Yappity Yap

1) I need to start packing my room soon. Moving day is on Sunday and we're all anxious to finally get into our new place. Packing is one of those jobs that is so ominous and huge that you don't know where to start and end up putting it off until the very last minute. All are welcome to come help. Free beer! (And by "free" I mean "no.")

2) I had an interview to be a tour guide at the African Lion Safari yesterday. Don't you dare make fun of me, it's a summer job, ok? I need something for only two months because of my UK hiatus, and I'm sick of working with children. God knows I love 'em, but that's all I do. I need to meet people my own age for once, and you and I both know I'm too good for the food service industry. At the safari I get to work outside, learn to drive a boat/bus/train and watch monkeys hump each other all day.

3) I still officially have no plans for my trip. All I know is that I'm going and it's starting to freak me out. My lack of planning is starting to bother the obsessive-compulsive part of my personality. There's a little voice in my head that's saying "What the hell are you going to do when you get there?" I know it'll all work out and be an experience of some kind (positive or negative) but my anxiety is growing by the day.

4) I'm having toilet paper wars with myself because both of my roommates upstairs have moved out. Everyday I watch the roll dwindle and wonder what will happen once I'm down to the last square.

5) I'm an emotional wreck today. I drove past my high school and started to cry (note: I did not like high school, but I was overcome by the memories. Yes, I am a tool.) About a half hour later I started sobbing in my car again, this time for no apparent reason. I still don't know what set me off. Maybe I'm stressed because of my trip. I'm not good at guessing when or why I'm stressed. I usually just wait until people start telling me I'm being a bitch. When I get called a bitch, that means I'm stressed. Maybe crying all the time for no reason means I'm stressed too.

6) Some drunk girl at the bar stepped on my foot with her stiletto last night, and now I can't walk. I have a big purple welt of a heel mark on my foot. Stupid girls and their stupid shoes.

7) Speaking of shoes, I bought the cutest pair of metallic turquoise, strappy wedges a couple weeks ago by accident. They leapt into my hands and begged me to buy them.

8) Yesterday I went to see my girlfriend in London for her birthday, and never in my life have I felt so unattractive. Every girl in this place was blonde and had great legs, which made me feel like an ugly duckling surrounded by Gucci and Prada. But strangely, I was hit on more than I have ever been in my life. One guy followed me home despite me telling him right to his face I wouldn't sleep with him. Another stopped short to tell me how gorgeous I was and yet another got down on his knees in the middle of the bar to beg for my number. It was baffling! I swear everyone in that city is rich and beautiful and trendy. It's like the Los Angeles of Canada minus all the movie stars.

My World is Spinning, But I'm Standing Still

For whatever reason, human beings exist. Unless you're a philosophy major you'll probably agree. We exist, we roam around for awhile, and we die. Individual human lives are very short, and there have been so many of them come and go already in our history, it's difficult to fathom. Too many lives to count. It's almost too much to wrap your brain around, isn't it?

Regardless of the fact that life is radically short and our lives are meaningless, we still search for meaning until the day we die. Why? Because if we could comprehend the true futility and frivolousness of our existence we would choose not to go on. We would all be depressed and suicidal and nothing would be accomplished. No one would invent, create ideas, start movements. What's the point of all that if we are all going to die in the end? The knowledge of the inevitability of death would drive us all to depression. So instead we all believe we're here for a reason, and we search for that reason until the end. It is what keeps us sane.

That and the quest for happiness. Human beings can be smiley and chipper and sunny even in the most adverse of circumstances. They can be happy even when they know in the back of their minds that there's no point. True happiness doesn't really exist in the palpable sense. It's a state of mind. Happiness is an illusion that keeps us from giving up on life. The ultimate defense mechanism. It protects us from feeling small and insignificant, and when our happiness goes away we wonder what the hell all this is for. This life, constrained in the dimensions of expectation and inevitability. When we're not happy we don't want to try anymore. The fact that the entire human race is running on such a fleeting and unpredictable emotion scares me. Brain chemistry determines whether we live or die, and whether we care either way. But that's the way it's always been, and aside from moderate suicide rates and the fact that two out of five people are clinically depressed, I'd say we're doing ok. Most people never have to look death right in the face anyways, so they never have to think about it.

This life, constrained in the dimensions of expectation and inevitability.

I dreamed you last night. I saw your outline just in front of me under the covers, and I watched you lay there. Your lips smiled in that knowing way, and it was enough to make my heart flutter as I slept. I saw your hands move. Steady and purposeful; a boys hands. Those hands make me feel feminine, vulnerable, protected. In my dream your hands spoke to me. They told me all the words you were too afraid to say, and my hands talked back. Small, soft and unsure. In the dark we moved together. We stirred softly and quietly under the blankets as the outside world melted away.

Narcissism

I am still alive, in case you were wondering. And I'm oh so close to being done my third year of this ass poundage they call university. Only one more essay to go, which is why I'm writing this blog. Because I shouldn't be.

After this damn essay is done I can focus on planning my two month hiatus to the UK. May 9th is the day I have set in my head for my departure, but of course no tickets have been purchased, I have no job there and no place to live. Yet. I really don't care, though. I think just going and flailing for a bit until I find my footing will be a good thing for me. That's why I decided to leave in the first place, after all. I need to get out of my comfort zone so I can rediscover why I've chosen this life, this school, this city to live in, etc. The whole "leaving everything so I can find it again" deal. Hopefully I can find myself over there too. I've been missing for some time now, and I'd like to get myself back.

On that note, it's funny that we can think we know ourselves. I find this funny because I rediscover new things about myself everyday. Things I've learned about myself just today;

1) I like string thongs better than normal thongs.
2) Sometimes I need to keep secrets from people. Even if it's something small, it always gives me a sense of power.
3) I miss old school Fischer Price toys.
4) I can't cook with other people in the kitchen. I need my space for my food.

And that's just today! Everyday something new emerges and I have my own personal revelation of self-discovery. Maybe I'm just a complex person, but there's always something new about myself I can learn. And there are things I've forgotten about myself that can be rediscovered over and over.

God, I'm narcissistic sometimes. But it's in our nature, isn't it.

He called me on it. No one has ever understood me before I understood myself, and it caught me off-guard.

"I think you're scared."
"I am. I really am scared." I had never thought of it that way before.

There always comes a point when the ball drops, so I've learned to anticipate it. The minute I let myself go just a little, everything falls to pieces and I'm hurting again. Not letting go has become my defense, even if it makes me miserable. I tell myself I'd rather be miserable this way than at the hands of someone else.

But look at me like that with those eyes again, and I might have to change my mind.

Ode to Albert

After two years in our Albert street home, my roommates and I have decided to move. As much as this house means to us, meaning can no longer trump the fact that it is an old, ant-infested, dirty pile of sticks. This home has been standing in Waterloo since the dawn of time, or at least since before the invasion of university students. It is in desperate need of a make-over. Or a bulldozing.

Don't be fooled. It looks rather pretty from the outside. Especially in the summer when all the trees are in bloom and the flowers poke their heads through the dirt. The inside is dirty, smelly and old. It's not the kind of dirt you can clean, either. It's the kind that has built up over years of being lived in by students who are too lazy to do any serious housework. It has been temporary residence to more students than I dare to estimate, which has done a number on the sanitation factor. And the smell. Sometimes the house smells for no apparent reason, and we can only attribute it to the fact that the house takes a shit sometimes. We've learned to live with it.

My roommates and I have also done a number on the sanitation factor, I admit. Since we've decided to move, all hope has been lost. Usually we're ok for keeping it tidy, but the kitchen has become a cesspool of nasty over the past couple of months. It hasn't been updated since the 70s at least so not only is it piled high with dishes, it is horribly out of date. The countertops are a lovely faux-wood that has been been worn down in some spots from aging, and the floor has developed a natural brown-tinge that makes it look constantly unclean. In reality, the floor used to be cream-coloured but has faded brown over the years, so even if we tried to scrub it it wouldn't return to its original colour.

Even though the house is disgusting, we've loved our time here. Our place has been host to many, many parties. It is right in the middle of everything, and a short walk away from most of the bars in Waterloo so people usually congregate here before going out. Most weekends there is at least one of our friends crashing on our couch or puking in our toilet. The house is always happy to oblige. It is also so close to the school that even if I wake up ten minutes before class, I can still make it across campus without breaking a sweat. This has proven to be a very important factor in my love for this place.

And my room. Fortunately since the house is already a disaster the landlord let us paint. I indulged in a passionate, plum purple. My room was labeled the sex room because of the low lighting and the four-poster. Every good party always ended with a pole dance on my bed. This bed is also known among some as "the most comfortable bed ever." It really is, I can't explain it.

We've lost a couple roommates, gained new ones. A total of nine different people have called this place home over the past two years and four of us have stayed strong throughout. The original four plus one are moving into our new place together. A sparkling, brand-spanking new apartment just three houses down. Dishwasher included, which will hopefully get us out of the dish slump we've fallen into lately. I can't wait to move, but I know I'll miss it. There are memories attached to this house that will immortalize it for us as "that old house we used to rent together."

Toilet Paper Wars, 2006: An Update

The war is over. Finally after 13 grueling days Leanne cracked and bought a pack of quilted cottonelle. No more inconvenience, no more hoarding secret rolls, no more hearing groans from the washroom when someone forgot the war was on. It was a rough go people, but fortunately there were few casualties and we all came out learning a few things about the hard life.

Beware, Today I am a Raging Pottymouth

1) You may have noticed I've been posting a lot lately. This is because I have heaping piles of other shit I should be doing.

2) I'm trying to apply for a working visa in the U.K. and I'm on the verge of punching the shit out of my computer. Someone please tell me how the fuck the damn system works!

3) I still haven't eaten chocolate since I gave it up for lent. But now it's gotten to the point where I think about how much I want it everyday. How pathetic is that? I still refuse to eat it though. I'm holding strong. But it's sooo goood... fuck, I want chocolate!

4) I've recently discovered how much I suck in relationships. No I'm not in one, and that's because I suck. Funny how this is a new revelation, I should have known all along. The big neon sign on my forehead that says "Don't take me seriously because I'm irrational, I push people away and I'm loaded with relationship anxiety" should have given it away. That's a heavy sign to be carrying around without ever noticing.

5) I'm angrier and hornier than I've ever been in my entire life right now, and I'm sitting alone at my computer. This combination would make for some wicked angry sex, but does anyone wanna have sex with me? No. Thanks guys, all this is going to waste. You should be ashamed of yourselves. Maybe I'll watch some porn instead of studying. Fuck, that'll just make it worse.

6) I still want chocolate. It's a toss up: Chocolate or sex? I can't have either, so does it really matter?

7) I came back from the gym almost two hours ago and I still haven't showered. I am disgusting.

8) If I could bitch-slap anyone in the world, it would be Jade from America's Next Top Model. No, I don't watch that show on a regular basis, but when I do she makes me wanna punch the TV. She's the most annoying bitch I've ever seen and someone needs to slap her in the face.

9) We've been having toilet paper wars in our bathroom. There hasn't been a roll up there for about a week, and we're all seeing who will crack first and buy more. We also don't have a towel. It disappeared about two months ago and no one knows where. It's kind of like being in the wilderness, except without trees and animals. And I have a private roll of TP that no one knows about. I don't know what I'll do once that runs out...

An intimate moment in the dark, while the screen flashes unnoticed. Tangled blankets, tangled fingers, tangled thoughts. Untangle my world with your lips, turn off my mind with those eyes.

Me vs. The Committee

Yesterday was the first time in four years that I've considered leaving my job. When you love what you do, you never have to think about why you're doing it. I've been forced to reevaluate why I've stayed at this job for so long, and what I'll loose if I decide to quit.

I started teaching dance at this particular community centre when I was only 17. I had never taught dance before and didn't really know what I was getting myself into, but the money was good and I loved dancing more than anything so it seemed to be the perfect job. I've loved my time here. Teaching allows me to be creative, I get to be a role model for my students and I am able to continue being involved in dance. Seeing the changes in my students over the years and knowing I had something to do with those changes is one of the most rewarding things I've ever experienced in my life.

But then there's the other side of the coin. The dance program at the centre is controlled by a group of people called the dance committee. This group consists of 8 ladies who are parents to some of the students in the program itself. Which is the first flaw, because they are very biased in their decisions. These ladies have final say in everything, and they like to exert their power any chance they can. Especially with me. I'm just young enough and just creative enough to fall victim to their executive decisions and creativity-squashing rules. Every aspect of the dance program has a rule, and if it doesn't they'll be sure to find and create one. Everything becomes way more complicated than it needs to be when the committee uses their iron fist to make decisions.

I've also had to wake up at 8am every Saturday of the week all year for four years. No exceptions. And being a university student who values her sleep more than life itself, that is a huge sacrifice. Fridays nights are a complete write off for everything because I refuse to go into work tired or with a hang over, and my Saturdays are spent inside teaching instead of studying or sleeping in like most people. The money is good, but I'm only working one day a week so it isn't actually making a huge difference to my bank account. I don't really need the money either. I'm pretty well off just from working in the summers, and my parents pay for my education. So do I do it for the dancing? I love dance, I always will. It once was a huge part of my life, but I've come to the point where I don't need it anymore. Teaching dance is also much different than the act of dancing itself. I haven't actually danced in a long time. And as much as I love teaching, I can live without that too.

So why am I still doing this, you ask? I was forced to ask myself the same question yesterday when the committee made an executive decision about one of my classes while I was in Miami. No one told me, and I had to find out from my students who were fuming with anger. They were not happy, and I was not happy. All this drama all the time is emotionally draining. Why do I put up with all of this? What would I really be losing if I didn't return to the program next year?

I do this for my students. I love my students more than I love teaching, more than I love money and maybe even more than I love dance. These girls are why I didn't leave after my first year. Somehow all the bullshit I deal with from the dance committee is bearable because of the joy I get from watching my students grow and change and learn to love dance as much as I do. Yesterday was the first time that my love for my students wasn't enough to make me want to stay.

This program should be about the students. They come first, not making sure we follow protocol, not creating problems where there are none and not doing what is easiest for the committee. These girls make the program and if they're not happy, there is no program. I do it for them. All of this is for them.

I'm afraid that my battle with the committee will soon be done, and I'm tired.