There has been a pivotal shift in my world. A reclamation of something I thought was lost and left behind. A piece of me that came back into the forefront of my self awareness that has brought me to a point where I know I need to say goodbye to this blog. It's no longer a point of amusement for me. Or a point of reflection. It's just the last link between me now and me then and I have literally nothing else to say anymore, in this capacity.
I know a few of you come here that are active parts of my life, and if you wish to continue to catch up on my verbal onslaughts, then feel free to email me and I'll give you the address to my new blog.
But to those who come here for some sort of nostalgic reaffirmation or weird desire to know my goings on despite everything that has happened - my best to you always. Truly.
But you're not a part of me for a reason. And I think it's about time you come to terms with that and move on. Your whole life is waiting for you. So get on with it.

Somewhere along the way, without realizing it or noticing it, we wake up from being an undefinable mess to being a creator of definition.
There's no warning signs or things to look out for. Just small tokens of hope scattered amongst our day that let's us learn and grown and become self aware enough to realize that that day has come. And when it does - the whole world becomes a different place. It becomes an outstretched version of its previous self. It contains beauty where there was once nothing. It becomes settled where there was once chaos. Our heart aligns with our head and our feet and we move forward together towards something that, despite never being able to be defined, is a perfect example of who we are. Our future is our destiny and you really do get to choose how it happens.

The road to hell is paved with good intentions.
The path to restful slumber - also paved in good intentions.
I've been off work for what feels like a month. That's what happens when you tack on some mandatory vacation time to the end of one set and the beginning of another. I think I get something like 11 days off. I don't feel like counting.
I spent four of those days in vegas. Double vodka crans and a side of blackjack. I'd spend my life there if I could. But I imagine I'd end up finding just as little purpose in that, as I tend to find in 'regular' life too. So I struggle to see the point. (Other than the obvious everyone has to have a dream)
So I knew eventually a day would come when I'd hear some off side news about the past returning to the present. I'm not surprised. People come and go to my city every day. And I have no real territorial right to this city. In theory. In practice I'll piss on every street corner that I have to. Or maybe it's the other way around. Who knows.
I should be making more of an effort to sleep. I only have 3 more days before I have to give up on my dream of being a domesticated house wife and return to the working world.
I really have no complaints. I really love my job. I just also really love no alarm clock. So my dedication to finding the appropriate time to slumber is pretty well absent.
So I'll sit still here and ask myself impossible questions about memories and how they form and how they can be removed. Like eternal sunshine only with less camp and more forgetting. Can the possibility of remorse be actually carved out in stone, set to some music. Danced to the outside. Can it be changed to fit whatever I need it to fit. Can I manifest a greed or selfishness out of thin air to just consume me fully so I can brush my consciousness off as some lapse in judgement? Is that a thing? Like breakfast for supper? Can it just be a thing we make trendy and popular and resolve to it just being-that-way?
No.
I suppose not.
Oh well though. You can't fault me for trying.

I keep finding myself waxing nostalgic for a moment or two about having someone willing to leave at 2am and find a hill overlooking the city and smoke cigarettes and listen to the pretty reckless or aimee mann with.
I don't feel particularly nostalgic for my exes or any previous relationship. Just for the spontaneity of getting up to nothing and everything all at once.
I suppose it's the downfall of adolescence and the upswing into full blown adulthood that confuses me the most. Despite my ability to rationalize and embrace things in a better way, I still pretty much feel the same way about most things today as I did ten years ago. Twenty years ago.
Is there a point where we must enforce a distinction between the two? Or is there some grey area here that is some magical untouched market that I've missed somehow.
I miss the city lights. I miss cigarettes and I haven't listened to aimee mann in years.

There's more to embrace in the journey, than there is in the victory.

If you lived here, you'd be home by now.

It's either this, or it's that. But never both together.
And you brush aside your thoughtful mind, your held tongue, and carry across the threshold of this place  - some kind if secret wanting.
I remember breakfast coming too late in the day to really be called breakfast, but we did it anyways. And sometime between the waffles and the omletes we came to a silent agreement that this would be the end of us and the start of me.
I broke bread and shared a few too many pieces with the strangers who guided me back to this home. To this place. To that. And thanked then as candidly as I could without seeming too desperate for their approval.
But you disappeared again, in the smoke. In the flame. And I still have trouble finding any part inside of me to care whether you land on your feet or not.
It should go without saying - as I sit here breathing frost - that we remain in tact despite the threat of destruction.
It should go without saying. But I've gone and said it anyways.

There's always a common theme running around my head, around everyone's head (if you ask me) about understanding and acceptance and the literal truth about life. I never seem to put any ideas into focus anymore. Just hazy thoughts lingering on the outside of my squishy frontal lobes. They keep asking to be up front and center, but I avoid them like I avoid you. Like I avoid calling people out on reading my blog who really have no business being here. Like I avoid dairy and anything resembling accountability these days. They just stay thoughts. Lodged up in my brain. Waiting for their turn.
I guess every answer we get is really just more questions. That's how things work. That's what we must accept as our truth if we want to remain 'sane' when faced with moments of insanity. You may get one ounce of real honest to god truth from this life, but once you understand that truth, that's when shit gets real. And I'm guessing from our track record (as a collective whole - as in all of us) that shit getting real isn't really our best moments to appreciate.
I want to say dear me. Dear my previous self. My future self.  People always tell me that things will get easier. And I'll just adapt to this new normal. But the truth is I see you everywhere and in everything and I wish I knew what to do with it all.
My dad gave me the most true piece of advice I've ever gotten a few years ago, that once you accept the truth that there is no such thing as universal justice, or universal fairness, your life becomes a lot less complicated.
While this is true. True beyond any reasonable doubt. When you've spent handfuls of years on the trained end of believing otherwise - it takes some getting used to.
Really. If I was going to say anything to my previous self I would simply say, don't make threats or promises born out of anger or resentment. Say no more. Say yes more. Try to understand that everyone just wants their own happy ending, and they are under no obligation to include you in it. But also understand that that statement works both ways. And that no one is entitled to your happy ending unless they earn it. And to my future self I guess I just have to say, earning it counts both ways too.
There is no accounting for humility in life. Or regret. And truly. Someone without regrets is lying to themselves. Regrets just mean you realize you did something wrong, or had a chance to be better.

There aren't enough words in the English language,  or ANY language,  to accurately describe my feelings of love for this woman.

https://youtu.be/KdIrnG_7uNY

2015 has pretty much become the year I see the world. My schedule is so amazing for traveling and even just random day trips. Or weekend trips. I almost went to Mexico this week haha. Bunch of girls I've become super close with on my shift decided last minute to go. But. Since I'm going to Vegas in 3 weeks and literally just booked the trip to st maartens AND I'm going to Seattle and new York in may - it just didn't work out to go last minute. But. There's always next set off. Or the one after that. Or I have pretty much all of august off. So Skys the limit really.
I have so many other places I want to go this year too. Then 2016 I'm doing a month around Europe. Maybe 2 weeks in Iceland. Maybe Russia. Who knows. My options are unlimited.
Get busy living or get busy dying right?

Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

My dad asked me today for a sentence. For one strung together mash of words that he could use when attending a PD day that is geared towards lgbtq students.
One sentence to pass along, to share with the group.
As a person who, more often than not, attempts to define myself by the impact I make and the words I create - I found myself struggling to come up with something. It would have to be short, but impacting. It would need to inspire and stoke a conversation right?
Here's my chance. Say something memorable. Say something important.
A few thoughts went through my head immediately.  Would he be saying 'my gay daughter had this to say' or just 'my daughter'
Am I truly defined by my sexual orientation? It's a part of me, yes. Of course. But how big a part? 
Would he have asked me for a sentence to bring to the group if the group had been discussing mental illness, or musical appreciation? How about crafty creativity? Writing?
Would any of these other attributes that shape and define the person I am be called upon in a similar situation?
I thought about how I must be perceived in the world. How my friends who aren't gay must see me. If they see my acts of love as acts of just someone who loves, or acts of someone who is gay, who loves.
Then I thought instantly about the last few people I fell in love with. About how loving them has defined me. How loving them created in me differences and improvements and changes and growth. How the very act of loving them was in and of itself an accomplishment. A battle fought and won.  How it's through my love, that I am defined.
Does it even matter that they were women? Does that actually matter anymore?
So I replied to my dad. Just say to them, that it's not who you love. It's how you love.
And it was right after I sent that text to him that I became so humbled and grateful for my ability to string together words. Because if there is anything I want you to remember about me when I am gone from this earth, it's that I loved you fiercely and loyally, with my whole heart.

Pants vs blanket sized

Sometimes I think pretty little liars taps into my current Playlist and just runs with it. That or they stalk the best songza profiles just like I do.
I know I have to have said it before, but aria is totally big A. I'm interested to see how they're going to play the next season and a half off before revealing who it is. Sometimes I feel like my juvenile addiction to this show is waaay too much. But. I just justify it with crocheting blankets while I sit here yelling at my TV. That way I'm being productive, right? 
Speaking of blankets. I have the sometimes unfortunate and sometimes fortunate ability to remember dates of things. Like tomorrow is two months since I lost smokey. Next week is 3 years since I moved back to Alberta. And 2 days ago marks a year since I heard one of the only funny jokes to be made about a blanket.
I always find the movement of time so interesting and odd. So often I find it odd. The pool noodle theory and all that.
Oh life. You just happen don't you. With all your oddities and movement. There's no justifying that, is there?

There is something so rythmically perfect about this song.
about how it's sitting on a greyhound bus bound for anywhere. And your headphones are in and up too loud while you watch the rain chase itself down the sides of the window you've pressed your forehead up against.

Or speeding down a pitch black highway in the middle of the night. Not entirely sure of what waits for you at the end of the trip. But entirely sure that it will be remembered well before anything else.

Pants vs a whole bunch of things

I wonder if someday I'll come up with titles that don't involve me vs'ing things.
We lost a member of our family after a 3 year battle with cancer that saw him through diagnosis, remission, and back to diagnosis.
Cancer is like that. It comes. It goes. It takes from us those things we wish we could hold onto forever. Forces a sense of morality.
I've had enough death. I reckon anyways. Enough grief and processing and trying not to grieve and process.
The hardest part, I've found, is the finality of it. The concept of not being able to take it back. To go back. To change an outcome.
I mourned the death of friendships. Ones lost to stupid things like lying and emotions and the inability to retract from pride. I've mourned you and her and them about ten thousand times. But I've always known that it was never final. I've known that she'd text me trivial conversation. Test the waters. That you'd email me. That you'd apologize and so would I. And that they would question my sanity, my stance, trying to gauge my reactions based on some form of words on a screen.
I've mourned lost relationships. Ones I could not make work. I could not forgive. I could not overlook blazing trust issues and immature reactions to grown up feelings.
I've mourned the loss of who I used to be. A person I sometimes miss. A person I sometimes wish I could go back to.
I've mourned all that. Loss and love and everything in between.
But losing my best friend. Holding the 8 ounces of ashes she was reduced to. That finality. That end. That total end. That I have trouble with.
My cousin who passed away. We were not very close. I have few memories of him aside from beards and a vague recollection of boisterous laughter. But the finality, the knowledge and not just the notion that I will never speak to him again is a struggle I'm not quiet sure what to do with.
Is there ever any healthy way to approach grief?
I don't suppose there is, because if there were, the book would be a beat seller.

Pants vs swelling

So. This happened. And I couldn't be happier with how it turned out. Pictures of it finished and the picture it's based off of and her tiny little paw prints. My artist is so unbelievable and talented. Nearly 6 straight hours and then I had my work Christmas party. Somehow I managed to pull myself away from my overly intoxicated and offensively beautiful coworker to join the ranks of my bed. I'm so tired. And my arm, as you can imagine, is pretty swollen.
But I prevail.
new phone, birthday, major life decisions and some other transitional here's and there's that I'm too tired to rant about.
There's always tomorrow. But I have a sushi date with my favorite cbomb and her lovely lady, so. Maybe not.
Eventually.
The world is quiet. Where'd you go?

I'm about to hit the road back home after spending four days down south with my dad and step mum for our pre Christmas celebrations.
I love these guys so much because we don't do anything traditionally. We go play blackjack at the casino, drink port at 8am, we have crib tournaments for money and cook and crochet and watch horrible Christmas movies. It's been a very relaxing few days. Hard at times, but relaxing. I'm sad to be going home.
Tonight is my dinner with my grandma, since I'm working all through Christmas I'm kind of condensing everything into one weekend so I can at least see some family through the holidays.
The drive home will be nice, I always love it so much, to or from. I do my best thinking then.
Tattoo consult went well. She has some really fantastic ideas that I didn't even consider, so I'm looking forward to seeing what she's come up with tomorrow when I go pay the deposit. We're doing a full 6-8 hours mid January so hopefully we'll get most of it done then.
There is currently a very small puffy pom snoring on my lap. She's cute and all, but I'd give anything in the world to have my Smokey back, drooling on my arm. I miss her so much sometimes. I'm still struggling with the finality of it all. I can't wrap my head around the logic of death, of absences. I've lost so many friends to - whatever - but I've always known they're still out there somewhere, living, creating their happiness. And there's comfort in that. Knowing they're at least ok. I had similar grief for the friendships. I mourned their absence, I still mourn their absence. But I know they're there somewhere. With this, this is final. And my usual very factual and logical mind, cannot seem to understand that. Maybe it's denial. I'm not sure. I know I *should* be making efforts to processing through it, but I can't. I won't. And I'm not sure when that'll change.
In the meantime - wishing everyone a safe and happy holiday season, and because this is my blog and my rules I'm gonna say merry Christmas. Cause it's fucking Christmas Damnit!

Adventure filled weekend.
Cbomb had her Chanukah party Friday night. Way too much fun. Met amazing new people. I love those nights where you just click with someone and the conversation is effortless and you wake up the next day with a sore throat and achy face from laughing too much.
Then yesterday was the wedding. So beautiful and so much fun. I love love. I've lost site of so much these last few weeks. I felt like myself again this weekend. Albeit I'm terribly emotional and still cry without much warning, but still feel closer to normal than I have in a long time.
Today I got to see my dad and then baked cookies with the gma and the brother and the Mumma. Annnd then the standard Sunday night tv catch up with the besties.
Coming home is still very sad. I do much better away from home, I just want to sleep when I get home.
This upcoming week will be good. Looking forward to lots of different things.
But for now, hockey and bed. That's my future.

Breakfast for supper. That's a thing right?

I guess that's my justification for having scrambled eggs at 830pm.
though. I put way too much dill in these eggs.
oh well.


better today. better every day, a little bit here and there.
T|hank god for my friends. Thank god for people who know me better than I know myself sometimes.
Thank god for ridiculously attractive coworkers who talk about fake boobs with you for hours a day.
thank god for life.



I just realized what day it is.

Hope this finds you well.

Pants vs the little things

It really is the little things in life that get us from point A to point B. Like my friend Michelle grabbing me and hugging me first thing this morning. Or my other lovely co-workers who came to check on me, offer hugs and kind words. Their lack of judgement when I would randomly burst into tears was very welcome as well. Tough day back. A lot of stress and not a lot of drive. I'm glad it's a short set on. I took a few days off, so I get 13 days off. Partially for the wedding and partially because I want to spend some time with family since I work all through Christmas.
My routine this morning was all off, I think that set the pace for the rest of the day too. Coming home wasn't as bad as I thought. It helped having her stuff up so I could see it when I walked through the door. It aided in my constant need to go searching for her. Plus, when I sat down to eat dinner my Pvr reminded me that the pretty little liars Christmas episode was on tonight. Which was a much welcomed distraction. Great episode. Almost eases the impatience I have for waiting until January when it comes back from the mid season break.

In other news, I've cancelled two of my planned trips that were coming up. There's too many things holding me back, so those decisions were fairly easy.
Still venturing to Vegas for Easter, as per tradition. Doing all the things we never did the last hundred times we went.
I also booked the consult for my Smokey tribute tattoo next week. Which, thinking about it now, I probably already mentioned. My memory is shot.
But regardless, looking forward to it.
Reckon it's time for slumber. Not even the hockey game can challenge how tired I am.

Pants vs the new normal

I brought Smokey's ashes home today. Where there has been this nothingness, this void, where I couldn't feel her, has now been filled again.
It's corny, I'm sure. To think that the physical presence of my cat exists in her ashes. But I can't deny how I feel.
I put her up on a shelf with her favorite blanket, and her honey suckle chip. Next to the window she loved to sleep near, right where the sun will catch her in the morning. Her paw prints came today too. They took three sets of her front paws so I can have them tattooed, giving me more options. I have a consultation with my artist next week once I'm off shift. I'm so thankful that I had this week off to mourn and refuse to get out of bed. And I'm so thankful for Charlene and Bobbi and Carly for forcing me out and making me feel normal again.
It's a new normal. Trying to find where I fit in this world without her. I'm probably doing a shitty job. But I'll get there.
Bringing her home let me pick up her stuff, pack up what I can donate, store away what I refuse to part with. There are a few things I still can't touch. Her chair, the last place I found her sleeping, her crinkle bag. Stuff I want to stay. But I don't feel so empty anymore, now that she's back with me.