How I stopped being afraid

Written at work, Thursday, 9:30 am, slightly hangover.
For the past few months I've been living in fear. Not actual fear but a numbing, moat-y feeling which I guess can only be described as fear. Fear of writing and being in that vunerable, open place in my mind. The last time I wrote anything that wasn't work related, apart from my witty Facebook statuses (my mom thinks they're funny, so, so should you)? I think it was March, because it was still chilly and I was unemployed. At that point I took my dad's advice of going back to University and being miserable and did the exact opposite, as you do. I got a job which, funny story, I was afraid to get and afraid to start. I started supporting myself and paying my bills on time, queue, intense fear. My job at a jewellery store turned out better than expected and my bosses are actually decent people, when they aren't taking advantage of my kindness and mad skills. Shortly thereafter I signed up for e-learning writing classes which I was scared I wasn't going to be excepted to and when I did afraid to deal with it because I felt I'd fail. And somewhere in all of this, everything else stopped. I don't mean relationships, friends, nights out. I mean I started being a lot more afraid instead of less. I stopped being creative in the ways I was before. I was tired and felt spent. All I talked about was work. My boss is now on leave for the entire month of August and it's just me and the Internet here at work all day, everyday. Oh, and the crazy customers who show up at precisely 21:00 p.m, or as I like to call it the  time I should be on my way home but am not, because well, people. Yes, I'm exhausted, but more than that I've managed, by choice,to trap myself in a situation where work has devoured my life. I suppose  it's easier to whine about work related issues and stress than to have a crack at what is actually bothering me. Sure I could be doing other things as well but I'm too afraid to do them. Why? I'm not telling you, reader, I'm asking you. Why? Even at my most complacent, I still managed to create something. I was broke but I wasn't afraid. I was sad, but not scared. I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life, but doing nothing at all wasn't an option. Last night I was afraid to open an email (gasp)! That's right. I was afraid to stay up late with friends because I had to wake up early. Right now I fear I'm becoming repetitive. My point is, my friend wasn't entirely wrong when he said I was becoming an old lady. My boyfriend, who convinced me to open that email, isn't wrong when he says I can do anything I set my mind to. He also says I'm pretty and an amazing lover and he makes me breakfast on Sundays, which has nothing to do with what I was saying but I just wanted to point out how wonderful my boyfriend is(and I don't want him to think I never write anything about him, so there). My other friend wasn't wrong when she told me to grow some balls( a mission harder than most, since I am in fact a woman). She said "you used to have balls", cause apparently this conversation is turning into some strange reverse Bruce Jenner situation, I don't know what she's talking about anymore. And I do kinda wish I had gone to bed earlier, or my head would be thanking me instead of throwing a tantrum like some spoiled teenager from the Valley, but nevertheless I'm glad I did. I felt a little less old lady and more like grown ass adult. This revelation of course came after half a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc(the second half) while watching Bachelor in Paradise(it isn't shamefull if you don't do it alone) so I don't know if it counts as an epiphany.

"How I stopped being afraid" might seem a bit severe, it's more like "how I paused being afraid in order to write this and I'm pretty sure I'll keep being afraid
but at least now you all get to hear about it".

Squirrels, maple leaves and ten days with mummy dearest

I will never understand why people always, always insist on clapping when the plane lands. It's a fine tradition sure, but cringe! I mean it's their job! It's like saying "there was about a 50/50 chance they weren't gonna be able to land this plane and all of us would die, so applause all around for that not happening"! I'm more impressed when a massive metal thing with 200 people in it actually makes it up.  Now that's something to applaud. Take-offs are always the worst for me, those few moments when the plane lifts off the ground and starts its rapid ascend into the sky and you're like "is it gonna make it?", especially when you're sitting behind a fat, curry-smelling East Indian couple who seem to be stalking you since last Christmas when you were on the same flight sitting next to them and they didn't speak a word of bloody English and they kept fidgeting in their seats and kept you awake for the entire 9 hour flight. This time my exotic tormentors had their seats pushed back so far I couldn't get in or out of my already shitty seat. I mean, who does that? There is such a thing as flying etiquette ya smelly bastard. To top that experience I also had a lay-over in Paris which meant dealing with the French, whose incompetence is like second nature which they communicate exclusively in their native tongue. I can speak some French but apparently not enough to tell them they're cunts. Unlike the Canadians who are actually pretty cool folk. Of course most of their country is a god-forsaken icicle but arriving in Toronto, unlike last year, I found it to be surprisingly mild weather-wise. The day following my arrival we drove up to a friend's cottage, literally a cabin in the woods with a large window right in front of the toilet seat looking out upon the dark woods(perfect for say a bear or a serial killer to pop out and scare the buttons of your shirt. Actually if it was a serial killer, or a clown as my buddy likes to remind me, you'd be losing a lot more than just your buttons), located passed something called the Snow Belt, with a car filled with an excess of smelly cheese, wine and various gourmet delights, although we mostly stuck with the wine and cheese. I was comfortably plopped in front of the fireplace for almost all of the two days we spent there and my jet lagged, abnormal, sleeping patterns, which woke me at 6 a.m, offered a sun-drenched view of the frozen lake and woods right outside my bedroom window, utterly breathtaking. Mum, Bruce and I ventured to the nearby town of Gravenhurst for some thrift shopping and discovered a music and antique shop which I would be happy to be left at forever. Records, guitars and old books, far to heavy for me to carry back home, and a collection of typewriters one of which dating back 150 years, that made me tear up. And then came the plight of our adventure. I discovered that although if all else fails I could easily become a plumber, my surprising professional skill doesn't go as far as cutting through a frozen lake and replacing a water pipe frozen in its entirety. It's surprising how much you miss running water when you don't have it. We instantly felt dirty and itchy and fled to civilization. With a warm home, running water and clean hair I spent the rest of Christmas in Toronto going nuts over the squirrels(pun mostly intended and very successful) that were literally everywhere in all shapes and sizes, visiting a petting zoo at which I did not get to pet anything and eating amazing food cooked by my mum, who always swears she can't cook just to get out of doing it, and drinking mimosas, not just for brunch. On one occasion we found it a delightful idea to tipsily run around the neighborhood late at night and look at Christmas lights and decorations, most of them tacky and some downright terrifying such as one snowman, mum running down the street with her tiny skinny legs and I walking at my usual pace which doesn't count as running or strolling but is a rather odd combination, trying not to trip and fall as I usually do. The baffling truth is that this time around I didn't need to be drunk to get through the Holidays, me and mum got on spectacularly well and although I missed people back home I would have gladly stayed longer, voluntarily, sober(I know, I am shocked as well). Though I planned on writing earlier and while I was there, I was having to much of a damn good time to be bothered, honestly. My last day was consumerist heaven, a much needed day-long Boxing Day shopping spree for presents, a lot of them for myself, and a mother-daughter-and Bruce mani-pedi. In the evening we decided to end my trip going full circle to the place that started it, a charming pub on the Danforth called Allen's- a small parenthesis here to talk about the food at Allen's. The steamed muscles in white wine were to die for, the pork medallions were exquisite but the burgers...ah the burgers! Now, I basically eat for a living and I will go on record, with confidence, and say those were the best burgers I have ever had. Okay, parenthesis close, just had to share that- and once we were fed and sufficiently wined we popped in next door to the Irish Pub for what my mother called a jig. Due to the festive season there was a live band with traditional Irish music played not be ginger-bearded Irish folk but by massive clean-shaven Kiwis. It was sort of the perfect way to end my visit which was very merry indeed. At the airport I ran into the same Indian couple and laughed at the face of in-flight horror as the kind, wonderful woman at check-in gave me an excellent premium seat, right next to first class in which such a thing as the elusive, stuff of dreams, leg-room existed! Although it wasn't my preferred and most beloved British Airways, KLM did just fine and the tall Dutch flight attendants were polite and proper with a touch of effortless sophistication, and they let me use the first-class bathroom which is why somewhere in the world there is a Dutch gentleman flight attendant I very much love. And nobody dared clap as the plane landed...
Finally on dry land, with swollen feet struggling to fit in their shoes, I arrived back home to a bouquet of white tulips sprinkled with glitter and the sight of my wonderful boyfriend.

Best day ever!

I'm gonna try and keep this short cause my head is pounding and I'm in-between throwing up. The repercussions of the "best day ever" are being felt and since misery loves company, I also got my period, which normally is a dreadful and horrifying time for me, but today it is so much worse. I almost feel bad for the people who are in the unfortunate position to be around me during these days of the month. It's like I'm a woman possessed. My vegan friend says its because I eat too much chicken which is funny cause I just had some and I feel loads better!
I opened my eyes this morning and immediately wondered what I had done to deserve this, and then I remembered. Yesterday was the best day ever! I woke up at nine in the morning, on my own, which almost never happens and spent the whole day with my best friend, my ladypug as I like to call her, doing the funnest stuff. We painted, cooked, singed and made a bikini-top out of surgical masks(as you do). She came over and we went and bought what we needed from the hardware store to paint my kitchen table, that used to be this odd bright and yet dead-looking shade of green and had been driving me nuts. Now it's a lovely shade of dark gray with dip-died gold legs. Oh yeah, I also got gold spray-paint which contributed to the "best" part of my day, mostly cause I think we got high off the fumes, but also cause we got to play and paint things gold (which really is the way it should be). I even gave myself an impromptu gold manicure by accident. I then cooked dinner for my friend, who will eat anything I make, but usually is happiest with chicken nuggets and Spongebob Squarepants-shaped pasta. I decided to make her the gourmet version of that, even though in the end we had to settle for Dora the little explorer pasta(which is a step-down) seeing as they were out of Bob at the supermarket. I cooked a cream and curry mushroom sauce and it was actually pretty yummy! After, we continued to paint and spray-paint. Around 6 o' clock our daily mental alarm went off, signaling happy hour. The wine started coming out and naturally by bedtime we were utterly wasted! During those hours of merriment we decided to watch Coyote Ugly again(you love that movie too, don't deny it) and sing-along quite loudly to "Can't fight the moonlight". I can't believe that when that film came out I was eight. I, also can't believe how good the soundtrack is and how well I know that one song and most importantly why. After the movie we had developed a good buzz and therefore decided to have a mini dance party to INXS, sing "baby I love your way" with Peter Frampton, which was awesome if I do say so myself, and play most 80s rock classics... and then I cried because of a John Mayer song(shameful, just shameful). In the end, I was semi-comatose but obnoxiously happy I got to spend the whole day with one of my favorite people in the world (which literally happens every other day, I mean for real she is always over here. I'm starting to not remember a time when she wasn't here, and I totally adore her for it!). https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bx3s99FNXzI

The beginning

I decided to create a blog. I already hate myself. I had sworn to remain in the age of books and notebooks and scattered pages and sore fingers. But lately my middle finger callus has decreased in size and pain( I guess aesthetically not too bad), meaning I have forsaken my writing(I am in fact writing a book, just not my own), for more every-day dabbles. I am sitting next to my best friend, who basically forced me to do this, slightly uncomfortable at the thought of writing in front of another person; even if it is the one I share everything with. I am also slightly drunk, which may be a good thing.