Coulda Woulda Shoulda

Not sure I will be able to post as regularly anymore. Seems as though Big Brother is alive and well within the tech team at my work. And so, back to pen and paper at home. I will try to update at least 3 times a week. For now, enjoy your summer holidays And of course: HAPPY CANADA DAY!!!!

Apologies. I have written about it again. I don't really know why I feel the need to"alert the media" every time I'm feeling down in the dumps. This blog is supposed to be about what I'm experiencing. I suppose for some reason, I feel the need to post at least once every couple weeks how depressed and sad I feel and then quickly blame it on "the hormones". Then, I come back in the next day, shake my head in mild frustration and roll my eyes at my melancholy "oh-woe-is-me" posts. This post is also meant to be about my creative journey. How VERY creative of me. Write about being angry and depressed. D was sweet. He took me on a mini-date last night. And I felt a lot better. I always do. It always just turns itself around. I don't like feeling sorry for myself because I don't feel I have anything to feel sorry about . I need to start getting into perspective everything I have been honoured to be able to do and not focus on a...

I am a perfectionist who thinks and analyzes too much and has greater expectations than the world can seem to provide. I am also a hormonal woman who tries very hard not to blame EVERYTHING on hormones however when the case of the blues hits out of nowhere, I can only conclude it must be because of some force beyond my control. This could be my own coping mechanism, however, for rationalizing away why I am upset. I really don't want to get into a philosophical converstation about my feelings I would simply like to stop feeling down, put out, hard done by, like I haven't accomplished anything and I suck and everything I touch sucks and I might as well just go lock myself in a room and watch Big Brother all day as at least their lives have some meaning - well, for now. Or perhaps, as usual, I'm having a case of the MUndays. As my wise wee sister would say: Oh gweat.

I'm not sure what is more disturbing. The fact that I'm now 28 or that today, my baby brother turns 20. The little buddy me and my sisters used to force to be part of our girl games, dancing around in the living room, twisting and turning him every which way. The small dude who grew up being bossed by four mothers. The little tyke who was always trying to grab at the camera for "his turn" instead of being in front of it. It's not surprise he's in film The young lad who was mortified when he was dropped off on one of his first dates by all three of his big sisters and not only did they beam like proud parents, he could hear them "awwwwwwing" from the car as he walked his date to the door. For me, he will always be 8 years old, which works out well because that would make me 16 and that wouldn't be a bad age to be right now. Happy Birthday Ronens.

Last week, I was out with this German lady I have befriended, watching the first Germany match of Euro 2004. Football Fever has hit the continent, you see, although I'm actually not a big fan of "soccer", I can't help myself when it comes to championships. So, I was sitting there, trying to look really passionate about the game when all I could really keep my eyes on were the people in the bar (who were they cheering for? why did she choose that top? I wonder where they're from? did that guy just really spill his pint all over himself? what is the deal with the loud voice? oh right. football) when suddenly, I caught a glimpse of something red and white on a girl's purse. She was a redhead - quite a full-head-of-hair redhead - and I thought she couldn't be anywhere but from Ireland. But there it was, glaring up at me, all the points stretching up as high as they could as though to say "see me see me I am distinct" It was a Canadian ...

The latest Mosaic Minds theme must be buzzing my head because I had a bit of a day-sleep-dream - for lack of a better word - this morning that had me thinking What If? What If I moved back to my small town or the medium-sized city near it? I had images of living in a nice little two story house, with a bulldog or golden retriever - (it depends, you see, on who wins the Type-of-Dog war - me or D). I would wake up in the morning to see D off to his interesting and exciting marketing job, perhaps at Labatts or Kellogs. I would make him an egg white omlete or at least put out his vitamin in the morning before curling up back into bed for another half hour or so. Or perhaps, I would stay awake, reading the paper and enjoying a good cup of Earl Grey tea in the sun room, watching out the back window into my well manicured garden - filled with sunflowers and gerbia daisies. After I had fully woken up, I would head to the office upstairs, to begin my day. I would have a couple o...

I love the routine with D. It's like we're a tag team taking on the world. Sharing chores, planning strategies, working as a unit. With all my frustrations and anxieties, I think I would be a miserable person if I didn't have him to share it with. It's not simply the lovey dovey romantic stuff, although we are sometimes quite like high school teens. It's more then that. It's a sharing of life. Every Friday, there is a food and goods market that opens up near our house. Since D's work is 5 minutes from our house, it is also near his work. In the morning he emails me to "send my order" to him of what I want. Salmon. Cod. Tomatoes. Chicken. Spinach. Brocolli. Cauliflower. Mushrooms. Peppers. Steaks. On his lunch break, he walks to the market and gets our meats and fresh veg for the week. It's become one of the "things" he does around the house. Every Friday, I go across the road to the huge Sainsbury's. They also...

When I was in Grade 12, I was elected to student council as the Minister of Publicity. At my school, it was a good thing to participate. I have had many discussions over the years with people about the "status" of people who took part. At other schools, they seemed to be considered the geeks. At my school, if you weren't participating - in drama, yearbook, sports clubs, spirit clubs, the Audio-Visual club, the fencing team, pretty much anythign extra-cirricular - you were the geek. It was to become an interesting year as not only was every single member of the council in Grade 12 but we were all female and we were all friends. There is a classic picture of us in the Grade 12 yearbook, in a hallway peering out through a railing, like caged animals, laughing and making funny faces as our staff advisor stood above raising a gavel over our heads, as if that could tame us. I remember when it was printed looking forward to looking back at it as one of the best moments...

Where did my day go? I just looked up and it's 5 o'clock. I had a story to tell today too. Ah well, you'll all just have to wait until tomorrow. And this month's Mosaic Minds issue, which I think is where all my words have gone. Until tomorrow

I realized this weekend that D and I are perhaps the most irritated people at a movie theatre. We always arrive at the last minute so we can make sure we are not sitting near people. We hate it when people talk. At all. At any point during the show. Previews. Commercials. What is with the talking? If you want conversation go to the pub! We hate wrapper-opening, bag scrunching, popcorn loud chomping noises. It's like our ears become uber-sensitive in the dark. But we love movies. We love the big screen. And I love to eat an entire box of salted popcorn to myself - although quietly, so as not to disturb others. So, getting to the movies is a bit like a mission impossible. This weekend, we decided to take advantage of the rainy weather - yes I'm in Belfast but the sun just won't stop shining! - and see a matinee. We don't like to be sitting in a theatre when it's sunny out and since it's light out here until at least 10 pm, the only time we really...

It's really really gone. I'm not sure why I'm not panicking but I should be. What the HECK am I going to do without it? When I left Canada, I decided to buy a cute little green address book in which I could put all the names and addresses of all the people I know and met along the road so I could always keep in touch. It was small enough to carry around - about the size of a calculator - even smaller then some. And it has gone a wandering. I have a small house. It is not there. I have a small desk area. It is not here. I had it last Tuesday. I took it with me on the bus. I'm almost positive I brought it back and now it has vanished. I can' begin to remember who is even in the book. I am still waiting to break down over this as I am still calm as a cucumber. The only explanation is that Visiting Cousin accidently put it in with his stuff. I won't know until at least tomorrow when he gets back to Canada. Perhaps that's why I'm...

I usually get 8 hours of sleep every night. I am usually in bed an hour before I fall asleep. I am very spoiled. So this week, my brain has been on party overload with our visitors. I confess, although I am sitting at my desk for the full morning, I am usually not awake now until around 11ish. And so, my ritual daily writing on this blog will be subpar today...and probably tomorrow...until I have had the weekend to sleep away and get back to my granny-self. I am a wimp - one that enjoys sleeping. I blame it on all the years I burnt the candle at both ends working 3 jobs and partying all summer. I am making up for it now. Plus, I am also storing it up for when I have wee ones, for I'm certain, I will not be getting a full night's rest and what might be worse, there most definitely NOT involve any gin and tonics. At least this week, I can still enjoy that.

When my parents moved to the U.S., I began spending more time with my dad's brother's kids. These cousins had always been intertwined between me and my siblings. First there was me, I was the oldest. Then cousin B. He was the oldest in his family. I remember he always used to say "I'm the biggest" and I would counter "Well, I'm the oldest", for as a child, being the one who has the most years is a privelage. Our parents would laugh, saying someday I maybe wouldn't be so proud of that fact. Today, I'm not yet uncomfortable being the oldest but B is definitely still the biggest. After him comes my sister C. Then his brother M. Then my sister H. Then their sister E. Finally, my brother R falls in line at the end. When we were little, we have been told we played a lot together. We were always making up skits and air bands to then preform to our parents. One could say, looking back nostaligically, it was a bit of an extention of sib...

I am much more affected today then I ever imagined. 60 years since the beaches of Normandy were stormed. This action had such a profound affect of the rest of the course of world history. I don't mean to sounds cliche or melodramatic but watching those veterans walk along the beaches really brought it home. And then I think of my brother and perhaps - as with everyone - it becomes an even more real emotion. He will be 20 this month. He was the average age - even older - then many of the men who died that day. Who fought for freedom - real freedom. Risked their lives to change the world. And we truly can never forget.

They are the bane of my existence. The story goes like this: When I was little, I threatened to break all my dad's cigarettes in two. It was when my mother suggested "that might not be a good idea", I conceeded to just constantly nag him. It must have worked because he quit before I was a a teenager. Throughout my teens, I scoffed at the smokers, how stupid they were to be throwing their lungs - and their lives - away so young. I was much more mature then them. They were all just stupid. My uncle - who always seemed close to my age but I think he just acted immature - would often come to our house and shake his yellow nicotine finger at me "Don't ever start," *puff* *puff* "Don't you ever start." It was not until I was 17, at a friend's cottage, socialising with good friends on the deck that I decided to "try one". Really - what harm could it do? I didn't cough. I didn't hack. I didn't really feel muc...

My mind cannot stay focussed. I feel as though all my ideas are going to explode out of my brain. I feel as though I'm not working fast enough. I feel as though I'm not getting anything done. I'm terrified that I won't be able to write everything down before it floats out of my head. I'm certain I sound like a crazy person. I don't know if anyone can understand the busy-ness of my mind. There are moments when I think I'm observing too much. When I feel as though no one else in the world can possibly be analysing and over-analysing all these things that I am. I don't feel lonely but more alone. In a way that I can never express. In a way that I think everyone is - inside you head. But does anyone want to get it all out as much as I do? Maybe some people are happy to have ideas float in and out and not turn them into a observation. Perhaps I'm not unique in my observation abilities but moreso in my need to tell the world. I feel so mo...

When we went out with my cousin the first time about a month ago, he seemed to know everyone in the bar. Waving here. A nod there. A quick hello. I commented that he seemed to be quite popular. He laughed and said, "Belfast is a small city. You'll be surprised how many people you will just suddenly know." A small world in a city. And it has happened. I have been walking down the street and there were the ladies we hung out with on a Saturday night. Dazed-faced on the bus home from work, I have noticed a couple-friend walking home that we went for Chinese food with. Now that we actually know people here, I'm not so surprised to see a familiar face. And when I found out there was a Canadian working at my gym, I figured he'd be from Vancouver or Calgary. Somewhere where the air is fresh and the scenery breathtaking. Isn't that where the healthy fitness types are from? Until this morning, I had only seen him teaching a class and it further confir...

I had so much to say all weekend and was quite bummed when I realized that I wouldn't get to blog for 3 WHOLE DAYS!!! And now, as I sit at my machine, the inspiration escapes me. What a rip. I have made a writing decision though. 1 hour a day. Writing. Talking about writing. Looking for writing jobs. Thinking about writing. Breathing writing. For now, it will have to be at my cute little dining room table. Somehow, I'll have to drown out the t.v. - what else can D do when I'm working? And so, here's to one Birthday Resolution continuing longer then a week. And my Gemini spirit will need all the help it can get.