Cosmically bad days

For the last few days all sorts of factors have piled themselves on top of one another.  And collectively, on me.

Whether or not I’m actually being pinned down by circumstances at work and in my life, I feel like they are still sitting on my chest and occasionally taking my hands, slapping me and taunting with ‘why are you hitting yourself?  Why are you hitting yourself?’

So what’s so cataclysmically bad?  So cosmically awful about my week?

Besides the regular work stuff, I’m in the process of needing to raise some funds to do what I do.  I was on a roll, and then lost momentum due to my own procrastination (read: I am annoyed to no end with myself).

My attitude towards life in general has been grouchy.  More than that–its awful.  As a Christian, this is what I call ‘letting my sin run amok’ rather than letting God captain-the-Wendy-ship.  Truely, when God’s the one at the helm, I’m far less likely to run aground, scornfully blame someone else for the shipwreck that, if I’d had my way, would have taken out some smaller annoying boats on the way.

What I wanted to say about all this is that, after a few minutes in the massage chair and a nap in the wellness room at work, I’m doing better.  My prayers aren’t coming through teeth clenched quite as tightly together as they were this morning.  In fact, I feel hopeful that by tomorrow I’ll be on the right track again.

My favourite author, Doug Coupland, once mentioned that if you’re ever in a ‘cosmically bad moment’ that you should have a glass of orange juice.  It’ll probably help with the low blood sugar that you previously weren’t aware was kicking your butt.

Instead of orange juice, for me, it was a quick nap.  But same outcome.  I feel better.  Less ‘cosmic’ about how big the normal stresses of life seem.

I think my mental age is oh…all of 23

I’ve been thinking about why I freaked out a little when I turned 27. (And why I freaked a little more when I turned 25….and why the thought of turning 28 is also not so good…)

There is nothing wrong with being 27, or 28 or any age older than that actually. I am not uncontrollably ‘age-ist’. Nor does aging bother me primarily for vanity reasons.

I think what bothers me most about turning 27, is that I don’t in any way feel 27. My life doesn’t look that different from when I turned 24 actually. I’m still working for the same organization. I’m still single. I even still live in the same house that I first moved in to when I came to Vancouver. Other than weighing just a few pounds more than I did (to my deep chagrin) at 23, not much is different.

I guess I don’t know the ‘cues’ about aging, once you pass 25. At 25 you can rent cars without that extra service charge. I know you’re supposed to have a big ‘Ahh! I-just-turned-30-party!’ but in between? No clue. I will not own a condo or a house anytime soon. I probably won’t be having kids anytime soon. Reason for this being? I don’t reeeeeealy see myself married within the year, OR, within the next year. And, I’m actually pretty fine with that–my life is good. Even though it feels like I’m in stasis sometimes.

Like one day, I’ll wake up, be 31 and still doing the same things (pretty much) that I was doing at 24 and I’ll wonder with horror “WHERE DID THE TIME GO? HAVE I BEEN ON A SPACE SHIP SLEEPING WHILE THOSE I LOVED ARE WHEEZING WITH OLD AGE? “

My entire life up to the age of 25 was spent knowing how old I should feel by the milestones in my life. Who knew that after that rental car marker at 25, that I’d feel cut loose?

Douglas Coupland says that the best years of your life are between the ages of 31-35, that your ‘mental age’ (the age that you see yourself in your head) will stop here for the next 2 decades, and that you should grin and bear how awful your 20’s can be. Now, my 20’s have NOT been awful by any stretch of the imagination, but I do wonder when my ‘mental age’ will make its next shift ahead, to catch up to my actual age. It weirds me out. I think I’m missing things about being 27, because in my mind I’m all like ‘oooh, I’m still 23 and have all the time in the world!!!!!’

So that last sentence uncovers what really gets me about the incongruence between the age I feel and the age I am. If I still think I’m 23, than I’m not grasping how serious it is that my youth (and all this potential that public school taught me that I had) is not going to be there forever…to take for granted.

This thought kicks me in the but when I think about being more creative. And how 99% of my life is not oriented towards creativity–shamefully, I’m in consumption mode most of the time. True creativity always always always gives rather than just re-arrange what’s already out there. Rather than just appreciate, consume and move on.

I panic because I think I may be wasting it.

Wondering if I’m giving up dreams too easily. Wondering if my choices now are too safe. Wondering if I’ll deeply regret my easy-does-it 20’s when I’m older….wondering why I didn’t have more dreams in the first place.

Your 20’s are a time to dream and try things out. See what fits–what doesn’t. To pursue, instead of just talk.

I think I want my actual age, to be my mental age too.

Will you ever forgive me?

I’m not sure that stopping blogging for a little over a month was a good idea.  But I had too—the crushing weight of guilt that comes when I waste time on the internet is bad enough, but when I’m working from home on tough stuff for work, it makes it even harder.

So, please forgive me.

Things I would like to blog about in the coming weeks:

-vampires

-my new job

-being 27 and feeling 23 in your mind

-how my one class is going

-dating (maybe…)

And, well, I’m sure a host of smaller things in between.  There is much I’d like to say about what I’m reading/thinking, and thoughts regarding creativity and why its so…. elusive.

Anyhoo, missed you.

August, blessed August.

With a month left before September makes happy-fun-summer-time go away for another year, I am wondering all that this next few weeks will hold.

I’ll be starting my new role in the president’s office.

I’ll actually have to *work* in an office, not just visit occasionally and distract the others.

I’ll be embarking on a regular journey of a 2 hour commute to and from said office.

Oh.  And I’ll be working for two of the most dynamic and admirable leaders I’ve ever met.  Easily.  Hands down.  No question.

And, I’m looking forward to it!

Ahhh. Made it.

So, I’m back in Vancouver and its just hitting me right now, at this very moment, as this is my first opportunity to have actually slowed down long enough to realize….that I am tired.

I had a great conference for work in Whistler, despite fearing that the landslide on the Sea-to-Sky would keep us up there forever.  I loved catching up with friends, taking part in the main sessions and such.

Today I could do many things.

What I will probably end up doing?  Napping.

HOORAY FOR NAPPING.

All’s well that ends well

My mom surprised me today with a trip to Stratford, ON, which was a very pleasant on-her-toes decision.

We were suposed to be on our way to St. Jacob’s for a little mom/daughter time, but due to the almost-life-ending-down pour on the 401, we pulled over around Woodstock. My mom makes the call, and off to Stratford and hopefully good rush seats.

I was just thinking that I hadn’t been to Stratford as a ‘grown-up’, and I was pleased to see Will’s ‘All’s Well that Ends Well’. I’ll admit to you though that I feel asleep in the first 25 minutes. This play got off to a SLOW start.

I’ve been thinking as of late about poetry, or challenging prose, and realizing that my education entirely skipped this rich literary well. There were a total of 2 poetry units, but they were lame, and non of the beauty and potential for understanding the human condition was really explored. Everyone endured them until we could get to creative writing or something.

I’m sad about this, and of course, have not the poetic ability to express that with more flare!

Ethanol plant sold Chatham a Monorail

Chatham is located in the agrarian haven known as southern Ontario. This small city is not known for its cultural savvy, or its economic bounty. But, as my mother reminds me, its a nice place to raise kids.

Chatham is also the corn producing capital in Canada. Detasseling is a right of passage for teens here.

So, in the mid-90’s, when the economy was looking no better in Chatham than it does today in the US, Chathamites were looking for a way to attract industry, and inject some life-giving employment into our area. Looking around we wondered what we had that the world wanted. Answer? Corn. Lots and lots of corn.

It ended up that we struck a deal to bring an ethanol producing plant (gasoline made from corn mostly) to our little corner of Canada.

I even shilled for them as a grade 7 student. In a radio interview I remember touting how ethanol was better than dirty burning fossil fuels, helping to reduce particulates in the air, and thereby helping to reduce Chatham’s alarmingly high youth asthma rate. I remember talking about CO2 emissions and the glories of having this ethanol producing plant come to invigorate our economy. (Oh, and if you weren’t aware, I apparently WAS Lisa Simpson as a child. Ha!)

Regardless of who courted who, its my opinion that Green Field Ethanol sold Chatham a proverbial ‘Monorail‘. They built an Ethanol plant on the edge of town. Despite their claims of clean burning fuel, Chatham noticed a distinct smell in the air not soon after they opened. Was is burnt toast everyone was smelling? Someone burning grass clippings that had been soaked in pesticide first? Either we were and are all still having one perpetual stroke, or this is one smelly plant.

According to researchers and environmentalists alike, biofuels originating from plant matter like corn, take more fossel fuels to produce than the net energy they produce. In short, they don’t make sense as a solution to our fossil fuel quagmire.

To be sort of fair, all biofuels are not created equal and the technology is still in the works.

If you’re interested in reading more here’s a few links:

http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2005/07/050705231841.htm

http://www.economist.com/science/displaystory.cfm?story_id=9861379

And one for their side:

http://www.journeytoforever.org/ethanol_energy.html

Bon Iver

I have been meaning to tell you about this album.

You may have already heard of Bon Iver (think ‘good winter’ in French for pronunciation), and listened your brains out to ‘For Emma, Forever Ago’. You may already agree with me that this has quickly become one of your most favourite chill out albums in years.

I first heard of Bon Iver after my enviably-cool –yet-down-to-earth –which-makes-her-even-cooler friend Karen Ho leaked some of her internet savvy to me. She reads Heather B Armstrong’s blog. (And now so do I!)

Heather posted about an album that she had been listening too non-stop. It’s been labeled neo-soul, or in other words the kind of album you listen to when you need to feel something deeper than JT and Madonna can provide in 4 minutes, but aren’t ready for REM’s ‘Everybody hurts’.

This is music that feels honest. Tender without sentimentality, and vulnerable without being messy.

I love that the music is pulsing, with a great rhythmic guitar and baseline without being dance-y. ‘Lump Sum’ sounds like my heart beating when I’m entangled in feelings for someone of that blessed opposite sex.

Was that cheesy? Who cares! I love it!

Listen to this album! My favs are ‘Flume’ and ‘Re: Stacks’. The song below is ‘Lump Sum’.

‘home’.

I’m been home on the farm for more than a week now, and almost everyday I’ve gone to write blogs about my time here, but have stopped myself.

Truth be told, I’m not sure what to write.

Do I write about how I have found a new appreciation for the heat/humidity in light of the cool summers I experience in BC?

Do I write about dredging out our family basement, taking 6 old computer printers (yes, 6) to the dump?  After how I worked for 2 days with the help of my nephew Trent, and it looks like we were never down there?

Do I write about how I’m realizing how bizzare I must appear to my family sometimes?  Like how listening to sermons, ‘This American life’ podcasts and indie rock are weird to them on a road trip?

Or, do I write about my parent’s cat Floyd, whom as some of you know, sends out the occasional email?  He has his own email signature and fax number.  He’s a tom cat extraordinare, or so says his emails.

It’s been strange being ‘home’ this time.  Much is familiar, but not in a nostalgic or endearing way.  Almost everything serves as a reminder of how much I don’t fit in.  I’m not a small town girl.  Knowing that now, at 27, helps put my country high school experience into perspective.  I had great friends, and a good go of school, but I know now what I was fearful of believing then.  As the Sesame Street song goes “…one of these things is not like the others….”

It’s my challenge now to guard myself against even a hint of superiority.  Any taste of snobishness.  Any reason I could give people here for resenting city life elsewhere.

Back to Vancouver in less than 2 weeks.

McLovin’

On the last leg of our 5000km road trip out east, my sister, nephew and I stopped at the last McDonalds before our exit off the 401.

After dashing to the ladies room, I stepped back out and narrowly missed a pile of barf. My nephew saw the culprit, a cute little Asian child who apparently barfed after he ate.

This story gets interesting as I’m standing in line to get an ice cream, and can over hear the McDonald’s staff argue over who’s going to clean it up. No one wants to do it. The manager is going up to her friends and sharing the disgusting development while I watch them each give a look of horror.

What is amazing me about this though, is that not one of them is over the age of 20. Not even the manager.

As soon as I noticed, I peered around and saw 20 or more teenage employees busily frying and flirting. A girl passes a little too closely by a guy, both trying to get ice cream. She giggles, he blushes. There’s a playful exchange between the older ones–the girls insisting that its the guys turn to clean up the ’spill’, while the guys persuade the female manager to assign an intern to do it.

I could have watched the drama unfold for at least 22 minutes.

This is the kind of place where Kendal is dating Brittany, but secretly messing around with Jasmine after their late shifts finish. Kevin and Petro, both forgotten nuggets in the coolness frier, are both not-so-secretly in love with Sarah, while Katrine and Christy are obsessed with the cute older guy who comes in to fill the vending machines.

All this set in a bustling backdrop of the world’s most famous highway pit stop.

As long as they didn’t cast it with 28-32 year olds, and set it in Orange County, I would watch this maybe. Especially if punctuated with mini-threads dealing with the gloriously mind-numbing goals a chain sets out for its employees.

And as long as there wasn’t barf in every episode.