One For The Books

Hello dear readers,

Happy Saturday to you all! Hopefully, you got out and enjoyed your days – it was a beautiful one here in the 250 – hot and humid and sunny as all hell, just the way I like it!

I had a fucking HELL of a time falling asleep last night. I think I came down off the shock of hearing about my friend’s passing and started feeling it after my (supposedly) bedtime bowl, so after kissing Vega goodnight, I sat on the couch for a few hours, television on but not paying attention, Visa cuddled up on my lap. For the first time in months I just let myself cry and it was a total out of body experience, sitting there still and numb and sad and broken and feeling it. Really feeling it, the weight of it, of past mistakes and transgressions, of mistakes made and friends laid to rest, of enemies and drugs, of Harleys and Hell, beatings both verbal and physical. I have lived a life that has made me cold; however, I think I’m starting to truly thaw in the warmth of the promise of a future I never dreamed would be mine. I cried, and I laughed, and I remembered…and then I let a lot of it go. Don’t get me wrong, it’s never gone, but there comes a time when you really have to accept the past and put it back in its place; that is, as a guiding light to remind you who you are, who you were, and where you want to be.

Anyways, the point of it all is that I’d be a liar if I told you that I’m over my friend’s death, because I’m not. I’m sad, I’m angry, and I’m grieving; however, I’m happy to be alive, to be free, to be happy and healthy and loved. My friend’s death is not in vain – she’ll forever inspire me to enjoy every minute that much more. Life is fleeting, and I feel that we all take that for granted too much and too often. Live, truly live, and be grateful that you’re alive and can do so.

I fell asleep at like 5:30 in the morning, and I had the craziest happiest dreams. When I rolled over this morning and saw the love of my life next to me everything made perfect sense, and I snuggled up next to him after hitting the snooze button with a grin on my lips and an elevated heartrate. I am the luckiest woman alive. Vega STILL gives me butterflies (and I have a feeling that he always will).

We finally got out of bed around 1:00, had a cup of coffee and a few cigarettes, then I showered and got dressed (in some amazingly obnoxious fluorescent pink jeans) and had a rip and a smoke before heading off to the Westrock Tattoo Convention in Saanich. We got there and were both giddy as could be, artist shopping and portfolio ogling. I managed to get my shitty old prison-style tatt fixed up by the wonderful mister Mike from Incendiary Tattoos (they’re in Esquimalt, and if you’re looking for trad, Mike’s your guy) for a nominal fee. Of course, we knew some of the same folks, and had a good laugh while I was getting touched up. Aside: real tattoo machines hurt a fuck ton less than Bic pens with jury-rigged motors do. Anyways. Vega also found an unbelievably talented artist who is in the running for the prestige of tattooing a large portion of my handsome man, and it was overall a great expo full of wonderful art, lots of inspiration, and some serious talent. Big ups.

Madchild also performed this evening, which was a MAJOR highlight of the day for this girl. Special guest Slain from La Coka Nostra tore up the stage as well as Ad Lib; however, Mad killed it. Like, slaughtered it. The crowd was small and mostly tweenies, I got waved up to the front of the stage via security (after a knowing little nod was passed forth from the ill villain) and got a handshake, a wink, and a smile before my favorite track off the album was played. You guys, “It Gets Better” almost brought me to tears this evening – the entirety of this year has been a turning point for me; however, that was a lynchpin kind of moment. It DOES get better, it really does. Plus, it’s kind of fun having enough cred to have security put you front and (slightly off-)center. There are few perks to the lifestyle I used to lead, and I don’t mind a little VIP treatment here and there as  fallout. Hah.

Now, we’re at home and relaxing – Vega is cooking us up some steaks and yam fries (which smell AMAZING, by the by), I kind of want to hit the bong (scratch that, I will be hitting the bong), and though I still feel kind of messy and sad and down, I also feel at peace.

I am truly, deeply, seriously grateful for how my life turned out. And no, I’m not trying to “be a martyr,” as my mom would claim; however, I’m happy that I carry the weight of it all with me everywhere I go. I don’t think I’d get as much unbridled joy and appreciation out of things now if it weren’t for the shit I put myself through back then.

Anywhore. This post is becoming too personal and circular and I think it’s high time (ha!) that I take my introspective bullshit outside and mull it over while I float away on strange clouds.

For now,

Wallace, out.

Much Awaited (and long overdue) Catch-Up On The Mia-verse! (or, “Sorry I’ve Been Terrible At Blogging Lately!”)

Hello dear readers!
Have you missed me yet? I’ve missed y’all! The blog stats are through the goddamn roof this month so far (as of 8:25pm PST, we’re looking at 6,554 unique visitors, 240 comments, and a whole schwack of shares on Reddit, Pinterest and Twitter), and I’d like to take a minute to say a huge THANK YOUto every single one of you who take the time out of your day to read my ramblings. It truly means the world to me, and I’m so excited that if the metrics stay where they lie now, we should hit 10,000 visitors by the first EIB-anniversary! You guys rock my fuckin’ world, seriously.

Seriously, y’all. Thank you so much. ❤

Alrighty, so. Update on my life. So much has happened lately that I barely know where to start! I suppose where I left off would be a good place, no? Freelancing, that’s where I was at. I was ghostwriting a bunch of (rather uninteresting) articles while I was hunting for a job, and that was good practice for a professional writer, let me tell you. It also kept my sanity (somewhat) intact while I underwent the seemingly fruitless and hugely frustrating task of hunting for a job for the first time in a year in a new city. Whoever said that looking for a job is a fulltime job in and of itself was painfully correct. Anywhore, it was a semi-frustrating, semi-badass couple of days writing for 12 hours straight about automotive insurance and pallet racking systems…can’t say that I wrote anything I’m spectacularly proud of; however, I can now officially say that I’ve been paid to write. One step closer to the dream, right? One day. One day I will be an author. At this point, I don’t even care how long it takes; but, that’s a tangent for another day.

This is basically how it feels to have 10,000 words to write within an eight hour window, encapsulated nicely in a hilarious gif for your enjoyment.

Where was I again? my brain is just everywhere today. OH YEAH – job hunting. So, can’t lie, this whole finding employment after not having had to have done so for a year was intimidating, frustrating, and pretty much awful. That said, I did find a job – a mighty sweet job – completely by fluke. I’d stopped into a coffee shop in Chinatown on one of my (many, many, many) “let’s hand out 50 resumes today and see where we get” adventures, and offhandedly left one with the barista after downing my quad short Americano. Lo and behold, the very day I had decided to just give the fuck up, they called me in for an interview! I got the job (woo!), have now passed my probation (WOO!), am learning to use the espresso machine (Woohoo!), and have received my first raise (WOOHOO!). It’s a great little joint in a super eclectic and interesting part of the city, my coworkers are radballs, and I’m officially worth something (monetary, anyways) once again! Such a relief! It’s also 2/3 of the reason why I’ve been failing to update here – it’s been busy. But, I’m working on it, and slowly (but surely) my schedule is once again falling into place. Life is (once again) falling into place. And my habit of using superfluous parentheses is still intact.

Basically how I feel about things right meow.

Also exciting, my passport finally arrived! I am so unbelievably fucking stoked about this I can’t even. Literally everything about the acquisition of said documentation was stressful as all hell – from getting my documents back from my parents, to the fact that I waited until the trip was 8 weeks away, to the seemingly endless waiting game…BUT – it all worked out, I am passport-clad until 2023, and I must say that my photo is rather spectacular (I  look skinny, my hair is rad, and I don’t have my convict face rockin’). I feel so free having this in my hands it is insane! As somebody who used to mean the world to me used to say, “if you do what you’re supposed to be doing, things will fall into place.” She was wrong about a lot of things, but that one was on point. Its these things that make life feel right somehow in a way that very little else can – I mean, the day to day of being with Vega, of being in the 250, that much is easy to see. The bigger things take proof these days for me to accept, and I got a big dose of reassurance that I’m on the right path today. Seriously, I’m just fucking thrilled. And I’m all of an hour from Seattle…I see many a roadtrip in mine and Vega’s futures!

While we’re on the subject of Victoria and all that jazz, I thought I’d take a minute to express my utter glee at being an official resident of the 250. It is spectacular living here, and I draw that distinction because although I made many a trek down here during my club days (that’s a story for another day but whatever), I never got to experience the city for all it’s worth. In the past few weeks, Vega and I have:
-gone for a hike to a gorgeous lake with his coworker on a Friday afternoon (where we said hello to Mary Jane and went for a swim)
-seen a floating symphony orchestra perform during sunset on the harbour, which was a magical and beautiful and wonderfully romantic date night
-discovered the most wonderful path to get to the local grocery store, which takes us through a gorgeous forest (and also, multiple blackberry bushes and plum trees)
-seen a metal show at Lucky’s bar (Torrefy, Vesperia, Crimson Shadows, and Unleash the Archers)
-fallen in love with the vibrant, eccentric, lively, and ever-shifting landscape (both the people and the nature)
Basically, we love it here (I shouldn’t speak for Vega but I’m taking the liberty to do so anyways..haha love yoooou!), and I foresee many a happy day spent here for years to come. There’s something to be said for coastal life!

It certainly is more relaxed a pace than that of Oil Rig Town

Hmm, what else to divulge… OH YEAH. So Vega and I are into our third week of a Whole30, and I’m pleased to announce that I’ve definitely lost a couple inches! I miss beer, but that’s okay – I’ll be able to imbibe a little on the 31st for the UFC fights. I’m thinking that watching the fights at the 4-mile might be a good usage of my time and calories for the day haha 🙂 All the same, it’s been a good few weeks of eating right and moving more. That’s the key folks. A calorie’s a calorie, no matter how small. Healthy mentality + healthy food + move more than you consume = weight dropped. I promise I’m not getting all freaky deaky again; however, I also made a pact with myself to be comfortable in my bathing suit by the time we go vacationing in September. Attainable goal, check. Insert minor freakout induced by pending vacation excitement—>here.

Me right now

 

Also in the “things that Mia is way too excited about” category is this upcoming Saturday. Why, you ask? Welp, it turns out that Mddchild is playing at the Victoria Tattoo Expo (tangent: “Lawnmower Man.” Download it. Right the fuck now. SO GOOD!!). And I’m not working. And I’m going to spend the day ogling tattoos, AND SEEING MY FAVORITE FUCKING CANADIAN ARTIST EVER. I have also become privy to the knowledge that the deposit on my tatt with the artist I want will be max $100.00, so we can all safely assume that come November, my sleeve will be done. We can all also safely assume that I am entirely too excited about the coalescence of these two magical and happy-inducing things. Insert overexcitement—>here.

Basically. My first rap concert ever? Swollen Members, 2001. I think I actually love them more now that I’m older. Always been there for my earholes, they have been!

Besides all of that, I believe that’s a fair 1300-odd word summation of where I’m at and where I’ve been lately. Life’s legitimately good, and that’s still super weird. Slowly though, the fog is lifting–the scars of my past (both mental and physical) are beginning to fade, and things are starting to make sense again. I find myself lost in this strange sense of peace – something that my dear friend MJ described in Endure perfectly – “…peace, like I’d never felt before. I understood what the word meant academically, but I’d never felt it like this.” Truer words, never spoken. I used to find solace in the insanity, and I’m learning with every passing day here on the island with my Vega that it is an entirely possible and attainable thing to find the same solace in sanity. Perhaps this is the cusp of the BHAG finally taking hold over the bullshit. To quote Bukowski, “what matters most is how well you walk through the fire,” and I believe I have made my way through Hell relatively unscathed. If 13 year old me could see how 23 year old me turned out, I think she’d be a little bit more than proud.

 

Gratuitous cute:

D’AWWW!!

For now,

Wallace, out.

 

 

 

“Every day is a new box, boys.”

“It’s hard not to hate. People, things, institutions; when they break your spirit and take pleasure in watching you bleed, hate is the only feeling that makes sense.  I know what hate does to a man. It tears him apart, turns him into something he’s not, something he promised himself thait’s t he’d never become. That’s what I need to tell you to let you know how hard I am trying not to cave under the weight of all the awful things I feel in my heart.
Sometimes my life feels like a deadly balancing act, when I feel slamming up against what I should do, impulsive reactions racing to solutions miles ahead of my brain. When I look at my day, I realize that most of it was spend cleaning up the damage of the day before. In that life I don’t have a future, all I have is distraction and remorse. I buried my best friend three days ago. As cliché is this sounds, I left part of me in that box. A part I barely knew, a part I’ll never see again. Every day is a new box boys, you open it and take a look at what’s inside. You’re the one who determine if it’s a gift or a coffin.”

(Charlie Hunnam as Jax Teller, from Sons of Anarchy season 5, episode 5, “Orca Shrugged”)
____________________________________________________________

Hello blogosphere, happy hump day to you! Before I dive into the thoughts I’ve got rolling about in my cranium, first thing’s first – it’s time for some gratuitous cute:

D’awwwww! Fuzzy and snuggly and AWW INDUCING.

Now that you’ve got a smile on your face, I’ll get right to it. It, of course, being a massive brain dump. Ever have one of those days where you wake up and suddenly feel like you’ve got ten thousand things you want to say? That’s Mia most days, it just seems amplified today to a ridiculous degree. Anyways. I’d like to harken back to the quote with which I opened this blog entry; which is, of course from my favorite episode of the last season of Sons (aside: I am still very impatiently awaiting September and season 6 – I really can’t even try to explain how much I want it to just be on the air NOW). That monologue has stuck with me from the very first time I heard it, and I woke up with it ringing in my ears.

Hate. Admit it or not, it’s something that we all grapple with–we’re taught from early on that we shouldn’t hate, that we should be accepting of people and situations and to see the good side of things rather than to dwell in our frustrations and allow that to fester into a negative state of being. I believe in this, and I believe in it wholeheartedly, but the truth of the matter is that to this very day I find myself struggling with allowing myself to let go of the hatred I feel towards certain people; after all, vindication would be sweet in pretty well all of these instances…I’ll get back to that train of thought in a bit, though.

When I look back upon my life, especially the last year of it, I realize that for too much of it I didn’t allow myself to even feel the hatred I’d welled up within myself. As far back as I can remember into my childhood, I remember a feeling of fear. I remember feeling terrified of not doing well enough (in school, sports, et cetera), of not being good enough (physically, mentally, et cetera), and generally, of disappointing my (impossible to please) parents and of not being a good enough big sister to the baby brother whom I love so very much. Over time, the fear turned to panic–which led me to leave–and then, the panic turned to depression–which caused me to carry more guilt on my shoulders than anyone every should. It took me until about a year ago to realize the truth behind these emotions, their honest causation. Truth is that my mother is largely narcissistic–and growing up under that paradigm caused me to undertake large part of her personal burdens and shortcomings. I don’t think that she fully intended to stick me with her own bullshit, but she did. And upon realizing that, I began to wholeheartedly hate her. I hated her existence, I hated the fact that she’d been so selfish as to have a child (me) that I don’t think she ever really wanted, I hated her for who she was and moreso, for who she wasn’t. I hated the fact that no matter what I did or didn’t do, who I did or didn’t become, I’d never be enough for her. Same goes for my dad–I hated so much about him, so many things he’d said to me over the years that hurt more than any physical pain I’ve ever endured, that I was drowning in my own vitriol towards them. It took me close to 21 years of my life to figure  out what the hell it was that I was truly feeling towards them, and only in the last three months or so have I finally managed to lay the hatred to rest (for the most part) and accept that I can’t change them–I don’t have the energy to expend on hating them anymore–and rather than being a “coffin,” every day that passes without them now is instead a gift–one that I give to myself, and one that I enjoy unwrapping.

Jax gets it–as far as they’re concerned, all I have is apathy.

Same thing goes (kinda) for the ghosts of my relationships past. When you don’t know that you’re worth more than what you grew up with (aside: this is where I once again beg and plead with all the parents out there–remember that what’s minor to you can be major to your kids! Accept them, love them, challenge them, but don’t try to change them into who they’re not. The crisis of self you’re making them grow up with (with no basis of understanding that life doesn’t have to be that way) is cruel and totally unjust), you tend to settle for so much less than you’re worth that it’s actually depressing (looking back, that is. When you’re in the midst of it, it all seems perfectly normal and justifiable). I’m living proof of this, over and over in my life the men (ahem..boys…) I’ve been involved with have, up until Vega, all been users, abusers, and losers. I settled for the Englishman who was “too good” to be with an “ethnic” girl (yet, who lived in my apartment and ate my food and smoked my pot); for the “big shot” who introduced me to the club life (then got pissed when I moved up higher than he ever will), who only thought I was “kinda cute” (and who enabled my eating disorder), and who physically and mentally abused me (“for my own good), then ended up begging for me back after I left his sorry ass; for the “Good Guy,” who still lived at home (and I am willing to bet will never leave his mama’s side), had a job (and yet, only ever worked for three months), was free and clear from the club (although had a diehard obsession with being a “gangstah”), and who was supposed to be gentle and kind (however is the cause for the burns all over me and for my falling the deepest I ever did into my anorexia). Not a single man I was with before Vega actually gave two shits about me. I was there to pay the bills, to look good on their arms when we’d go out (and to pretend not to mind when I caught them wandering off with other women), and to be the receiving end of their physical and mental abuses. Given that was basically the paradigm I grew up with at home (less the paying the bills part), how was I truly supposed to recognize this as wrong? Well. Thanks to Sunshine crossing a major line in a major way, and thanks to the aforementioned realization that the hatred I felt towards my parents was justified, I found the strength to leave. And after I left, I found the solace in hatred; the comfort in allowing myself to feel the rage and the angst and the disgust towards not only Sunshine, but the KFP and all the others before them.

This nicely summates how I felt about them all after I left Sunshine.

When I was living with Dee, I’d pretty much sworn off men for that reason (besides the ones I have as friends, because friendship has always been easier with guys for me; and, of course, the occasional fuck buddy). She’s actually the one who convinced me to go meet Vega the first time, and I credit her for taking me out of my hate filled coffin and pushing me back into the realm of being open to meeting new people. So I met my now fiancé, and I made it clear that I’d been burned (literally and physically), and I realized that there are amazing men in the universe–I just had to give myself enough credit, and I had to stop allowing losers to be what I settled for. Truth be told, I was petrified the night I met Vega. I was even more afraid when I realized that I really, really liked him (for fear that he was out of my league), and I was more than a little bit relieved when I realized that he was everything I’d ever wanted and a whole shitload more. Relationships used to be a coffin (hell, had I stayed with a few of my past exes, I’d probably be in one right now), but the one I’m in now is a gift. I wake up excited every single day for the simple fact that it’s another day I get to spend in the company of my best friend (who just so happens to be the love of my goddamn life). The hate I felt towards the idiots of my past has morphed into something more subtle these days, rather than wanting to kill all the things, I instead feel sorry for them–they didn’t see my worth (and I doubt that any of them will ever come down off their high horses enough to see the worth of anybody except the highly inflated versions of themselves that they seem to want people to worship), and now, every single one of them is (terminally) single. Not. My. Loss.

Nelson’s got it right.

 

So, to go back to the idea of vindication and how freakin’ sweet it would be to have the chance to get mine (in most cases), I think that at the end of the day, it’s somewhat a moot point when it comes to the people that fuel(ed) the fires of hate in me, when that hatred is responsible for the best possible outcomes of my existence finally coming to fruition. For a long time, I (like Jax) spent every day of my life cleaning up the messes left behind from the day before. The fact of the matter is that in allowing the negativity to build in my life was my choice–though the vast majority of the bullshit was the bullshit that others piled upon me, I still ended up being the one spiraling–and when it was all said and done, I ended up close to self destructing (case in point: the recovery ward). I used to be of the opinion that it would be the ultimate redemption to make all of the people who hurt me in my past hurt like they’d made me, cry as much as they’d made me, doubt themselves as much as they made me. I used to have visions of grandiose retribution, and before Vega was a part of my existence, it did make me feel marginally better to allow myself to daydream of being the one on the powerful end of the stick.

I know that feel, Dexter.

Anyways, you’re all well versed in the story of how Vega swept me off of my feet, and the further I allowed myself to fall and the more I allowed my guard to drop, the less important the need for retribution became. In fact, the apathy I feel towards my parents is magnified by a billion when it comes to my exes–they not only have to live with themselves, they have to live with themselves without ever moving forwards, and I get to sit back and enjoy the rest of my life with someone who not only wants to be a part of my life, but accepts me for me, and makes me a better person. My vindication comes from knowing that my hatred fueled a fire under my ass–to be a better person, to choose better people to share my life with, and to live a happier life. In fact, I’m convinced that if I hadn’t at one time felt that amount of hate, felt like I was being buried alive, that I would not be able to appreciate the choice to make every day a positive one rather than a chore. That, my friends, is the ultimate form of revenge. It’s beyond anything I ever could have imagined, and literally all I have to do is live my life.

I guess it’s somewhat redundant of me to type out another 2000-odd words on this very revelation I’ve had, but at the same time, I am continuously blowing my own mind with the realization that my life is what I make of it, and I’ve made it through and past the shittiest parts of it relatively unscathed. I don’t really know how to justify in my own head as of yet that this isn’t all just a dream and that this isn’t someone else’s life that I’m looking at with longing. The facts are simple–I’m happy, healthy, loved and whole–and that is simply amazing to me. As I near the end of my time in my hometown and prepare to move on to a new city to have new adventures with the love of my life and poochie fantastico, it seems that every loose end I tie up leaves me more and more certain that happiness is equal parts chance and choice. The chance side of it comes from the cards you’re dealt–and the choice is how you end up playing them. If you’re one of the lucky ones who ends up with a full house off the bat, you have the choice to bet huge and make the best of it; and if you’re dealt a shit hand, it’s your choice to bluff through it with a smile and still have a shot at winning the game.

The choice is ultimately yours. Today, tomorrow, and the rest of forever is but a new (proverbial) box. The question is, will you choose for it to be a coffin, or a gift?

On that note, I am off to kill the 15th day of the May plank-off challenge (2 1/2 minutes, let’s doooo thisssss), take Visa for a walk (it is an absolutely gorgeous day), and see what the rest of my Hump Day holds.

More when there is more, and there’s always more.

Wallace, out.