Very Short Novels

I've been trying to write the Great Canadian Novel, but I am beginning to think it will never happen. I have these ideas for situations and some of them might even be good, but when I start writing, they seem stupid and the whole thing fizzles out. Perhaps I should be a short story writer - of short stories with no endings.

It's like my knitting lately. I start a project three, four, five times and then take them apart because I don't like how they come out. Then I get frustrated and think, OMG, start this already. Right now working on a scarf (what else?) made of sock yarn. I got this really cute striped wool and well, you know, started the scarf a few times already. Then I got the idea that it would look kind of lacey if I switched to larger needles, so I took it apart once again and started all over. It's kind of tiring and stressful, you know, this constant dissatisfaction. Penelope at least did it because she was waiting for Odysseus. I have no Odysseus to come and rescue my scarf. Oh, I shall call this scarf, the Penelope scarf!

I should perhaps take a course on how to be more decisive. Or perhaps on how to like the decisions I make. It's a good thing that I am not using expensive yarn. I went to Romni Wools yesterday, thinking I would get yarn for my mom. She's been saying she needs new sweaters. Ha! The cheapest yarn there is $10 a ball. And she needs at least 5 balls. So, yeah, I bought one ball and hopefully she can make a hat. But there was this one gorgeous Japanese yarn called Noro. It was $45 a ball. So, imagine what would happen if I was using that. The stress!

I envy people like my kid who know what they want. I always second guess my choices and am always looking for something different.

Terrible Average

I've been averaging one post a year. Very poor attendance.
Late in the evening, I think of many things to post - witty, touching, interesting. Oh, you would be riveted. Come the morning, when I actually sit in front of a screen, it's all a blank.

Been a bit of an up-hill walk lately. My anxiety is creeping up on me. If you don't know what this is like, imagine being absolutely panicked about some minor thing, like forgetting your keys at home. Or not remembering if you turned off the stove. It also doesn't help that I'm somewhat forgetful and I do things by rote without thinking about them. I once spent an agonizing morning wondering if the stove was off or if my place was actually going down in flames until I finally bit the bullet and went home from work to check. I first Googled to see what would happen if someone left an empty pot on a burner that was not turned off. 'Cause that's how I roll. I am here to tell you that usually it's OK, but not if your pot begins to burn and noxious fumes are released and you think about your child coming home to a poisoned apartment. Then it's not OK. That is when you rush home to check. And find out that you did in fact turn the stove off. Now it's part of my morning ritual - making a note of turning the stove off. Yeah, a bit of OCD going on here too.

In sad news, my aunt passed away in Poland. She was elderly and it was to be expected, but nobody ever expects it. She was my father's sister. I wish one of us could go to the funeral, but we can't even do that. My dad is not doing well health-wise himself and I left my passport expire a long, long time ago. Plus, time off work would be problematic. So, once again, we grieve from afar, and grieve that we can't grieve in person.

Troubled Times

Two prominent personalities have been taken away by suicide. Kate Spade died earlier this week, and just today, CNN announced that Anthony Bourdain was found in his hotel room unresponsive and died. He was found by his friend, fellow chef Eric Ripert. I like Eric, he seemed like the light that was shining on Anthony's darkness. This must be incredibly difficult for him.

It all brought back Carol Ann's death. Kate Spade especially reminded me of her, stylish, well to do and under 60. I dreamt about Carol Ann and actually dreamt I was there when she died, which of course, I wasn't, another facet of my ever-present guilt. I was searching my drawer for something and I picked up a diary I kept a while go. Carol Ann's letter fell out. For a second I forgot what it was and I opened it. It's not the original, you understand, the police have that. They made a copy. I can't believe all these years later I am still struggling with this. It will be five years this October since she died. I think many people don't understand that you don't have to feel sad to be suicidal. Carol Ann wasn't. She was on anti-depressants, so she wasn't actually "sad" in the traditional meaning of the word. She just felt this was the most logical solution. I was having a conversation with another friend of mine who admitted to feeling similar while on anti-depressants. It scared her and she stopped taking them. Of course, we can't blame every suicide on anti-depressants. However, I think that is the most dangerous type of suicide, because there are no signs of despair or sadness. Kate's ex-husband said he had spoken to her the night before and she seemed fine.

I thought of Anthony and Eric and wondered if Eric attempted CPR and yes, if there was blood and other bodily fluids. There certainly were at Carol Ann's house. The body fights against whatever is trying to kill it.

Suicide is very difficult for the survivors (well I suppose any death is). The why is never 100% clear. There is so much guilt to contend with. I feel for Kate's daughter and for Anthony's daughter, both tweens. Their lives will never be the same. I suppose I most identify with Eric. Though I was not the one who found my friend (luckily for me) and she planned it that way, I know how it feels to lose someone so abruptly and with so little warning.

Spring?

It's still cold in TO, yesterday it was only 11. Yet, pollen levels are very high, so allergic people like self are beginning to be quite miserable.

OK, I have the most stupid injury you can think of. Well, there might be dumber ones, but I can't think of any. I injured my jaw muscle and as a result have ear, cheek, and neck pain. How? Stress. I seem to clench my jaw at night and maybe not just at night because after the van attack in North York on Monday, my jaw ached even more. I must have been clenching during the day, without even knowing. The ENT doctor I saw told me to rest my jaw. How? Eat mushy stuff and take Robax three times a day for ten days. Well, I can't do Robax or else I would be asleep the whole time, so it's just at night, which is not doing it. And after eating soft foods for about a week, I gave in and had peanuts.

Last year at this time, we saw this:

Still Here!

So, not even going to bother with how long it's been. Yeah. Suffice to say I am still around.

Snatching a few minutes before I get child ready for school. Or should I say adolescent. Oh, yes, and by the time I remembered my password for this, I completely forgot what I was going to say.

Pursuits of late - finding happiness. To that end, I have tried to de-clutter a la Marie Kondo - a bit of a flop, except my closet is still organized, two years later. I then read a book about completely minimizing your stuff. Very inspirational, but can't do it. And lately, I read the Little Book of Hygge, the art of happiness in Denmark. Trying to put some of the principles into my life. Mind you, even the author says at the end, that the main reason Danes are so happy is that they all have a basic income and don't have to worry about surviving if they lose their jobs. Yeah, that would definitely make me happy.

So, the search continues.

Where has the year gone?

I had the best intentions. Really, I did. Is blogging passe? Perhaps.

Time is growing closer to birthday/Christmas time for me. Everyone in my life, with a few exceptions, has their birthday in November, December, and January.

And it was about a year ago that I started the course in meditation. And I am still not finished. The good thing is that I am a lot more successful in doing meditation now than I was a year ago. It has to be guided meditation, but at least it is a kind of meditation.

Life is a bit challenging at the moment. Mr. P has to work six days a week, so I feel somewhat alone. When he's not at work, he needs to rest, so weekends are not that much fun. I do have a surly 11-year-old for company, of course. It's funny how quickly they start to act like teenagers now.

Of course, this is nothing compared to being in many places in the world, oh, like Aleppo, for example. So time to count blessings. :)

Some Sort of New Record!

It has been so long that I don't even recognize blogger interface anymore.

Birthday came and went, luckily without mid-life crisis thoughts like last year. I recognize that I am not doing great, though by the amount of time I spend questioning everything. And wishing myself somewhere else. Preferably this would be somewhere near a beach, with drinks that have little umbrellas in them.

Read Jenny Lawson's book "Let's Pretend This Never Happened." Loved it. But also, perhaps on the scary side, I identify with a few too many things. OCD thinking is one thing. I wasn't aware that not everyone obsesses about stuff like that. It's zombie apocalypse and taxidermied (it's a word for me, OK!) animals for Jenny and for me it's disasters (from car crashes to tornados, you name it, I'm terrified of it) and jewellery. It's as if jewellery could magically protect me from said disasters. Which I realize is ridiculous.

So, meditation helps. It really does. It would help even more if I did it on a regular basis.