NPB part deux

Are you there Sants? It's me, Marcie

Sorry I missed your call, I was working my abs. I'd love to get together next week, just let me know what time works best for you. And don't worry about the job thing. I know I left it way too long! I appreciate you putting the feeling out there though.

Okay, don't call me greedy, but I have one more favour to ask. This one's actually more important than the job thing. This sweet little gal by the name of Hammy (Hamster on her papers, Hams to her friends) took herself on a little walk Sunday night and hasn't returned home yet. Her family is worried sick! I thought I'd mention it since you know such a huge network of people. She's incredibly affectionate and is very close to her family. What she lacks in book smarts she more than makes up in social skills. She lives in Mission, so if you hear anything, can you give me a shout? It's getting pretty cold out (I know, I know, it's nothing compared to the pole!) and she's got a brand new fluffy bed waiting for her at home. Here's a picture of her, so give me shout if you see or hear of anything?

I really appreciate your help, Sants! You're the best.

Love, Marcie

PS She's already been through some rough stuff. She doesn't deserve anymore. She's a survivor, we all know it. We don't need it proved to us again!

North Pole bound

Dear Santa

How are you? I am fine. How's the weather over there in the N Pole? The weather here in LA is pretty sweet. There's a lot of black pollution floating in the air, but I guess that's expected. So, I guess it's a pretty busy time of year for you, huh? Have you managed to get any breaks? Oh yeah?Uh oh! Sounds pretty badass, how'd that go over with the Mrs.? Sounds about right. To be honest Santa, I've never heard of whiskey doing anyone any good. Well, I guess you learned your lesson. You're not a spring chick anymore. Nor are you a raging alcoholic, so don't try and act like one!

Anyhow Sants, do you mind if I call you Sants? Cool. So Sants, I was hoping you might be able to hook me up with a job. I know we haven't talked in awhile and it's kind of presumptuous of me to ask out of the blue, but I gotta level with ya. Fiscally, 2009's been a rough year. I mean REAL rough. Kind of like I'm back in college rough. I'm sure you've done all your seasonal hiring considering it's already December 2nd (where did the year go!?) and all, but I figure it's worth a shot. You'll never know unless you try, right?

I'm working pretty hard these days in order to get things going writing wise, but that bridge is a tough bitch to cross! I bet you felt the same way when you left insurance and went into the Christmas business. I know the first year is the roughest and you have to just put your head down and battle through, but I'm thinking it might be nice to have a semi-padded wallet when I trip up and fall on my ass every once in awhile. Sigh. I remember those days. Too bad it's taken me not having any to learn the value of a dollar, huh? Classic.

Well, I guess I better wrap it up (Get it? WRAP it up! Just a little work humour for ya!) and carry on with my evening. I was in a helluva mood all day and haven't really gotten anything done because of it. Now I'm so far behind I might be first. Shoot me an email or give me a shout when you have a sec. Even if you don't have any extra work, it'd be great to catch up. You still haven't told me about your cruise. How was it!?

Lots of love and peace and whiskey breath. Peace, Sants!

Marcie

Deep Thoughts by Jack Handy

My sister sent me a book today and I read a paragraph that sums me up in such a way that I think the author has secretly been watching me for most of my adult life.

"There was nothing I hated worse than clumps of whispering girls who got quiet when I passed. I started picking scabs off my body and, when I didn't have any, gnawing the flesh around my fingernails till I was a bleeding wreck. I worried so much about how I looked and whether I was doing things right, I felt half the time I was impersonating a girl instead of really being one."

The only thing missing is the scarred shoulders from picking bumps.

Tranny

Bored bored bored bored bored nothing opens until 11:00 bored bored bored bored bored I took sleep aids last night and was in bed by 10:20 because I was so bored bored bored bored bored I just found a random piece of gum on the coffee table and am chewing it and it's good and I'm wondering what kind it is bored bored bored bored bored my boyfriend was up until 6:30 this morning and is not going to get any sleep and will be a mess when he finally decides to get out of bed leaving me all the more bored bored bored bored bored I don't have a Halloween costume and miss Value Village bored bored bored bored bored I can't go for a run because I have bad blisters that never heal because I get so bored bored bored bored bored

"There are villains all over this city"

My boyfriend just asked me what it feels like to be a blogger with the swine flu.

He's currently playing Halo: ODST and explaining his strategy to me as he goes. He already beat Halo: ODST and is playing it again. On the hardest level.

I stopped by his work today and he had a dixie cup sized espresso with two scoops of sugar in it. I queried as to whether he wanted any beverage with his sugar.

I always find his socks in and around the couch. The ultimate expression of relaxation after a long day of work.

He was painting last night while we were watching a Bergman film. I got cranky and decided I had to go to bed. He wanted me to hang out with him while he painted and asked if I'd sleep on the couch.

On our walk to rent a movie he was picking my metaphorical ass and I told him I was going to walk in the street so he couldn't touch me. He told me I was going to get hit by a car. I told him he'd feel guilty. He said he wouldn't and that I'd feel stupid for getting hit.

He told me I'm like Laurel and Hardy, except the female version and all rolled into one.

Wilshire Blvd

I blew through a red light. Even before I had entered the intersection, I made the conscious decision that I was going to run the light. The worst part, is that it wasn't even yellow turning red, it was straight up red. And it was nighttime. And I cut a car off in order to do it.

I felt a sudden surge of energy pulse through my body. I think it was the chemical release of stupidity mixed with luck. I wasn't in a rush. I didn't have anyone chasing me. I didn't even have rowdy music blasting. So why did I feel the need to put not only my life, but the lives of others in jeopardy? It's one of those embarrassing moments when you step outside of yourself and you think,

What the fuck did I do that for?

It reminded me of when I used to party a lot. We'd go out, get wasted, do drugs, then roam the neighbourhood being pointless and destructive. People would drop like flies in one alley or another, a stranger would try and lure one of us into their car, some random dude would promise he had a ton of drugs back at his apartment. No matter what, we'd all laugh and think we were the raddest shit to hit the Earth. The next morning we'd wake up and slink on with our day. None of us ever being 100% sure what had happened the night before, but all of us being thankful we'd made it through.

I kind of look at life that way now. I'm not sure why I'm making it through, but I'm smart enough to realize how truly fortunate I am.

Adjustment

A Planter's Peanut, dressed up as Robert Plant.

Bear

Halloween is my ultimate fave time of year. I like Christmas because people feel like they have to be nice and after forcing themselves to behave a certain way they usually fall into line and realize it's nice to be nice, but over all it's a lot of build up and stress for one day.

Halloween isn't like that. (Unless you get all hyped when everyone says they'll dress up and then they all bail at the last minute leaving you a sobbing mess of flesh... but I got over that. I'm my own dude.) Halloween is a nationally recognized excuse to dress like absolutely anything you want while parading around in the dark. And you get to carve pumpkins and hand out/receive candy. Am I missing something? How has everyone not caught onto the brilliance? How can anyone possibly think this sounds like a chore!?

I was a little sad because I thought I wouldn't have anything to get out to this year, but am pleased to announce, I have plans! Brad and I are going to a halloween party. A real Halloween party, with decorations and costumes! I also get to host a pumpkin carving night like I like to do. This shit's shaping up, kids! AND I decorated our apartment real spooky like! Our mantle looks fanfreakintastic!

Once again, in typical Marcie fashion, I've been pondering costumes all year, but can't remember any of them. Except the fallback plan of Robert Plant, but I think that's just too easy and not nearly witty enough. Maybe I could go as Robert Planter? Robert with a planter's wart? Or Robert Planters Peanut? The top half of Robert with the bottom half of a peanut? Hmm... that just might work.

This post is pretty pointless and it was all just a way to show you another picture from the MOCA. It was the one thing Brad and I thought was mind meltingly cool. It might also be the inspiration to his costume. I want him to dress up as it, just in case someone saw the exhibit. I want someone to walk up and say:

Contemporary art, huh? Very cool!

"And that brings us to our next piece entitled, Condensation Cube."

When I was nineteen or so, I was introduced to Robert Frank's photography. I'd never seen anything like it, because I lived under a rock, and immediately fell under his spell. In typical Marcie fashion this meant I would do absolutely nothing about it aside from thinking of him from time to time for the next nine years. (Brad and I have a running joke about who my celebrity crush is. I pick a new one every time I see a movie I like because I can't remember who my last one was. This sums up my life. I can't remember what I like unless I'm reminded.)

Lucky for me, someone not only reminded me of Robert Frank's existence, but told me he currently has an exhibit at the MOCA. Well. Hot damn! I've always wanted to see an exhibit of his!

Brad and I went on Saturday. It was lovely to see his work and I was a happy camper that we went, instead of adding it to the list of things I spaced out on until it was too late. Now. As for the rest of the museum.

MOCA. Museum of CONTEMPORARY Art.

A common concern since the early part of the 20th century is the question of what constitutes art. This concern can be seen running through the "modern" and "postmodern" periods. The concept of avant-garde^[11] may come into play in determining what art is taken notice of by galleries, museums, and collectors. Serious art is ultimately exceedingly difficult to distinguish definitively from art that falls short of that designation.

Cough.

I may not be no educated art gal, but to me, there are two very distinct types of art. The type I can only dream of achieving and the type I could achieve. The latter, in my mind, not being art. This may sound harsh and everybody has a different way of expressing themselves and their vision and blah blah blah blah, but seriously. Don't put a tampon in a tea cup and put it in a museum.

Being in the MOCA was like being in a movie. A horror/comedy. A horredy. I was walking around in a daze. Blown away by what I was seeing and hearing, unsure if I was supposed to scream in terror or bust a nut laughing. My face was stuck somewhere in the middle the whole time. Eyebrows furrowed, mouth in a smirk, nose twisted, head tilted.

Long winded story short, I took the liberty of snapping a few photos, so I could share my confusion.

Troop Beverly Hills

I've fallen in love, thy name is Zombieland. Whenever I feel a breeze gently kissing my neck, I'll think of you. Whenever I smell freshly baked cookies, I'll think of you. Whenever I pick a scab and blood flows, I'll think of you. Whenever I see a motorcycle in a bush, I'll laugh my ass off and think of you.

Couple's Retreat on the other hand, I'd be pleased to burn you from my memory.

Runyon

You - Did you ever really struggle?

Me - No. The only thing I truly struggled with was myself. I've always had a lot of love in my life and the rest was just noise I had to learn to silence.

So

As previously posted, reality TV is ruining my life. I'm semi-obsessed with a show called Say Yes to the Dress and it's currently in marathon mode on TLC. It's midnight and I should be working, but instead I'm getting mad at all the ugly, boring dresses woman buy.

Many girls dream of their wedding day their entire life. They have visions of doves and rhinestones and white and flowers and lipstick and... I don't know. Food? I'd just be worried about the food and the music, but enough about me. They all want jaws to drop when they walk down the aisle. Now. What I don't understand is, if you want to blow everyone's brains against the walls, then why are you buying a dress and/or style that six million other woman have worn? Seriously, get adventurous. Oh, and the money! I just watched a chick spend $14,000 on a dress!!! Say what!? For that money I'd expect it to be a beautiful couture style gown, but no. It looked like cats ears glued onto a preschool art project.

My mom made her wedding outfit. I say outfit because she wore bell bottomed pants, a long bell sleeved top and a hood. That's right. My mom wore a hood. Granted if it slipped forward it would have looked like she was spawned by the KKK, but luckily it didn't. She looked like a totally righteous hippy with her red hair spilling out of her white hood. She then cut the whole thing up and used the fabric for our halloween costumes. Haha! Rad.

Life sucker

I have a serious pain shooting through my left leg and a numbness in my butt/hip. AJ and I got into the reality TV yesterday.

It's Been Awhile (sung in alt rock breathy growl)

I'm having a moment. A very good moment. The kind of moment where I might cry.

Someone I cherish has, in so many words, just let me know everything is okay. I've wanted this for so long, and now that it's here I want to snuggle around it and never let it go.

"Like rain after a long drought."

Not Fake Positive

IF there are two years left, then they will be the best goddamned two years we can muster. I envision: parties, motorcycle trips, new niece/nephew/cousin, road trips, quiet visits, karaoke, lots of family time, helpful muscle on a new house, mellow christmases, happy birthdays, and on and on and on.

Be positive

The one thing that keeps coming into my mind is, my brother won't be able to get married. I feel by writing that I've just cemented something, but that's stupid. A childish way to think. I wish I could be childish right now, though. I wish I could scream at someone. Blame someone. Tell someone to go fuck themselves and have that actually amount to something. I want to say the most overused statement in the world; it's not fair.

Suck it up buttercup, life isn't fair.

How does someone pull themselves up off the couch and leave the house when every time they muster up the strength, something blows them back off their feet? How can we cast judgement or have opinions on something we've never been faced with? Especially when that "something" is our life. How do you move forward when you've been given an expiry date?

The panic that wells inside of me when I think about a life without my brother is enough to make me shut down. Suddenly I'm going over every year of our lives. I'm thinking about how much I don't know about Shane. I'm regretting every ill thought I ever had. Wishing I could turn back time and take in more of the quiet moments. Like the time we played under the Christmas tree. Him with his army men, me with some sort of girly doll... or maybe it was my Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle figures. I'm thinking about my mom and dad and sister. And grandpa. Grandpas shouldn't out live their grandsons. I guess I'm going through the incredibly typical feelings of someone trying to process bad news.

Fuck. Typical.

Can't I just scream and have it go away instead? Can't I ball up his hurt and swallow it and hold it deep inside me? I can take it. Just let me take it. He'd say the same thing. He'd want to take our hurt and eat it. I guess that's the way it is when you love someone.

Back home

The floors seem a little slanted, the walls seem extra white, the world seems a little too quiet.

Ebb and Flow

My mind is my enemy. I can visit the most beautiful worlds, I can see the most frightening faces, I can love the most incredible people. And then I wake up. Unable to vocalize the feelings that bubble inside me, I'm left to roll them over and over and over and over.

The highs and lows have gotten tiresome. I want to sink my teeth into flesh and rip apart every ounce of fat that oozes into my mouth. I want to chew it and spray it over the world. I want to feel it drip from my lips to my chin to my throat to my chest. I want to be naked. I want to feel the weight of your body pressed against mine. I want you to fill your hands with my ass. I want you to wrap your hands around my throat. I want to breathe clean air mixed with the heaviness of your musk. I want to be covered in your sweat. I want to be left screaming for more.

I want to be floating weightless in dark waters, ears covered, eyes open, staring into the infinite sky and fearing the unknown.

Bonding

Me - I have five days to live.

You - Wow, what a coincidence! I have five days left on my car insurance.

Connection

I'm wearing a long sleeved, light purple Patagonia shirt with a half zip, black stretchy pants, jogging runners, a bun in my hair and a long gold necklace that opens to reveal a clock. I'm rounding the corner of the Pepsi Cola factory and continuing down the dirt road. To my left is an open field that stops at the base of a hill after giving way to multiple shacks. Pot hole. To my right is the brick wall of the factory. Another pot hole. My connection to home is coming up on the far left. Huge hole in the middle of the road. A pile of dirt and rocks. Road work.

The world around me is slowly waking up. I can hear the metal shudder to the tiny communications shop opening. The man that owns it takes a step outside and puffs a cigarette. The rising sun kisses his face before he has the chance to shield it and go back inside. I'm following him in the shop. I'm pointing to a phone and giving him a phone number. I'm entering the poor excuse for a booth and picking up the phone. The man is signaling me.

I'm taking a deep breath.

A distant crackle. A few weak rings. A far off,

-Hello?

-Hi!

-Hellooo?

-Hello!?

-Marce is that you? I can barely hear you.

-Sorry there's a really bad connection. Can you hear me?

Delay. Delay

-Yeah I can hear you a bit. How are you?

-I'm okay.

Delay. Delay. Words cutting over words.

-What? I can barely hear you. Are you Okay?

-I'm fine! There's a huge delay between...

-That's good to hear. How was the... there's a delay?

Panic is rising in my chest. I'm trying to hide my face from the man that's all to obviously trying to watch and listen.

-How's everything at home? How are you?

-Good. We're all good. How's

-That's good. How's work?

- your homestay? What's good?

-It's okay. It's a huge adjust...

-Work's work. Do you...

-Oh goo...

I'm crying and panicking. What's with this piece of shit!? I can't hear anything!

-Are you still...

-Sorry the delay is terrible.

-there, Marce? Oh the

-Yeah I'm still here

-delay is...

No! The connection is cracking up. She's getting away. Let me jump through the phone LET ME JUMP THROUGH THE PHONE!!

-I'm losing you

-I can't hear any...

-Can you call...

-I'm losing you too...

-You're losing...

-Call you when!?

She's drifting.

-I love you!!

She's drifting.

-Call me after...

She's gone.

FUCK! I'm hanging up the phone and secretly wiping the tears from my hot face. I'm leaving the booth. The man is looking at me.

-So soon?

-Bad connection

I'm throwing my money at him and making for the door.

-Later. Better time. Better connection.

-Thank you

I'm leaving the shop and turning left. I'm wiping the tears. Pothole. I'm passing a man on a rickety bicycle shouting to the world about the lettuce he has for sale. I'm veering right. The shop to my left is selling the last bag of milk to a young girl. I'm crossing a small chunk of mud and grass. Stray dog. I'm breathing deep. Another stray dog. I'm passing a little boy kicking a ball around. I'm walking up to the stone fence that surrounds my new home. I'm taking a deep breath. I'm reaching for the gate handle. I pause. I turn around and look at the rows and rows of lettuce, the young kids in uniforms walking to school, the mist burning off the field, the half built brick houses, and the dirt roads. I'm listening to the prayer bells. A small smile is spreading across my lips. I'm entering the gate. I wonder if the tea and biscuits are ready yet?

Perfect

I walk towards the cashier and try to stop an employee scurrying by.

Me - Excuse me?

The employee barely blinks and walks by. I'm so polite. I'm so meek. I'm so Canadian. I continue to the cashier. There are a few customers. Be bold!

Me - Excuse me, can I ask a quick question?

Customer - Miss? There's a lineup. I suggest you stand in it like the rest of us.

I throw my hands in the air and surrender to your assholedness. I walk up and down the aisles looking for an employee. At the back of the store I hear a raised voice seething from behind a closed door marked employees only.

Voice - What were you thinking!? Were you even thinking!? Do you have any idea how many complaints I've had? I mean, this is ridiculous! The blatant disrespect for the customers, for your fellow coworkers, for the STORE! Do you have ANY idea how much trouble you've caused? Do you even care?

Pause.

Voice - Are you even listening to me? I have been at this store for seventeen years and have NEVER had to deal with a situation like this. Quite frankly I'm flabbergasted. I don't even know HOW to deal with a situation like this.

Silence. Cough. Someone clears their throat.

I looked behind me and realize I'm hovering over the blood pressure machine and an old man is trying to use it. I'm pretty sure my face goes red. I blindly grab at something on the shelf. Nasal problems? Why yes. I have those.

Voice - You must have thought something would come of this. In your wild head, how did you think I would react?

Silence. Old man grunting. Old men are always grunting.

Voice - What are you doing? What is this? Is this a joke? Excuse me we're not done here...

The door flies open throwing me off guard and into the shelf. A girl flies out of the room and is followed by what I assume, is her boss. Maybe he can answer my question? I move to follow them, but peak in the office first. There's a crumpled piece of paper on the desk. Holy shit I want to know what it says! Where's the grunting old man? Fuck him! Zip! You're mine. I run down the aisle and out the door.

Blasted by the sun. My god it's hot here. I run across the parking lot. I feel like a little thief stealing the key to the world. My heart is racing. It feels great. I wish I wasn't alone. That's okay though. Thieves work best alone. I run across the busy street and don't stop until I'm in the shadows of the market. I pick a table. I wipe the sweat from my face with a lone napkin. Ew. Maybe that was gross. I flatten the paper on the table and read:

"Please consider this my resignation. As in I will no longer be coming to work.

Truly; Lindsay"

Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

Letters From Mickey pt 3

James came home for a visit. He brought his fiance. His mother loves his fiance. She's precious. She's delicate. She's a lady. His mother has never known what it feels like to be a lady. James needed to get away from work. The pressure had been getting to him. His hair is thinning. James misses the days of following his big brother around. He still looks up to Mickey.

Mickey was at work when James and his fiance arrived. He was looking forward to their visit and asked his boss for the week off. His boss said no. He asked his boss for a couple days off. His boss gave him Saturday and Sunday. Mickey doesn't work Saturday and Sunday.

When Mickey crossed the lawn to the front door at 5:30 he was greeted by a huge grin. The grin was followed by James. They embraced. James started talking a mile a minute. Mickey listened.

James' fiance was sitting at the kitchen table basked in golden light. She smiled at Mickey as he walked down the hall towards her. Her smile caused Mickey's heart to skip a beat. She struggled to get out of her chair in order to give him a hug. She was much bigger than the last time he saw her. She was seven months pregnant. His mother was at the stove cooking. She beamed. Her boys were together again.

Letters From Mickey pt 2

Mickey is 32 and his brother James is 30. James still talks a lot and tries to impress Mickey. Mickey is still strong, thoughtful and quiet.

James studied engineering and moved to New York. He's engaged. His fiance is expecting. He deposits money into his mother's account at the beginning of every month. She refuses. She's proud. They fight. She threatens to give the money back. He calms her down. She accepts the money.

His mother doesn't have a husband. Mickey and James don't have a father. He would drink. He would beat their mother. He would pass out. Their mother would send them on "missions" when things got bad. She would ask for a perfectly round rock. She would ask for a hatched robin's egg. She would ask for a wild red rose. One day she asked for help. When help arrived, their father was dead and their mother was shaking.

Mickey lives with his mother. He works at the mill. He plays hockey. He doesn't have a girlfriend. He receives an anonymous letter once a week from Kingston, Ontario.

Letters From Mickey pt 1

Mickey was ten and his brother James was eight. James talked a lot and tried to impress Mickey. Mickey was strong, thoughtful and quiet. 

James was running ahead of Mickey on a marshy path along the river. He held a stick. He was using the stick as a gun. He was telling Mickey of all the animals he was going to kill. He was telling Mickey how he was going to win awards for being the best shot anyone had ever seen. He was telling Mickey he was going to protect the house now that their dad was gone. He told Mickey if he wanted to, he could shoot him.

James stops in his tracks and points his gun at Mickey. James asks him if he's scared. Mickey doesn't say anything. Mickey stares at James. Hard. He doesn't blink. James tries to act stoic, but wavers. He drops his eyes, his gun follows. 

Mickey stepped past James and continued on the marshy  path along the river. 

1 second. 2 seconds. 3 seconds. 

James was back in lead telling Mickey the only food they were going to eat would be the animals he'd shot and dragged home. James rounded a bend and was out of site. Mickey could hear James talking to himself and making the sounds of a gun. 

Silence. 

Mickey assumed James was hiding. He wanted to try and scare him. 

Mickey kept walking and James jumped out from behind the bend waving his stick in Mickey's face. From the stick hung a pair of women's underwear. 

James danced around Mickey and laughed maniacally. He asked if he'd just found the spot where Mickey brought his girlfriends. With one swift move, Mickey grabbed the stick and tripped James. He was on top of James rubbing the underwear in James' face. James was screaming. He wriggled free and ran down the path. Mickey chased after him. 

James stops in his tracks. He's gone white. Mickey bumps into him. James bends and starts throwing up. Mickey looks at James, then down the path. 

A naked woman lies face down in the marsh. Dead.

Mickey doesn't look away.

Excuses.

Writer's write. Everyday. No matter what. Don't stop, can't stop, never stop. That's the difference between writers and wannabes.

But what if they can't?

They always can.

But what if they can't? Maybe they break their hand.

They use a dictaphone. 

What if they break both their hands?

They hire someone to type while they dictate. 

What if they're shy and don't want to share their work until it's done?

Everybody trusts somebody. 

Writer's block. It has a name for a reason.

Writer's block exists to make wannabes feel better about themselves. 

This all seems very extreme. Some of the greatest writer's in history struggled. What'd they do!?

They wrote about it.

Peaks and Valleys

My head's buzzing and my fingers are furiously clacking away at the keys. The rush of life is hitting me like a tidal wave.

I think if I wrote an autobiography it would be called "Peaks and Valleys" because that seems like the best way to sum up my life. My personality. I've mellowed quite a bit in the last few years and am not as extreme as I once was, but I don't think I'll ever escape the highs and lows that seem to follow me. And when I think about it, I don't ever want to escape them. 

By Brian Andreas

I once had a garden filled with flowers that grew only on dark thoughts, but they need constant attention and one day I decided I had better things to do.

Storytime

I think about my family a lot. I think about my friends a lot. I think about the life I'm living and how within a matter of weeks, it is completely different than anything I have ever known. 

I met my match and moved away. Without blinking an eye. Whenever I was seeing someone new, my sister would ask me if he's "the one." I would snort some sort of response and usually say no. Mainly because I had no idea what she was talking about it. I don't think I believed it. Deep inside of me I felt I would love many people, but never feel 100% connected to any of them. I would always have one foot in, and one foot out. And that was fine with me. I didn't see myself settling down. I didn't want to get married. Kids weren't an option, I was going to get a dog when I was big. Then something happened. I met the one. 

Brad came into my office to ask me a question about work. I'm pretty sure I got red in the face. We talked. He left. Instantly a thought popped into my mind that should have scared me, but instead calmed me. 

He was the man I would marry.

He was nothing like anybody I had ever been with. He wasn't part of a scene. He wore adidas and crocs. He had a silver ring on his middle finger. He had a huge mustache. He had a girlfriend. 

I anticipated the moments he would fly by my office door. Sometimes I'd look, sometimes I'd pretend to be transfixed by my work. I soon realized I had an incredibly hard reality I had to face. The relationship I was in, was over. I think it had been over for quite some time, I just didn't want to admit it. I lived in an odd dream world. I had my life. He had his life. We had our life. The latter became less and less. I brought it up. We broke up. I wondered if I had done the right thing. The last thing in the world I wanted to do, was make someone I loved hurt. And there was no shortage of hurt.

Brad and I started spending more and more time together. There was a force that couldn't be denied, even if we wanted to. I had left one dream world and slid right into another. The circumstances were far from favourable and no matter how hard we tried to ignore them, they kept making themselves known. We hid from work. We hid from his girlfriend. We hid from our reality. Then reality came crashing down harder than either of us had expected. His girlfriend read his emails. She was frantic. She threatened suicide. He flew home for the weekend and when he returned, she was with him. I rounded a corner at work and was face to face with the pain I was a part of. I felt sick. I couldn't eat. I couldn't sleep. 

We weren't able to talk for a week, but I saw the both of them everyday. I tried to convince myself that what I felt wasn't real and that he was just using me. Somehow this made it easier. I got a phone call on the weekend. It was him. He was able to get away and only had minutes. She held his phone, read his emails, never left his side. I didn't blame her. Her whole world came down on her in a matter of seconds as my dream world had come down on me. He wanted to know what I thought. Words couldn't describe how he felt for hurting me day after day. He wanted to know if I'd wait. No games. I'm too old for that. I told him it wasn't over between us and no matter how hard I tried to convince myself that it was, I knew in my heart we had years ahead of us. A sigh of relief. He'd contact me again when he could. 

Secret. Secret. It all had to be kept secret. 

They broke up, a couple times. She wouldn't let it happen. I didn't blame her. She was scared. She had moved across the country to be with the person that took care of her. Now that person was moving on and she'd have to take care of herself. No one can grow if they don't have reason to. If someone's content watching the world go by from under a glass roof, why would they ever want to join what seems so hard? After that, we were together every second. I had doubts and tried again to convince myself he wasn't real. I couldn't have met someone like him. Someone that wanted to be with me. All the time. Then he flew half way around the world with me to visit a friend and embark on two weeks of chaotic travel after just having finished a job that nearly made all his hair fall out. Literally. I think he loved me. 

We got back from holiday. He went home. I finished my job. We decided I should move down to be with him. I packed up my apartment, made driving arrangements, and left before the sun came up. My landlord didn't notice for a week. Even though I had left her the keys and a note.

After months of adjusting, I feel happy. Secure. Confident. We're looking to buy a house. We're thinking about renovations on that house. When someone asks if we're married, we say might as well be. I don't like drinking anymore. I go to bed early. I grocery shop and have supper ready for when Brad gets home. We have a cat. I'm going to get my dog when we have a house. We've talked about baby names. I'm an adult. Something that scared the hell out of me all my life, has suddenly crept up on me in the most natural of ways. And although I still have moments of panic and bouts of melancholy, I know this is the road my life is supposed to be traveling. For the first time, it makes sense.

Now. If I could just make some friends......

Life's list

I have a life's list of things to do. Learn how to drive a standard, see a moose, go to Japan, see quicksand, etc. On that list it also says, "Get to know Shane better." Out of hardship, some good always comes. I believe this.

Long pause. Deep sigh. Eyes welling with tears. 

My brother is very sick. He just told me he's sicker than any of us originally thought and I can't get two words he said out of my head. "It's grim." They're playing over and over like a song you only know a few words to. 

Shane and I have never been close. Not that we ever fought or had bad blood flowing between us, it's just that he's five years older than me. We were never in the same school. We were never into the same things at the same time. We never shared friends. And he's an old soul. I've always said he belongs in small town Alberta with a wife and kids to support and love. He likes being able to go to the local pub and see the same people night after night. He likes going to the corner store and chatting with the employees. He like knowing his neighbours and being known. His memory is like a sponge. He sucks it all in and holds it. It's a blessing and a curse. 

Since we found out he was sick, the whole family has gotten tighter. Even though I live far away, I feel closer to my mom, dad, sister and brother than I ever have. This "sick" has pulled us together in a way you know can only happen when tragedy is involved. Hmm, maybe that's not fair. My nephew had the same effect. When he was born, it's like the rope that kept us all together, was cinched. And now, it's being cinched even tighter. 

I can't stop thinking what it will be like if my brother is no longer here. It's so overwhelming I immediately panic. The hardest part is knowing that you will be fine. We will all be fine. We all continue to: wake up, eat, work, talk, sleep, repeat. Life will go on. Your life doesn't stop when another does. And if love is involved, you can guarantee the person you lost wouldn't want it any other way. I heard someone say they didn't know who had it harder. The person that passed away, or the people they left behind. 

My brain is overloaded and heavy, because like all bad news it hits hardest at the beginning. From that point on though, you must make a conscious decision as to which path you're going to take. Positivity, or negativity. We all choose positivity. There is absolutely no gain when negativity is involved. The most positive person throughout this whole thing has been Shane. He's smart. Very smart. He takes things one step at a time. We all know the next course of action and there's no point dwelling on anything beyond that. Because we just don't know. I wasn't sure how he'd deal with everything when I first heard he had cancer, but now I'm convinced. He's one of the strongest people I know and if anyone's going to beat their "sick," it's him. 

HIgh up above

I want a dog. I want a house. I want a new kitchen knife set. I want a solarium. I want a new pair of boots. I want to go to Hawaii. I want to take pottery classes. I want to take Spanish classes. I want a new bed. I want my old couch. I want some new clothes. I want to go to karaoke with my brother at the pub. I want my brother find true love. I want my brother to get married. I want my brother to have kids. I want my brother to own a house. I want my brother to go to Hawaii. I want my brother to ride his horse. I want my brother to go golfing. I want my brother to go to the hockey game. I want my brother to laugh and really mean it. I want my brother to sleep at night. 

I need absolutely nothing except my brother to be here this time next year. And the year after that. And the year after that. And the year after that. And the year after that. And the year after that. And the year after that. And the year after that. And the year after that. And the year after that.