It has swiftly, though not unexpectedly, come up that the family is going into St. John’s. I’m not sure how long we’ll be there, or how much internet access I’ll have. For those who I’ve not been able to tell “personally” over the internet, I’ll miss you, and have a great Christmas.
Oh, and I fail at mailing, and spent too much time looking at gifts instead of sending them, so your presents will be VERY late. I’m sorry.
*waves and disappears*
Sometimes living here just dances along the edge of intolerable. There are so many people who know who I am and my circumstances, and yet so few who I actually can relax around. I know I’m the weird one, who likes strange things and doesn’t even have the redeeming feature of liking normal ones, and I know it all the time. I mean, I just wrote 50,000 words in 15 days, and I haven’t told anyone other than my sister. In other places I would get a reaction, I know. I’ve seen it. Maybe it would be hatred or resentment, but here I’m just weird. And I’m stuck in the bounds of the hills I can see from my window.
Is it always this hard to stay in a place? Am I only satisfied when I’m anonymous to everyone I don’t choose to let in? Or would that even help? Does it ever get better? In a year, maybe, will I be okay to be the one who inspires an understanding smile on being seen? Or does being an adult mean never quite fitting in?
Around here there are the church groups, where not only do I not know the responses and jokes, I have to cram the panic back down my throat to keep from curling into a ball and rocking. And then there are the parties, where the participants get drunk and go home with other people than they arrived with. I don’t want either. Given that they both involve removal of most of my psyche, neither option is enticing to me. I like sarcasm and quick remarks and irony and references to obscure bits of everything; which doesn’t work when you’re drunk. I like philosophical discussion and political debate and all those things that girls aren’t really supposed to in good christian circles. So I settle for NOT going out and being out of place, I stay home and try to hide.
Would it have been easier if I hadn’t lived in other places, I wonder? Or if I had sucked up and stayed in the mind-rotting church circles? If I had had anything closer to a normal life, if I had tried to be social and ignored the scrape of eyes on my back, would I be able to have people look at me without wanting to cringe?
WHY DON”T OTHER PEOPLE FIND THIS SO HARD?
Does it ever get better?
Today in the bank a little old lady asked me if my father was home from the war yet. It’s a little hard to respond to questions like that. Especially since the look in her eyes hinted strongly that she would rant against Herr Hitler and his band of wicked men on only slight prompting. So I just smiled and said he wasn’t in the military any more. And she smiled and nodded without comprehension and hobbled away.
I was scheduled to do a ten minute presentation this morning at 9:00am. I was a bit nervous about speaking, given my tendency to start panicking and stammering. As it turns out, I need not have worried about speaking.
I’ve done two shifts at the bank so far.
“It’s like in the movies, except there’s no one drilling up through the floor…”
We’re back! *cue triumphant music* Moreover, we’re back with all luggage in tow, all family members, and not even a major airline delay to show for the four Air Canada flights we braved. We must be special.
And now, an explanation for the post that “follow” this one. I was without computer access for most of the trip, which deficiency I assuaged by blogging on paper. Also known as keeping a journal. *grins* I shall now proceed to put the posts in digital form for your reading displeasure. (And yes, I am currently talking like this in real life as well. I can’t seem to stop it. Sorry.)
Also, for future reference, my brother formerly know as Trapeziod has been renamed the Walrus.
Today was a one of those days which just feels vaguely successful. I made bread, and yogurt, as well as going grocery shopping. Very exciting, I know. Two of the small ones were on bikes, and I latched the smallest of my charges into the ATTS (All Terrain Transport Stroller), and we set off down the tracks. Thankfully, due to my hard won foresight in bringing the ATTS, I didn’t have to carry any small children in addition to the groceries, though I did find it somewhat amusing when the one child who was riding started complaining of being tired halfway there. This is while I’m muscling the ATTS through gravel and over mud ruts. Yes, dear, I’m sure you’re tired. Now hush while I cough up a lung. 😀 No, it was fun, and I think I’m building much-needed arm muscles.
“Self?”
My self said, “Yes?”
Me said, “I’m not feeling very chipper, self.”
Self said, “I noticed.”
Me said, “I don’t really know why?”
Self sighed, and said, “It’s because you’re tired, Me.”
Me said, “But why? Why should physical tiredness make me feel unimportant, and invisible, and all that nonsense?”
Self sighed again, rolling her eyes, and said, “Gee, I don’t know. Why don’t we ask I. What do you think, I?”
I pushed her glasses up her nose and said, “I’ve been thinking about this. I think it’s because when you were depressed for real, you weren’t eating properly, and you were tired all the time. So your mind interprets tiredness as a sign that you’re depressed, and so on.”
Me and Self nodded, then Me said, “But that’s bad.”
Self rolled her eyes, hands on her hips. “Yes, Me, notice anything else earth-shattering lately.”
Me kept talking. “But, how am I gonna manage running a house when I have children? Not to mention this summer’s revolting work schedule.”
I leaned forward eagerly. “But don’t you see? That’s the point!”
Self stared levelly at I. “The point? Try again, I almost understood you there.”
I ignored Self. “The point of what you’re doing this summer! Treat it as a challenge. See if you can make it through a gruelling schedule, and train your body again to not see tiredness as an emotional trigger!”
Me and Self agreed that this sounded like a challenging challenge, and a fine summer activity.
So there you have my summer objective. Make it through, and train myself to not be depressed when tired. Speaking of which, I really should head for bed now. Fare thee well!
I had an interview with McDonalds this morning, which was- not as bad as I feared. I hesitate to ever call a job interview “good,” but this one went smoothly, and I wasn’t scared until I cam out again. There were a few tense moments; when they asked me why I left Tim Horton’s, and who I could give as references at Tim’s. I didn’t exactly leave there in a happy frame of mind, let’s just say. It was my first experience in a defined hierarchy-type job, when I wasn’t on my own initiative, and I had a bunch of co-workers who liked to “teach” the sheltered home-schooler about “the facts of life.” So, it wasn’t my favourite job ever.
I have walked 30 kilometres in the last 24 hours. That is 18.641136 miles. My legs have sent me notice that they are not moving, they don’t plan to move, and any attempt to force them to move will be met with armed hostility.
I keep realizing more pieces of how Augustine has affected the way I think. My sister Slonner mentioned that she wants to go to art school when she grows up, and I ALMOST started a rant about postmodernism and performance art and the absence of truth in modern society and how that has changed the purpose of art, but I didn’t. I know, for those who were there, you are probably saying, “yes, yes you did rant,” but trust me, I didn’t. I also wanted to start a discussion about the influences of subjective truth on personhood and science fiction, but again I didn’t. *wide grin* I hope I keep this way of looking at the world, cause even if I don’t have anyone to talk to about it, it is very interesting.
Speaking of intersting things, it is quite intersting to move back to a place. I wasn’t really old enough to notice things before we moved to San Diego, but I am now. The land just feels right in a way which Ottawa didn’t, even after 8 months. I suppose that’s becuase of all the memories here, so things are familiar. It is also very interesting to have people recoginize me, after living in the city. I came in on the bus on Wednseday, and then took a taxi to the other end of town. The taxi driver recognized me from when I worked at Tim Horton’s two years before, and knew where I wanted to go before I told him. Small towns!
I am also loving the sound of the sea and the smell of salt and wood smoke on the wind.
But I am missing the Augustinians. *sigh* Moving is problematic.
There is a whole list of people and activities queing up for me to notice their absence. Currently missing things like puns are being shouted down by things like the lack of Third World, but I know they are just lying in wait to attack me. Bah.
On the other hand, I went on an expedenture with the small ones to buy band-aids, and they wanted an explanation for everything.
“How does the water in the ditch get there?” (spring run off)
“How far could we go if we followed the trail?” (Vancouver)
“Can we buy that, or that, or That?” (No, becase you forgot your money)
“Why does that lady look like she’s in pain?” (that one was a little delicate to explain, as she was mentally handicaped. *cringes internally* But I think they were good with my explanation, that her brain hadn’t grown when her body had.)
That’s fun, being the big sister again. It’s good to be home.
Non-Trivial Things 