.

Honest. You can check for yourself in the first post. It’s called Beginnings. I’ll wait…

Well, it would seem that life has decided to call in my chit on that one as it were.

Some of you may have noticed I took the blog off Twitter, Facebook and (haha) LinkedIn. I don’t want a big audience for these posts.

I don’t really want to share them with Facebook “friends” who will ask me questions. Like the girl I haven’t talked to in two years who messaged me to ask why we were selling our baby things. She never did tell me how she was. Huh.

 

I certainly don’t wish to share them with the 7000+ followers on Twitter. I took this link out of my bio a long time ago because the internet is, well, a weird place. I’m doing this as a one way discussion between myself and myself. I don’t want to have to answer to anyone about what I put here. And I don’t want to talk about it outside what I write here.

So if you’re seeing this it’s because you already follow this blog or it’s because I chose to share it with you, you lucky fuckers.

I started a writing these little diary like entries after a very interesting exchange with a friend I met on Twitter. FYI, you can shit on Twitter and phone friends all you want, but some of my best friends, my strongest allies and staunchest supporters live in my phone and I am a better person for having them in my life.

Anyway, one never knows when the gates will open or who will turn the key, but it happened and here we are. I’m not sure if I want to kiss my friend for sparking this or if I want to smack him upside the head. I guess we’ll see where we are when all this is done.

The thing is that I am almost pathologically incapable of talking about my feelings with another human being. Unless I’m angry. Angry gets me good and fired up. But then those of you who know me already know that… Angry is fun though. Angry has momentum. Whatever this dark place is doesn’t.

Having to talk about my feelings makes me almost fetal with discomfort. I actually physically draw into myself, knees to chin, arms around legs, don’t get too close, don’t touch me. It’s quite the phenomenon to see it in the wild.

Anyway, people have started asking again if, perhaps, given where I’ve been the last little bit, if I should probably go talk to someone. A counsellor. If I’ve thought about it. The answer is three fold.

1. Yes. I’ve thought about it.
2. Yes. I probably should talk about it with someone.
3. No. I’m not going to.

The reason for this is that, not to put too fine a point on it, I don’t really want to feel better right now. I’m not ready. I’ve felt pretty shitty for the last 7 months and I’m not sure I’m done with that yet. I know that’s going to sound bizarre to the worried well and the perpetually happy. But I’ve never been either of those two people either. And one needn’t point out that I am an RN whose area of expertise is mental health. The irony is not lost on me.

I’ve struggled through bouts of depression in the past. More than once. Shocking I know, given my general demeanour. But I’ve worked my way through those successfully and I feel like I haven’t really taken the time or effort to work through this.

I have been working very hard at avoiding working at this and that was working out really well. Well, right up until my neighbour kinda pulled the rug out from under me at an impromptu courtyard dinner. Babies babies babies. Babies are wonderful. The more the better. The kicker is that she, along with everyone else there, knows my situation. Again, yet another reason to avoid the fucking neighbours. She is now, actually, officially to blame for everything I need a general scapegoat for. Cunt.

Had I known what her insensitive diatribe was going to unleash, I would have walked away. But Callum was playing with the kids. The pizza had arrived. There was wine. Hindsight and all of that. At least I haven’t lost a friend out of it. I never liked her much to begin with.

Anyway, that’s where we are so far. So…

Thank you to my friend for starting the ball rolling. I think.

Thank you to those of you who read this when it pops up on your feed.

And thank you to those of you who didn’t opt out when you had the chance…