My childhood was a seemingly endless summer. When I look back, all I can remember is suntans and screen door slams. We'd rush out of the front porch of my Nanny's house and the door would swing and slam behind us (much to my Grandfather's annoyance and occasional holler). I rarely remember a time in the winter; these memories also always seem to be paired with melancholy. But the endless summer memories, those are the greatest.
Perhaps that is another reason why my choice of career was so befitting to me. Five to eight weeks off every year to reset, recharge and centre myself. Some summers flash by in a blur or the specifics of how I squandered six solo weeks off in a foreign country, seem hazy. Meanwhile, other summers are pivotal and each day seemed to hold significance.
This summer was one of the latter. The 'Summer of Katie' (as borrowed from Seinfeld) had me rediscover myself after a painful year at my last job left me empty, tired and used up. So, it's with this that I begin my daily blog back up, hoping to get reacquainted with you (the reader) and myself.
But most of all, looking for laughter in the daily grind when I used to see it everywhere. To bring the endless summer spirit into the wintery months and try to hold on to the parts that are important.
Tuesday, August 27, 2019
Thursday, June 1, 2017
Short Woman Syndrome
I think many of the problems I face in my day-to-day life, stem from the fact I think I am much taller and more jacked than I really am. In fact, I am 5 feet tall. That's it. For a while I tried to pass off that I was 5'2 but no one bought it.
My mouth and my demeanour is that of a much more frightening person. More and more, I am realising this fact as it continually gets pointed out to me by my 8 foot tall partner.
So this happened to me the other day:
I was walking across a zebra crossing and for those of you not from England, this means cars legally HAVE to stop. In Canada, those things don't mean shit. In Canada, it basically means, this is a place where pedestrians can cross safely, if there are no cars around and you look both ways and you announce you are going to cross. Well then yes, it's safe.
Well here it's a little different. If I step into that black and white striped aisle, I am free and clear to cross as fast or slow as I want. Cars. Must. Stop.
So I was crossing up to the halfway point when a motorcycle decided he didn't want to come to a complete stop. If he stopped, that would mean he'd have to look even more like a loser, trying to hop up and balance his feet on either side of a aerodynamic, racing scooter that looked like it was from Fast and Furious 24. Great vehicle choice for Central London. Anyway, he wanted to minimally reduce speed while I sprinted across so he wouldn't have to actually wait.
I, being a 10 foot tall person on the inside, slowed down and glared through his tinted visor, directly into his soul. This triggered a showdown which led to hime speeding through the zebra crossing so close behind me that I could feel the wind pass on the back of my neck.
He thought he got away.
That was...until he got the red light 20 metres down the road.
I quickly finished crossing and sprinted - we're talking a full blown, purse over the shoulder, holding my skirt down, eyes closed, hands splayed like Usain Bolt sprint. I caught up to him, who was none the wiser that he was about to get served and shouted at him from the curb, "Hey you! You're a f*cking *sshole!" in the most guttural, threatening voice I could muster and stormed off.
Although I realise this probably wasn't the safest of decisions, it was the most satisfying of ones and I'm pretty sure he shit his leather pants, judging by how high he leapt off his suzuki banana seat.
I'm back baby.
My mouth and my demeanour is that of a much more frightening person. More and more, I am realising this fact as it continually gets pointed out to me by my 8 foot tall partner.
So this happened to me the other day:
I was walking across a zebra crossing and for those of you not from England, this means cars legally HAVE to stop. In Canada, those things don't mean shit. In Canada, it basically means, this is a place where pedestrians can cross safely, if there are no cars around and you look both ways and you announce you are going to cross. Well then yes, it's safe.
Well here it's a little different. If I step into that black and white striped aisle, I am free and clear to cross as fast or slow as I want. Cars. Must. Stop.
So I was crossing up to the halfway point when a motorcycle decided he didn't want to come to a complete stop. If he stopped, that would mean he'd have to look even more like a loser, trying to hop up and balance his feet on either side of a aerodynamic, racing scooter that looked like it was from Fast and Furious 24. Great vehicle choice for Central London. Anyway, he wanted to minimally reduce speed while I sprinted across so he wouldn't have to actually wait.
I, being a 10 foot tall person on the inside, slowed down and glared through his tinted visor, directly into his soul. This triggered a showdown which led to hime speeding through the zebra crossing so close behind me that I could feel the wind pass on the back of my neck.
He thought he got away.
That was...until he got the red light 20 metres down the road.
I quickly finished crossing and sprinted - we're talking a full blown, purse over the shoulder, holding my skirt down, eyes closed, hands splayed like Usain Bolt sprint. I caught up to him, who was none the wiser that he was about to get served and shouted at him from the curb, "Hey you! You're a f*cking *sshole!" in the most guttural, threatening voice I could muster and stormed off.
Although I realise this probably wasn't the safest of decisions, it was the most satisfying of ones and I'm pretty sure he shit his leather pants, judging by how high he leapt off his suzuki banana seat.
I'm back baby.
Sunday, February 21, 2016
Fizzy water
I normally like to eat and drink things that are bad for me. I'll eat Nutella out of the jar. It's gross and indulgent and I love it.
That's why my latest penchant for Sparkling Water (with caps to show its glory) I fear is not good. In the summer, my mum turned me on to it. She would give me a slice of lemon in a chilled glass with fizzy water. I became obsessed.
Now I drink nearly 2.5 litres of fizzy water a day. I can't get enough and I have no idea if this stuff is bad for me. It hit me nearly a month ago that perhaps this addiction must be bad for me as I love it so much. I began fiercely and frantically googling to see if sparkling water does actually cause dental problems, bloating, weight gain etc as most of the things I like to consume do.
As far as I can tell, it doesn't. The only negative findings I have come across are from witch doctors' blogs that say it brings about the devil and such. SO I think I'm in the clear. I will continue to guzzle as I please.
That's why my latest penchant for Sparkling Water (with caps to show its glory) I fear is not good. In the summer, my mum turned me on to it. She would give me a slice of lemon in a chilled glass with fizzy water. I became obsessed.
Now I drink nearly 2.5 litres of fizzy water a day. I can't get enough and I have no idea if this stuff is bad for me. It hit me nearly a month ago that perhaps this addiction must be bad for me as I love it so much. I began fiercely and frantically googling to see if sparkling water does actually cause dental problems, bloating, weight gain etc as most of the things I like to consume do.
As far as I can tell, it doesn't. The only negative findings I have come across are from witch doctors' blogs that say it brings about the devil and such. SO I think I'm in the clear. I will continue to guzzle as I please.
Saturday, February 20, 2016
Feeling Sorry for Myself
Feeling sorry for yourself is a hard and pathetic way to live. It's really easy to get absorbed by it and let it overcome you. I have sunk so low that I feel that the fibres of my bed have melded into my body and we now share the same genetic makeup.
I have spent 5 minutes trying to come up with a name hybrid for me becoming one with my bed. A classic example of too much time on my hands.
I have decided to create my own purpose. I need to set goals to allow me to lead a meaningful life.
Here is what I've come up with so far:
1. Write every day and publish on this blog
2. Read for at least 30 minutes a day
3. Choose one person daily, that I will send something positive to
4. Eat my five a day
5. Exercise for 30 mins daily
I think this is a good start to get more balanced. Wallowing in self-pity and sadness was fun, but now it's time to get on with it.
I have spent 5 minutes trying to come up with a name hybrid for me becoming one with my bed. A classic example of too much time on my hands.
I have decided to create my own purpose. I need to set goals to allow me to lead a meaningful life.
Here is what I've come up with so far:
1. Write every day and publish on this blog
2. Read for at least 30 minutes a day
3. Choose one person daily, that I will send something positive to
4. Eat my five a day
5. Exercise for 30 mins daily
I think this is a good start to get more balanced. Wallowing in self-pity and sadness was fun, but now it's time to get on with it.
Sunday, January 17, 2016
Exchanging of the Clothes
I'm surprised something so small (yet painful) people have so many opinions on. Apparently there is a right way and a wrong way to do it.
I almost always choose the wrong way. I wear my heart on my sleeve and my emotions on my face. I leave no cards clutched to my chest. If I have a feeling about you, you will know it.
I need some of my items back. I wanted to wear a particular dress last night but had foolishly left it behind. Today is supposed to be D Day. Every person I have spoken to has a view on the best way to retrieve my items and give last bits back to The Viking.
I should:
- bag everything up and ask him to leave my stuff on the doorstep
- get a friend to do the exchange
- use this opportunity to hug and say a proper good bye
- leave my stuff for dead and cancel the meet up
- wait until I'm over it to ask for it back
- do it quickly without many words or physical interaction
I don't know how to physically do any of these things. Instead, I foresee it more as going like...
I invite him in, don't let him leave. Cry. Beg for him to reconsider and end up throwing his stuff out the window.
Sounds like me. No word left unsaid or tear left unshed. I expect it to be painful and unsatisfying. Yet, we must be true to ourselves and be at peace with what we would have wanted to do.
I almost always choose the wrong way. I wear my heart on my sleeve and my emotions on my face. I leave no cards clutched to my chest. If I have a feeling about you, you will know it.
I need some of my items back. I wanted to wear a particular dress last night but had foolishly left it behind. Today is supposed to be D Day. Every person I have spoken to has a view on the best way to retrieve my items and give last bits back to The Viking.
I should:
- bag everything up and ask him to leave my stuff on the doorstep
- get a friend to do the exchange
- use this opportunity to hug and say a proper good bye
- leave my stuff for dead and cancel the meet up
- wait until I'm over it to ask for it back
- do it quickly without many words or physical interaction
I don't know how to physically do any of these things. Instead, I foresee it more as going like...
I invite him in, don't let him leave. Cry. Beg for him to reconsider and end up throwing his stuff out the window.
Sounds like me. No word left unsaid or tear left unshed. I expect it to be painful and unsatisfying. Yet, we must be true to ourselves and be at peace with what we would have wanted to do.
Thursday, January 14, 2016
The Key Incident
So The Viking and I got back together after the last post and had a wonderful Christmas together.
Then we broke up again a few days later...for good. Crushing.
I thought I had been coping alright (the usual black hole of sadness) until The Key Incident happened.
I met a friend to cheer me up after the break up and an illness. I knew that I would be returning to an empty, soul-sucking flat and already the anxiety was hitting next level when I reached my front door.
I put the key to the lock.
The key wouldn't go in.
I tried again, being more delicate.
The key wouldn't even wiggle in slightly.
I rammed the key in the lock.
I hurt my hand with the force.
The key refused to turn.
I wiggled the key.
I tried to ever so slightly pull the key out.
I twisted until I thought it would snap.
I cheered on the key to help it feel empowered to open the lock.
I cried.
And cried.
And cried.
I slid to the floor with my fists balled up against the door. I wailed at the key and begged and berated it to turn. Stupid, selfish fucking key! You always do this to me. You always leave me out here alone. Why won't you just be better you fucking key!
I sobbed into my coat until I had dry gasps.
Finally after much commotion and emotional turmoil, I slid the key out of the lock, straight back in, and turned it.
It opened.
I fell into my flat and laid face down in the hallway until I could muster up the strength to close the door and feel complete self-pity that I can't even open a door right.
But all-in-all I think I am coping quite well, thanks.
Then we broke up again a few days later...for good. Crushing.
I thought I had been coping alright (the usual black hole of sadness) until The Key Incident happened.
I met a friend to cheer me up after the break up and an illness. I knew that I would be returning to an empty, soul-sucking flat and already the anxiety was hitting next level when I reached my front door.
I put the key to the lock.
The key wouldn't go in.
I tried again, being more delicate.
The key wouldn't even wiggle in slightly.
I rammed the key in the lock.
I hurt my hand with the force.
The key refused to turn.
I wiggled the key.
I tried to ever so slightly pull the key out.
I twisted until I thought it would snap.
I cheered on the key to help it feel empowered to open the lock.
I cried.
And cried.
And cried.
I slid to the floor with my fists balled up against the door. I wailed at the key and begged and berated it to turn. Stupid, selfish fucking key! You always do this to me. You always leave me out here alone. Why won't you just be better you fucking key!
I sobbed into my coat until I had dry gasps.
Finally after much commotion and emotional turmoil, I slid the key out of the lock, straight back in, and turned it.
It opened.
I fell into my flat and laid face down in the hallway until I could muster up the strength to close the door and feel complete self-pity that I can't even open a door right.
But all-in-all I think I am coping quite well, thanks.
Sunday, November 15, 2015
808s & Heartbreak
What do you do when someone you love ends up going?
I don't think I have ever really been in love or loved someone like I have felt recently, but again life changes and becomes a cruel mistress.
I once again find myself going through a tumultuous time of separation and recovery. So what to do?
Kanye wrote an album about it, but unfortunately I don't have all his talents.
Usual things to keep me alive when even breathing hurts:
- ordering mass amounts of food to be delivered from around the corner to your door (even though you have no appetite)
- pilfering Netflix from the ex until the password is changed
- reading the back of cereal boxes/food items as that is the only attention span I have for literacy right now
- crying over the dishes he left in the sink or his dirty laundry in the bottom of the hamper- scream-singing every Tegan and Sara song and even some old Celine's
- pacing (this is far more comforting than I thought it would be. In fact, I'm starting to see the joy of walking up and down the hallway, counting footsteps. And beginning to realise how closely a break up resembles behaviour showcased in the film, A Beautiful Mind.)
I even tried going out with some friends this weekend but my vibe was so low that I ended up bringing the energy of the entire group to new depths. By the end, I had successful, happy friends questioning their own life choices. What is this all about? Does love exist? Am I really proud of my life? If a tree falls in the woods, does anyone hear it? I eventually just had to just leave before we all ended up drinking some Kool Aid in a circle.
I have also exhausted my pool of friends to tap into and cry to. There are only so many times that you can say, "but why if we were in love?" before they cut off all communication. Another side note - it's only been two days.... two. So instead of talking about the only thing I want to talk about, I have to talk about really small things so that they continue to engage with me in a pleasant way. I talked about wind drafts in my house for 15 minutes today to just keep hearing human voice and not my own breathing whilst laying facedown on my couch.
Wake up (now about 5am) - Do I have to open my eyes today? Can my body liquify and just absorb into my mattress?
Morning - I can do this! I can do anything! I am a strong, confident woman who has a great life! I will live life to the fullest and not let this break my stride.
Lunch - I will literally die without him
Afternoon - Maybe if I am super cute and do all the right things, I can trick him into loving me again.
Dinner - I'm totally fine with this, in fact, I agree with it. I will write him to thank him for being the bigger person and doing it for what's best for both of us.
Evening - Bed. Bed without him. Him. Him. Him. Him. Him. Him. Him. Him. Him. Him. Weep.
Sleep - Sporadic and riddled with dreams of us.
All in all, it's the things that distract us or tricking us into believing it will be ok that keep us going. To this day, I still think it was the wrong choice and we should be together. But it is evening now...
I don't think I have ever really been in love or loved someone like I have felt recently, but again life changes and becomes a cruel mistress.
I once again find myself going through a tumultuous time of separation and recovery. So what to do?
Kanye wrote an album about it, but unfortunately I don't have all his talents.
Usual things to keep me alive when even breathing hurts:
- ordering mass amounts of food to be delivered from around the corner to your door (even though you have no appetite)
- pilfering Netflix from the ex until the password is changed
- actively not showering.
Like, finding ways of doing things differently so I don't have to get wet. i.e.
getting food delivered instead of walking 7 minutes to the shop. Note - I enjoy this way more than a normal human should.
I don't smell, don't get me wrong, but I like the physical sign of unhappiness.
The way my hair stays like those old Cabbage Patch dolls with bendy hair you
could mould into any shape.
- reading the back of cereal boxes/food items as that is the only attention span I have for literacy right now
- crying over the dishes he left in the sink or his dirty laundry in the bottom of the hamper- scream-singing every Tegan and Sara song and even some old Celine's
- pacing (this is far more comforting than I thought it would be. In fact, I'm starting to see the joy of walking up and down the hallway, counting footsteps. And beginning to realise how closely a break up resembles behaviour showcased in the film, A Beautiful Mind.)
I even tried going out with some friends this weekend but my vibe was so low that I ended up bringing the energy of the entire group to new depths. By the end, I had successful, happy friends questioning their own life choices. What is this all about? Does love exist? Am I really proud of my life? If a tree falls in the woods, does anyone hear it? I eventually just had to just leave before we all ended up drinking some Kool Aid in a circle.
I have also exhausted my pool of friends to tap into and cry to. There are only so many times that you can say, "but why if we were in love?" before they cut off all communication. Another side note - it's only been two days.... two. So instead of talking about the only thing I want to talk about, I have to talk about really small things so that they continue to engage with me in a pleasant way. I talked about wind drafts in my house for 15 minutes today to just keep hearing human voice and not my own breathing whilst laying facedown on my couch.
It's also interesting how one's feelings can change so drastically over the course of a day when going through a break up.
Wake up (now about 5am) - Do I have to open my eyes today? Can my body liquify and just absorb into my mattress?
Morning - I can do this! I can do anything! I am a strong, confident woman who has a great life! I will live life to the fullest and not let this break my stride.
Lunch - I will literally die without him
Afternoon - Maybe if I am super cute and do all the right things, I can trick him into loving me again.
Dinner - I'm totally fine with this, in fact, I agree with it. I will write him to thank him for being the bigger person and doing it for what's best for both of us.
Evening - Bed. Bed without him. Him. Him. Him. Him. Him. Him. Him. Him. Him. Him. Weep.
Sleep - Sporadic and riddled with dreams of us.
All in all, it's the things that distract us or tricking us into believing it will be ok that keep us going. To this day, I still think it was the wrong choice and we should be together. But it is evening now...
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