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 all the things I am not doing.
But, as I've said a million times, I have no patience and want things to happen NOW NOW NOW.
This is very hard for me and I suppose I find this blog a theraputic way to express my feelings. But then I realize, this space is about what I can write. So, without further adieu...onto a story...
***
The Silver Case
Out with the German lady the other night - watching football - woo hoo Euro 2004 - and I went to the bar to get us a round.
You see, they do rounds here, much more frequently then I ever did at home. If you're in a big group. it might not actually be worth your while but with two, three or four people, it always seems to work out in the end. And it's nice because you feel like you've bought someone a drink.
I pulled my money out of my silver case, paid the man and slid the case into my back pocket.
Suddenly, my mind time-warped me back to the days of university. How many times had I been standing at a bar, with my case out, only to slip it back into my back pocket easy-peasy? How I would smile to myself, find it so clever that I had a cigarette case and the perfect bar wallet? One that was portable enough to carry in a back pocket without anything being crushed?
I used to fill half of it with cigarettes, Du Maurier Special Mild and the other half with essentials - drivers licence, bank card, credit card and money.
Not only was it an original wallet, it was also my very own for my friend JA that bought it for me had my last name embroidered on the front.
I smiled to myself, remembering opening it up, being so touched that my friends had been so thoughtful. At that point, I didn't even think about what I would do with it after I quit smoking. I was so thrilled to have something, so personalized, with my name on it.
And then, as I stood there in the Belfast bar, a gigantic smile appeared across my face, remember all the times that silver case had accompanied me.
Bar nights. Club nights. After work drinks. Road trips. Journalism classes. On my internship.
Right before I left North America in 2002, I went on a road trip with JA. She had just gotten a car from her mom and was eager to test it out.
We were on our way to Cleveland to visit my sister C where she was working at the time. Then, I was to catch a flight to Chicago from Cleveland, to see my parents for a couple of days before I was off to Amsterdam to meet D.
I had everything I could possibly pack in the back of her car. And we had a blast - as we always did - driving, laughing, listening to tunes. We had a great night with my sister in Cleveland and in the morning, she saw me off to airport.
It was only after I arrived at my parents' house that I got this frantic message:
"Dude, you've left your silver case in the back of my car. It has some cards in it and stuff. I can Fedex it to your parents..." and she began - as she always does - to come up with a solution to the problem.
I had to laugh. Her urgency was so real. And I felt bad, hearing her message, to realize that I didn't really need it for Europe - I had been planning to leave the case at my parents house.
She kept it for me. I can't remember now if I got it last June or this past December but she held onto it - even through a house move - she made sure my silver case would make it back to me.
It's moments like these I like. When my subconscious takes over and drags up memories, simply from a small action like paying for drinks in a Belfast bar.
JA keeps promising she'll get herself over here, if only for a short visit. My case and I will be waiting.
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 all the things I am not doing.
But, as I've said a million times, I have no patience and want things to happen NOW NOW NOW.
This is very hard for me and I suppose I find this blog a theraputic way to express my feelings. But then I realize, this space is about what I can write. So, without further adieu...onto a story...
***
The Silver Case
Out with the German lady the other night - watching football - woo hoo Euro 2004 - and I went to the bar to get us a round.
You see, they do rounds here, much more frequently then I ever did at home. If you're in a big group. it might not actually be worth your while but with two, three or four people, it always seems to work out in the end. And it's nice because you feel like you've bought someone a drink.
I pulled my money out of my silver case, paid the man and slid the case into my back pocket.
Suddenly, my mind time-warped me back to the days of university. How many times had I been standing at a bar, with my case out, only to slip it back into my back pocket easy-peasy? How I would smile to myself, find it so clever that I had a cigarette case and the perfect bar wallet? One that was portable enough to carry in a back pocket without anything being crushed?
I used to fill half of it with cigarettes, Du Maurier Special Mild and the other half with essentials - drivers licence, bank card, credit card and money.
Not only was it an original wallet, it was also my very own for my friend JA that bought it for me had my last name embroidered on the front.
I smiled to myself, remembering opening it up, being so touched that my friends had been so thoughtful. At that point, I didn't even think about what I would do with it after I quit smoking. I was so thrilled to have something, so personalized, with my name on it.
And then, as I stood there in the Belfast bar, a gigantic smile appeared across my face, remember all the times that silver case had accompanied me.
Bar nights. Club nights. After work drinks. Road trips. Journalism classes. On my internship.
Right before I left North America in 2002, I went on a road trip with JA. She had just gotten a car from her mom and was eager to test it out.
We were on our way to Cleveland to visit my sister C where she was working at the time. Then, I was to catch a flight to Chicago from Cleveland, to see my parents for a couple of days before I was off to Amsterdam to meet D.
I had everything I could possibly pack in the back of her car. And we had a blast - as we always did - driving, laughing, listening to tunes. We had a great night with my sister in Cleveland and in the morning, she saw me off to airport.
It was only after I arrived at my parents' house that I got this frantic message:
"Dude, you've left your silver case in the back of my car. It has some cards in it and stuff. I can Fedex it to your parents..." and she began - as she always does - to come up with a solution to the problem.
I had to laugh. Her urgency was so real. And I felt bad, hearing her message, to realize that I didn't really need it for Europe - I had been planning to leave the case at my parents house.
She kept it for me. I can't remember now if I got it last June or this past December but she held onto it - even through a house move - she made sure my silver case would make it back to me.
It's moments like these I like. When my subconscious takes over and drags up memories, simply from a small action like paying for drinks in a Belfast bar.
JA keeps promising she'll get herself over here, if only for a short visit. My case and I will be waiting.
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