TWBITW Returns!

Update from TWBITW

Howdy, blogoverse!
How have y’sall been doing? I know, I know, I’ve pretty much abandoned you since…almost a month ago, making me TWBITW (The Worst Blogger In The World) (SORRY!); however, before I get into the meat and potatoes of this post, I wanted to take a couple minutes to share some metrics for the month and (once again! You guys are the best, I absolutely love my readers and the community this blog has opened up to me!) extend the biggest THANK YOU that I possibly can via the internet. Each and every last one of you hasd contributed to a successful blog – in fact, more successful than I ever imagined that it could be!

As of right now (3:31 PM pst; Wednesday, February 5th, 2014), we’re at:
-15,638 Unique visitors from 40+ countries (and steadily counting)
-31 unique visitors today alone
-318 comments
-85 blog subscribers (those of you who get an email every time I post)
-15 Tumblr. subscribers
-37 Facebook followers
-2 Twitter followers

HOLY LIVING SHIT YOU GUYS. I LEAVE FOR A MONTH (almost) AND THE METRICS STAY THIS GREAT? I have no words. I really don’t. The best I can say is “THANKS!,” and I hope you know that I mean if from the bottom of my wee black heart.

Anywhore, it’s been a busy busy BUSY month, and I have a shitpile to tell y’all, so let’s get started shall we?

When I last wrote to you, I’d just started the new job. Well, a month in and I still absolutely LOVE it. In fact, I’ve gotten a micropromotion – added Social Media Manager to my title, and as a super awesome added bonus perk, I now get paid to BLOG! Seriously! I’m not going to link you to it here in the name of maintaining a modicum of anonymity; however, it gives me the opportunity to write (A LOT!!) about finance (yay!), being a millennial in the workplace (yay!) and inject some personailty into my job’s online presence. Overall, I’d say that it’s a major fucking WIN, especially since I’m salaried anjd therefore protected from some of the nonsense that comes along with freelancing. Not quite an author per se, but writing my wee heart out nonetheless. It feels right, and it’s doing wonders for our SEO, so I must be doing something right, hey? Haha, I kid – I KNOW this is the right thing, the right place, the right time. Professional life is on point.

You won’t know this by the time that I publish this post, but right now, I’m actually not at work – I’m awaiting Brother Vega to come meet me and guide me through some Facebook/Twitter issues I’m now having to deal with on the comnpany’s behalf (natch, thre dream job comes with some expected headaches); and I gotta say, it’s damned nice being able to cut out of the office to come do some work at a coffee shop with my not-blood-brother, who is hilarious and awesome and can hopefully help me break the Internet. Perks of desk jobs #332: remote work, and coffee shop meetings that let me effectively leave my job two hours earlier than usual. Big girl job = way the fuck better than barista. I’m just not cut out for retail after all these years – I crave stability, challenge, and the opportunity ton advance these days more than I do easy money from gracious tips.

So that’s work. Tl;dr – work is great, got a promotion a week in, get paid to write for the majority of my day now. Win.

Moving onwards, I suppose the next highlight from the past month was attending an industry conference with Vega in Anaheim at the end of January (perks of desk jobs #339: the ability to take a weeek off because of the magic that is working remote), and it was seriously just awesome. Out of respect for Vega’s privacy, I won’t say too much about what conference I attended (it’s the biggest trade show in his industry, and I met Kerry King, and was two feet from Stevie Wonder. Twice. That’s all ya get!); however, I will say that it was absolutely wonderful to see my man in action, to spend some quality time with him on a short little vacay, and (of course) to walk around Cali for a couple days – one of my favorite places to go, and made much better by being there with my love! And yes, before the questions roll in, this was bthe same conference he was at last year when we’d only technically met once and before he’d come to visit me in the 506.

That’s the vacay, Tl;dr – went to Cali with my beau for just under a week, rubbed shoulders with some musical bigwigs, saw my man in action as a sexy businessman, relaxed a bunch. Win.

Otherwhore, not a bunch of outwardly thrilling stuff. Got my taxes done (2009-2012…DON’T BE LIKE ME KIDS. DON’T DO IT), which ended up netting me an additional 1000$+ that I hadn’t been anticipating. It’d be cool if the CRA would be snappy about processing those…but until they do, I’ll just keep checking the mailbox compulsively and praying that the Tax Accountant Gods are kind and quick! I also got myself a credit card (after having royally fucked my credit up at 19…it’s been a long road with a lot of learning curves thrown in for good measure), which should be in my hands by the end of the week! YAY! PULLING MYSELF TOGETHER FEELS SO GOOD. I got the man of my dreams, I live in the city of my dreams, I have the job of my dreams…my turn to put myself into the financial situation of my dreams, and I’m making great headway! It’s so so so exciting to be taking real consideration towards my future, what I want to achieve, and not only reaching my goals, but blowing them out of the fucking water on the whole. Also exciting is the prospect of getting all my stuff (a lot of stuff, cds, posters, clothes, etc) back from my parents ASAFP. I’m still awaiting a final date from the shipping company (ughhh), but the long and short of it is, that once I have my stuff back 100% of my loose ends are OFFICIALLY TIED UP, BEEYOTCH! Hell to the yes. Tl;dr – getting my finances in order and it feels so go-oo-oo-oo-d.

(For the record, it’s 10:14pm now. Vega is at hockey, and TWBITW is finbally finishing this entry!) Yeah. So I had my meeting with Brother Vega, which was good! I was sitting at the wrong coffee shop (derp), but when we found each other he helped me conclude that I’m somewhat fucked but also somewhat okay. So there’s that. After we finished up, I caught the bus home and was thoroughly entertained by the  meth head and the crack head who couldn’t quiiiiite communicate. Vega and I had some quality time together, then dinner, then he left for hockey. I have so far picked my outfit for work tomorrow, chatted with some friends, and taken a shower. Now, I’m listening to 90s hip hop and enjoying the heater!

Tomorrow, I’m hoping to FINALLY get back in the gym after last week’s unexpected cold from hell (oh yeah, I was sick last week and worked from home two days out of five – perks of having a desk job #235: remote work. Aww yeah.)) – Vega and I signed up for a gym membership in December, and I’ve been going hard with him with the weights. According to him, my ass looks better already – and my jeans are certainly fitting nicer again. It’s exciting doing this weightlifting stuff – I am eating ALL THE THINGS and still losing weight. Lift heavy things, put them down. Repeat. Go home. EAT ALL THE THINGS. Sleep. DOMS. Repeat ad infinitum. I can’t wait to be stronger – it feels nice feeling my body catch up to my mental strength. If that made no sense, blame “good advice” (hahaha, I think you’re the only one whoi’ll get that one, Vega).

Anyways, I think I’m gonna call this a post and go make a smoothie. Oh, munchies. Why do you always want ice cream?

For now,

TWBITW (Wallace), out.

PS: We’re up to 15,662 unique views as of 10:31pm. ❤

“The universe works on a math equation/ That never really ends in the end”

Happy Sunday, blogoverse!

Hopefully your weekends have been relaxing and fun – Vega and I are pulling an infamous all-nighter this evening, so I figured it was the perfect time for me to update y’all on how things are going and get a few things off my wee chest. It’s been an interesting couple of days for sure, and hell – how better to spend a night than writing (intermittently) anyways?

This captures me pretty well.

Yesterday night was lots of fun – we had Veggie, Chef and Mouth over and spent the evening watching shit on YouTube and talking about life. Those are by far three of the best people I’ve ever met – Vega, you’re awesome and you have amazing friends (that are now my friends, too). Basically the only thing that makes me somewhat hesitant about moving are my friends – the aforementioned three Musketeers, Scissors, Brother W, Dee…there are definitely some fantastic people who I’m going to miss very much. Hopefully, they’ll come out and visit us on the island. It’s pretty badass knowing that they’re all rooting for Vega and I though – life goes on, things shift and evolve, and people move – the people that matter; however, will remain in your life regardless of where you may be. This much, I have learned to be true (30+ moves in 5 years gives me the authority to speak on this matter), and the truth is, I’m lucky enough to be surrounded by the world’s freakin’ best. It’s extra badass that these folks have our backs, regardless of physical proximity. I love you guys, each and every one. I don’t tell my friends this enough. The last week has served as a brutal but necessary reminder for me (and for us all, really) to do so. Thank you, all of you, who’ve been there through the worst and for the best.

E-hugs for everyone I love ❤

Today started at 5:07pm, when I finally rolled over in my lovely love’s arms and got a smile and a kiss. Best way to start the day, hands down. We had a cup of coffee and a smoke over an episode of The Simpsons, then got dressed and made pilgrimage to Safeway for necessities (pork chops, pork roast, pesto-making supplies, and paleo-dessert-making supplies). When we got home, Vega made the aforementioned pesto (fucking delectable, Vega wins at sauces), I made the aforementioned dessert (chocolate-coconut-almond butter bars), and then dinner (pork chops with pesto and cabbage/broccoli sauté), which we ate while watching “RIP: A Remix Manifesto” (which, by the way, centers around my buddy Greg, aka Girl Talk). Following noms, Vega did some packing, I re-listed stuff on Kijiji, and we’ve been listening to the sweet sounds of the ’90s. Since we got both those to-do’s crossed off our respective lists, Vega has been working away and I’ve been blogging away. Our night, my friends, is still very young indeed. We’re doing this all-nighter thing out of necessity; Vega has a course to attend early in the morning, and we have a shitpile of random things to finish before the move.

our battle cry, Vega!

I don’t mind being nocturnal so much, especially when it’s in the name of making progress with the pending move. I can barely believe it’s only eleven days away…It’s such an exciting promise, a clean break and a fresh start. I think Vega’s getting pretty excited himself (albeit a touch apprehensive, which is completely understandable!), and it’s pretty ridiculously badass that our summer is going to be spent putting down our roots in our new city, making new friends and having new adventures together. In fact, the best birthday present I could ever fathom is soon to be a reality – that is, dream city, dream man, dream life; mine and Vega’s for the taking and the making. It spins my head still on a consistent basis that this is, in fact, my life. How I got so lucky in so many ways? I still don’t know. I kind of don’t care to at this juncture, life requires some mystery and wonder even as an adult. Growing older? Inevitable. Growing up? Optional.

WOOP WOOP! IT’S (almost) GO TIME!

It’s also been somewhat a frustrating few days bearing a few family issues in mind. First of all, Father’s Day. I hate it; and no, not because I hate my father. What I hate about it is much harder to explain, but since I have the time and it’s weighing heavy on my mind, I’m sure as fuck going to try. I don’t think my dad envisioned life as a father when he was my age. From what I know of my dad, he would have been content as hell living his life simply, a single (not necessarily alone, just not married with kids) man who had all the time in the world to work. Now, don’t misconstrue this – he was a great dad in the sense that he always provided for us, and undoubtedly loves his family. However (and this is a big however), he’s also never made any illusions about his role as a parent – he maintained from a very early point in my life that as long as I grew up to be a good person and an independent woman, his job would effectively be done and he would effectively cease and desist. “If we grow up to be friends,” he’d say, “bonus. If not, I’m still happy as long as you’re capable and happy.” Those words used to haunt me as a kid, long before I even thought about leaving home. I couldn’t fathom a world without my dad, my hero. I made myself worry sick about that for years. What if I grew up and he didn’t like me? What if his prophecy came to be? Life went on, and indeed we have had our differences. I look back now, and I mourn for the little girl I used to be, for the best friend I used to have in my dad. I know he loves me to this very day, but it tears me up inside every single fucking Father’s day – as always, he was right. I wish in many respects that this wasn’t the case. I still love you, Pops. I am sorry for the mistakes of my past, but I refuse to apologize for who I have become. I wish that wasn’t an it all end all situation for us as it stands. If there is anybody I miss in this world, it’s you, Dad.

I always loved this song, but it makes so much more sense at this juncture in life than it ever did as a kid..

Second on the docket of happy family issues is that of trying to calmly and rationally and respectfully broach the subject of my disinterest in trying to achieve the impossible: that is, a peaceful and bullshit free dinner date with my parents. Believe me, it would fill me with immense joy to sit down and have an uneventful, pleasant meal with my folks; however, the sad truth is that this just won’t be the case. I have moved on, forgiven my parents, (in large part) forgotten about the things that hurt me deeply for a very long time. Unfortunately, my parents (my mother, especially) refuse to put the past in the past. Granted, I’ll hear that it’s in the past and where it should be, but I’ve played this game before. Things always start pleasant enough, and then somewhere during the appetizer, invariably my fuck ups, my transgressions and my failures get brought up in some way or another. There is no appropriate response to this (I’ve learned) other than my silence, my bowed head, my acceptance of the re-opening of wounds decades deep. Now, if I accept it silently, I am doing myself and everything I have built for myself by myself a disservice; however, if I bring to the table their fuck ups, their transgressions, and their failures, I am instantly an idiot, or delusional, or (and I quote) “refusing to take ownership of my life”. Sorry Mom, you make the world’s most delicious beef Stroganoff, but not even that is going to be enough to make me put us all through the wringer again. It isn’t fair to anybody – you included – for me to willingly accept an invitation to something that is forced, awkward, and unpleasant at very best. When you actually forgive me, as I’ve forgiven you, let me know. We can possibly and potentially work from there. But, as it stands, you aren’t there yet, and that’s okay. I can’t rush you, I can only hope that maybe the day will come when you read this and truly feel the way I do. The resentment you hold in your heart is so painfully obvious to me that it seems more prudent to distance myself for the time being. Growing up sucks, you’re definitely right about that. In regards to my relationship with both you and Dad, I long deeply for the easy days of my childhood. You were both my heroes, you know that, right?

“Little Miss Sunshine” says it all better than I can.

Ho hum. I think that’s enough family drama for the time being. There is of course more which I mull over all the goddamned time, but it’ll come out in the was on its own time. I’ve never actually taken the time to write about the prior two issues – they’re always there, but I usually try not to let myself wallow too much for too long. Old habit, needs to end. I’m taking baby steps here, guys. Sitting here in tears after finally getting all of that off of my chest is painful – more painful than I can even begin to describe – but it’s absolutely motherfucking necessary for my sake. I may have found it in me to forgive, but that comes along with a massive gaping black hole where my heart should be. Time to heal up, time to get stronger, and time to move forwards in my life. I can’t change people, but I can sure as hell change how people affect me, and how I allow those affectations to translate into my daily life. No more sadness from here on out, time to live the life I’ve always assumed was so far out of my grasp that I dared not to even dream of it. As I sit here, listening to the sounds of my angsty preteen days (back when I lived in my bedroom at my parent’s house, hours of my life behind that closed door with Queens of the Stone Age playing and an art project on the go), I am equal parts melancholic and relieved. I made it, and I made it here in large part on my own. They gave me the tools, but I built this person, this life, and this future. If they can’t be proud of that, then maybe I did make some sage decisions at a young age.

fuckin’ eh.

Also on my mind today, my lingering frustration over having had my running schedule all fucked up thanks to the deathcold that I’ve recently (knock on wood) slayed with the assistance of the better part of a week spent in bed with NyQuil and Fisherman’s Friend. I’m a week behind, I’m still stuffed up and coughing, and I feel like going out for a five miler tomorrow would be both an exercise in futility and a horrible setback for me. So, I’ve made an executive decision (trust, the non-executives aren’t thrilled), which is that I am putting the summer running challenge on hold until Vega and I are safe and sound in the 250. As much as the decision pains me, it also is the wise thing to do. I need to heal up and get to 100% for the move, and it isn’t fair nor productive for me to force myself to run when I am feeling shitty still. Underwhelming runs will only lead me to depression. So. The flipside of this is that I am also going to re-launch the challenge for those who’d like to run it with me – keep your eyes peeled for the official announcement of such in early July. Until then, I’m sticking with a shit ton of Yoga and some casual (short) runs (when my lungs clear up, I’m still hawking some gnarly loogies).

Yoga LOLz

Anywhore, that’s about where I’m at today. Still hurt and still hurting from last week’s loss, still reeling over the appropriate manner in which I should attempt relations with my family, still excited as fuck about Victoria. In short, I’m exactly where I should be – given that so much is about to change for the better, I firmly believe that it’s just the way of the world that in the meantime I’m preoccupied with the less than savory (and still open) wounds of my past. Vega and I are both works in progress, and it’s part of what I love the most about our relationship. Separately, we’re both two individuals with plenty of cracks; however, put us together, and we’re stronger than anything life can throw at us. It’s something I certainly don’t take for granted, and the reason why I want to work on my flaws. I want to be better, not only for myself, but for him – for us. The excess baggage of days long past isn’t something easy to cast aside, but I’m working on it; exactly the same way he’s working on himself, and precisely why we work together so damned well. I really want to start working seriously on my book when I get out to BC. I think the simple action of writing it out will help so immensely it makes me smile; and it finally, finally feels like I’m ready to start this life-long dream project of mine.

I foresee plenty of this in my future – writing is truly a challenge, even for the most talented writers.

For now my friends, I’m going to call this a post and go take a shower. Plenty to do tomorrow, and I hate going out with wet hair.

Gratuitous cute:

For now,

Wallace, out.

“And any man who knows a thing, knows he knows not a goddamn thing at all”

“Nothin’ is perfect man/
That’s what the world is/
 All I know is/
I’m enjoyin’ today/
You know/
‘Cause it ain’t every day that you get to give/”
(from “Take a Minute” – K’Naan)
_______________________________________________

Hello again, blogoverse.

I may or may not still be in a state of shock still, so consider this both my forewarning and advance apology for what may very well be a disjointed and nonsensical post.

my forte.

Despite falling the holy fuck apart following my last post, I still managed to pull myself together enough to lace up my Nikes and hit the pavement. The first two miles were comprised entirely of me bawling my eyes out (aside: faith in humanity was marginally restored during this escapade, as three separate complete strangers took the time to stop me and ask if I was okay) and completely getting lost in my monkey brain – seriously, there are so many thoughts in my head at once sometimes that it’s hard to hear myself over all of the commotion. Halfway through, at the bottom of the big scary hill that I have some personal beef with (note: this hill is massive and steep and neverfuckingending..my Waterloo, if you will), the tears stopped, and were replaced with a quiet calm. It even started to drizzle ever so slightly – I love it when the weather coincides with my mood like that. Long story short, I conquered, nay, SLAYED that hill today, and then continued on (mostly downhill from there, luckily) home.

Wise words in regards to hills.

I finished my 4 miles today in just under 40 minutes; maintained an average pace of 12:27/mile, and got home exhausted, sore, and peaceful. I realized that the tears were just as necessary as the Zen-like trance I felt running along Shaganappi today. Don’t get me wrong; there is a lot of mourning and sadness and disbelief swirling around in my head and my heart this evening, however, what better way to honour the memory of someone who lived such a vibrant and passionate life, than to go and live my life to the fullest possible extent? I had to and will have to continue to feel this – which is why I am 100% alright with making an ass of myself and running while crying my little eyes out. When the brain commotion was happening, I kept getting stuck on this one particular thought:

“Why is it that the shittiest people I know are still here, and a good number of the best ones I’ve known aren’t?”

It is NOT fair. Trust me, I am neither judge, jury, nor executioner; however, I can easily list off a dozen people whom the world would benefit from not having around today. The friend I lost today? NOT FUCKING ONE OF THEM. I ran close to three and a half kilometres stuck on this thought, this vitriol, this unwavering and unadulterated rage at the Universe, at God, at whateverthefuck people believe in. It isn’t funny, it isn’t right, and it isn’t fair. This anger got me to the foot of the hill from Hell – a suitable metaphor, if ever there was one. It isn’t fair. Life, love, hill running… It hurts, it takes so much out of you, makes you question your own capacity to arise and overcome the obstacles inherent in day to day life. It also leaves you with a rather important choice, which is of course whether you’re going to attack the hill with everything you’ve got, or turn right the fuck around and cry about it all the way home.

from “Oh, The Places You’ll Go” – Seuss. Forever a favorite.

Somewhere at the foot of the hill lies all of the rage and confusion and hatred for the treachery that is having to say goodbye to a good friend. I stood there for a minute, wholeheartedly considering turning around, cutting my losses, and calling 3.5 miles as good as 4. Then, the wind started to blow, the rain started to fall ever so lightly, and I realized that the hill is synonymous to all of the other things in my life that I don’t want to face, or think that I shouldn’t have to deal with, or want to sweep under the rug and forget about forever. If I’ve learned anything in life, it’s that the things I face head on – regardless of the pace I keep or the hardships involved – invariably make me a stronger, better person. As soon as I got moving again – steadily forwards and up the damn incline – that thought, that unanswerable question disappeared. There was a moment of revelation and calm in realizing that the hill (as any other difficult thing one may face) truly only wins if I let it. Maybe it was just adrenaline from the news I’d received pre-run, maybe I’m legitimately getting stronger, or maybe it was some straggling energy left behind from my friend in the air, but I outran myself today, in all senses of the expression.

I love this – exactly how I felt when I got home.

In memory of someone who lifted me up when I was at the lowest point of my life, who saw the good and the great and the powerful in me when I couldn’t see it for myself, I proved to myself today that everything they taught me is very much the truth. I can’t control the Universe, but I can control my interaction with it. I choose to be strong and tenacious and true to my word, not only for myself, but for those who aren’t with me any longer and who can’t be strong and tenacious and true to their word in my life anymore. They’re gone – and I can’t change that. I don’t believe in God or angels or Heaven or Hell, but I do believe that the impression somebody makes on you through their lifetime keeps them very much alive for the rest of time – granted that the people that they touch throughout their lifetimes are smart enough to enact the lessons and utilize the knowledge left behind. It’s hard not to give up on the world sometimes – losing seven close personal friends (all too young) within the last two years has definitely showed me the extent to which it is a trying feat at very least – but it’s much easier to deal with when you remember not to give up on yourself. I am not just the sum of all of my parts; rather, I am the sum total of the fragments of others who both enrich and detract from my life. The person who I so proudly am today is a culmination of lessons hard learned, wisdom given freely, and the ability to accept both with dignity, grace, and understanding. That, in and of itself, keeps the ones I’ve lost alive – at least, in my life (and in particular, my times of self-doubt).

Much like this Seurat painting, I am but the sum of thousands and thousands of “points,” lessons learned through love, loss, friendship, grief, wisdom, kindness, and the innumerable other experiences life has (and has yet to) thrown my way.

Following this evening’s workout and a cup of coffee, Vega treated me to a lovely impromptu date night (burger Monday at the local pub), where we sat and talked about life over a Strongbow. I don’t take our relationship for granted; however, following this afternoon, I was extra-grateful for the love of my life this evening. When we got home, I took a long, way-too-hot shower and have since resided to my post on the couch, Vega to my left watching “The Tudors,” poochie fantastico sprawled out beneath the coffee table, and cuppa magical tea in hand. I’m still shaken and shaking – this is truly the perfect place for my head and my heart to be right now. Safe, loved, and peaceful. Sadness is inevitable today (and will be for the next few, I do suspect), but it isn’t going to take control of my life anymore. Hell, there’s no guarantee I’ll wake up tomorrow, so I’ll be making the best of the rest of the time I’ve got on this Earth.

Seize that damn day, folks.

The other thing weighing heavy on my head? Seeing my parents tomorrow. I’ve got confirmation from my Mother in regard to time – but there’s always a niggling little feeling in the back of my head that she’s somehow planning to make this whole endeavour impossible. I just want my damn identification. Some of my books would be an added bonus. I have a modicum of hope that perhaps she’s going to make it simple and as not-unpleasant as she can…but, then I’d be delusional. That just isn’t her style. All I can say is, for the sake of my mental health, I really motherfucking hope that those two pieces of paper are in my hands by 6pm tomorrow evening. One more bullshit excuse about not having time to go to the bank to get them or one more bullshit ultimatum (my mother is the master of this – “you want (insert personal property of your choice that she has no legal right to)? Well, you can have it after you bend over backwards and make yourself sick and miserable and so on”), and I am guaranteed going to go ballistic. It’s the last nicety I need from her (and really, it isn’t but a nicety, it’s my personal identification), and I really, really just want it over and done with so I can turn the page on that part of my life. It’s so over – I reiterate; my forgiveness is hers for the taking, but that is followed solely with apathy. I don’t hate her. I really don’t. Hatred is waaaaaay too much energy to expend on that issue. I really just do not give two shits (well..I won’t, once I have my ID back).

Basically.

Regardless, there were a few good things that went down today – we sold another dresser, a ratchet set, and have a great offer on Vega’s car – and tomorrow I get to see Dee and Baby Dee for a little while, which I’m wholeheartedly looking forwards to. It’s all good and positive energy that way – seventeen days left to tie up loose ends, and certainly, there is a lot of that happening. In fact, saying goodbye to my parents tomorrow is going to be akin to cauterizing a long bloody wound (and I’m pretty sure that would have led to some proverbial gangrene had I let it go too much longer). Seeing the car and the furniture and the odds and ends getting sold is solidifying the realities of both Vega and I truly getting a clean break and a fresh start. This is the home stretch – and it’s so unbelievably welcome in both of our lives right now that whatever bullshit we may (or, knock on wood, may not) have to deal with for the next 2 and a half weeks is just a drop in the ocean at this point.

this is guaranteed to be my reaction if you try to piss me off in the next 17 days.

On that note, I have to be up relatively early tomorrow and need to do some winding down (aka ice packs, meet calves; brain, meet xojane.com) before I even attempt to get some zzz’s.

Gratuitous cute:

Okay, okay, gratuitous ferocity.

More when there is more – and there always seems to be.

Wallace, out.

“When forgiveness is what you won’t give; and help is what you won’t ask for, keep going.”

(note: the title of this post is taken from “Endure: A RunWomanShow,” which is a badass and beautiful piece of theatre written by my dear friend MJ and directed by my awesome friend…we’ll call him Brooklyn for blog purposes. If you can go see it, DO. I had the honor of crewing the show in Calgary and trust me, it is beyond worth your time to check it out.)

Miss ya, MJ. This would be MJ herself killing it, mid-show (photo courtesy of www.avenuecalgary.com).

Hello, blogosphere!

We’ve done it, made it through another week! Now it is time for blogging, beer and celebration of the weekend. You heard me correctly, weekend. As in, I am back on a (really really close to) normal person schedule of existence! Vega and I are sipping on a lovely Unibroue craft brew this evening, “La Fin Du Monde,” and it comes highly recommended by us both. Light and fizzy and deliciously spicy. Hell YEAH I’ll run for beer!

Probably my favorite from the headbands I got from BondiBands at the 2013 Scotiabank Marathon and Fitness Expo. Pardon the red face, this was directly following Wednesday’s speed work run. Also, BondiBands = made of win. They stay in place AND wick sweat AND come in obnoxious colors.

Anyways. We’re definitely coming up to crunchtime with the move out to BC. 20 days, or about 480 hours, or 37.75 miles/60.75 kilometres worth of training runs until we’re making our pilgrimage. Obviously, I’m a little wee bit excited. There isn’t really all that much left to do, either – but at the same time, Vega and I both are starting to feel the pressures of making this move a reality. Packing is pretty well taken care of, less a few small things and some of Vega’s recording studio equipment. Most of our stuff has been sold on the Kijiji-sphere (which reminds me, when I finish this article, I should repost some of the items that have gotten buried beneath other ads), so the house is slowly but surely becoming emptier and emptier. All that’s left is for me to go to my parents’ house next week (more on that in a little bit) to pick up some of my outlying shit, and for Vega to finalize his driver’s license stuff, then it’s just a matter of getting us, Visa and our stuff into the U-Haul and making the drive. I’m actually talking to Scissors about the whole thing right now, and it’s definitely putting this whole shebang into perspective for me. Lucky woman, this one – Victoria is fucking gorgeous and the perfect place for me and Vega to start laying down some roots. Did I mention that we’ll be by the water? In T-20 days? With the love of my life? And the best dog in the universe? The whole thing just makes me want to happy dance.

basically, this.

Since Tuesday, the week has been relatively low-key. Went for a glorious fartlek (hehehehe, fartlek) run on Wednesday (more on this week in running in a bit), then seen Brother W on Thursday for a little jaunt down by the river and some lunch eats and a gander at our favorite toy store. Today, slept in later than I intended to, made brekky then went running. Saw Brother W’s band this evening with Mr. Vega (they slayed it, by the way. Such a proud big sister), then made our way to the local liquor store for beer and boxes. Besides that, Vega and I have been watching “Penn and Teller’s BULLSHIT,” and (since we may or may not have downloaded all six seasons of it) “Bill Nye, The Science Guy.” Seriously, you guys – Bill Nye is still the shit. We were both expecting to get some campy nostalgic enjoyment out of it (which we indubitably have), but the show has held the fuck up for being all 90s and such. SCIENCE. SO MUCH SCIENCE. BILL! BILL! BILL! BILL! BILL!

If you are too young to understand this reference, you are likely too young to be reading this blog. Isn’t it your bedtime, anyways?

Anywhore, back to this week in running. It’s officially one week into my summer training plan – in which I scale back on mileage to work on form and pace – and I am happy to announce that as of today at 6:47pm, I have clocked 10.5 miles/16.9 kilometres this week. Not a hugely impressive amount of miles, really; however, the fact that I am able to once again focus on my beloved sport of choice from the perspective of a fully functional athlete is b-e-a-utiful. It’s taken me the better part of two years (since the KFP broke my rib, stairs are kinda evil, but nowhere near his level of malice) to heal my body (and my mind) enough to be able to run distances greater than a mile without excruciating pain in my right side. Before he fucked me up, I could run ten miles without too much thought. Now, I am exceedingly happy just to be healed enough to rebuild my regimen. I took for granted the ability to run, period. To be able to run long enough and hard enough to achieve that state of bliss where there is nothing in the world that matters besides my feet slapping the pavement – priceless.

There are some seriously gorgeous running pathways in Calgary, too – this one is on my top ten list.

The varied schedule seems to be working exactly how I want it to (again – looking at my sport from the athlete’s perspective again for the first time in a loooong time). Mondays are for maintenance runs, which are usually a mid-range distance that is run at a comfortable pace. I already waxed poetic about my Monday run this week, so we’ll move on to …

…Wednesdays. Wednesdays are for speed work, and this week’s speed work of choice was a fartlek run. Yeah, yeah, it’s a hilarious word – fartlek – Swedish, I believe, meaning “speed play”. On a fartlek run, you literally do just that, play with your speed – there are no given distances, but the jist of things is to run at varied speeds (from a slow jog to a sprint to a comfortable run pace and et cetera) for varied distances (i.e. to a stop sign, a light post, a block, et cetera) to keep the body guessing and to help you learn how to deal with rapid pace shifts (especially useful in regards to race training). I also make speed work runs slightly shorter than my maintenance runs, as they tend to particularly toast my legs. I digress. This week’s fartlek (hehehe) was exactly what I wanted it to be – short, grueling, and a negative split (that’s when you run the last half of your run faster than the first). It was HOT and sunny and beautiful outside, I had a hell of a badass playlist going, and by the time I got home I could barely stand – perfect. Speed work, check. Wednesday was a good day.

I DID! HA!

Thursday was rest day in the runoverse, so we’ll skip to today. Friday is long run day, and it isn’t just distance that’s affected in that regard. On long run day, I drop my pace by about a minute per mile.  I have come to the conclusion that it is not the longer distance that is the most difficult on long run day; rather, it is convincing yourself to maintain (what feels like) a(n excruciatingly) slow pace. I won’t lie, I wasn’t feeling particularly inspired to get out on the sidewalk this afternoon, but following a conversation with Mother Wallace (more on that in a bit), I was pretty much shaking with rage and frustration. Perfect motivation to get my ass a-movin’. Laced up, turned on my iPod, and off I went to attack 4 miles at a 14:30/mile pace. The weather was schizophrenic today, when I took off it was about 17 degrees and sunny and hot and muggy and still. This plus the slow burn of the rage I was feeling post-maternal contact made the first mile and a half nothing but “fuck you fuck you fuck you” with every step I took. I don’t think I actually heard a single song that was pumped through my earbuds that first leg of the run; rather, all I could hear was the (silent) screams I was unleashing on my dear Ma in my head. Then, the clouds started to roll in, and the wind picked up. Sweet relief, sweet sweet breeze on my sweaty skin. I calmed down a whole bunch after that, and the last two and a half miles flew by as I lost myself in the sounds of Animals as Leaders, the smell of the lilac trees that are now beginning to line the streets, the feeling of the constant cadence of my feet hitting the ground. I got some awesome thinking time in today and even got about a half mile in the light sprinkly rain – my favorite. I came home exhausted, sweaty, sore and at peace. There is magic in the long runs, particularly. There is something beautiful about the peace that comes along when there is nothing left in you but endorphins and adrenaline; when you’ve stopped giving into the little voice that reminds you how many more miles there are or how much your calves hurt, when you conquer the monkey brain and end up with silence. There is so much fulfillment to be had, and all you need is a pair of running shoes and the pavement. Seriously, the runner’s high is by far the cheapest one I’ve ever sought out and also the craziest one I’ve ever experienced.

Hell yes, they do.

Anyways. Back to the conversation with my Mother today/fact that I’ll be going to my parents’ house next week. Y’all know how I feel about my parents. I believe I have made that abundantly clear. One of the many, many methods which my Mother likes to employ to keep me coming back for more is to hold on to dear life to things which a) belong to me and b) I need to be a functional adult. Case in point: my birth certificate and social insurance card. Both of which you need to get your passport redone (which is especially prudent as I need my passport to go on vacation with Vega and his family in September…yeah you read that right – VACATION!), and both of which are a royal fucking pain in the ass to have reissued to you. She was supposed to have brought them to Brother W’s grad last week (big surprise, she didn’t), and is making it difficult for me to acquire them once and for all; ergo, I get the “pleasure” of returning to my childhood home on Tuesday to get my paperwork and some of my books and outlying shit that still resides at their place. I am so not looking forward to this I can’t even begin to express it here, but I am hoping for a quick (aka under thirty minute) excursion with as little speaking as humanly possible. Luckily, this should conclude my necessary communication with her for the foreseeable future. It’s a damn shame that this is where our relationship has come to be; however, it feels pretty awesome to be at a point where I can laugh at it all (well, mostly). Even Vega’s noticed a shift in how much she and my father affect me these days, and while it is yet to be something I would categorize as easy to do/deal with/live with, it is a much superior way to feel compared to the shut down/lay in bed with a pint of ben and jerry’s/cry for a week method of coping I was using up until my triumphant return to the 403. I literally give so few fucks about the situation that it is barely a situation anymore (unless I turn up on Tuesday and my paperwork is MIA…then we’ll have a situation to deal with, namely Mia going BATSHIT). Hopefully though, she’ll actually be good to her word and we’ll all get out of this (relatively) unscathed.

PRECISELY ZERO.

Tying this all together, I’d like to call your attention back to the quote I titled this post with. “When forgiveness is what you won’t give; and help is what you won’t ask for, keep going.” A year ago, I was drowning (metaphorically, that is – it would be a royal fucking shame for a NLS certified lifeguard to drown), in both the weight of the anger I was carrying around (at my Mother, at the KFP, at Sunshine, and et cetera) and the refusal to ask for any kind of assistance. There was a point directly before my 22nd birthday where I had legitimately given up. On everything. I didn’t give enough of a fuck to even try to see the light. Then, Sunshine’s mom made a crack at me one day about how lazy I was and how it was starting to show (a reference to the way my lululemons were (at that point) fitting a little snug). That same day, I got into a massive fight with Sunshine, and with his mom’s words still ringing in my ears, I went for the first run I’d been on since September of the year prior. I remember the relief, the massive weight I felt lift off of my shoulders. If I wasn’t living for myself, I’d live for running. And so it all began. I am a stubborn woman, definitely my father’s daughter. I neither give forgiveness away with ease nor ask for help without grief. That said, I also refuse to give up, leaving me with but one option: keep going.

…it’s just really, really hard to see that when you’re standing at your lowest point.

I suppose that MJ probably meant something slightly different with that part of the monologue in particular; however, it’s been ringing in my ears since I hung up the phone with my mom today. I don’t know for sure, but I am pretty comfortable in ascertaining that running has been my life raft through the shitty reality that is dealing with my past. I’ve gotten better at asking for help – I’ve leaned more heavily on Vega than I have on pretty much anybody else in my life ever before – but unfortunately, there are things in my own head that he simply can’t fix for me. That said, he too encourages me to keep going when I think I can’t, and I think he’s one of the few who understand the mental gains I’m seeing through running. Prior to today, I never thought I would forgive my mother. Somewhere around mile 3 today, I truly believe I did. Forgiveness, the one thing I thought I could never give to her, is hers for the taking. It isn’t worth being pissed at her for the rest of my life if she isn’t a part of it anymore. That’s probably been your overwhelming reaction to the majority of my posts about her, dear readers, but it’s a new and welcome realization for me. And help? That thing I wouldn’t ask for? Turns out the rope I needed to pull me out of the blue and into the black was the simple act of – you guessed it – me time, pavement style. Keep going. Right in front of left in front of right in front of left. Somewhere along the path there is clarity and there is peace. Much like a long run, this is usually found only after more pain and more difficulty and more sweat and more miles than you want or think you deserve. Keep going.

At the end of the day, every single bad thing that has ever been done/happened to me in my life is now kindling for my fire. I call it up on the bad days, let it burn hot and fast as fuel on my runs..and then, it’s gone.
(side note: the superfluous “s” on the end of strength is going to drive me batty; however, I am far too lazy to make my own gif)

Apparently I was in the mood to write it out tonight. I feel better seeing the thoughts that usually fill my head instead filling up my blog – it’s easy to think you’re crazy, much more of an art to instead pour it out on paper (or, y’know, the internet..potato, potahto) and start to realize that it’s not always you who is the insane one in question. We’re almost halfway through the year and I am starting to see major progress in my BHAG – mental health and physical health are both well underway to being in check. Sometimes I forget where I started, which makes it especially difficult to see how far I’ve come. Don’t get me wrong, I have a long way to go (there is still a lot of kindling for me to light – lots to mull over and plenty to write about), but I am lightyears from the starting line. It’s a mindfuck, to say the least.

We ain’t in Kansas no more, Toto.

I am a lucky, happy, excited girl. I could go on forever about it (and sometimes I feel like I do), and it’s double amazing that I get to live for the rest of my life feeling this way. I have the love of my life, the Poochie Fantastico, and some amazing friends surrounding me – definite turnaround from what I am used to (i.e. my loser exes, both friends and romantic interests, my less than supportive blood family, and et cetera). I have a newfound respect for myself (i.e. massive strides in recovery, major steps forward in training, I do this weird thing called smiling all the time), and I’m starting to feel it all falling into place. Life’s good. Actually, Vega’s making homemade onion rings right now, so life is great. I am so happy today about simply being alive that I don’t really know what to do with it at all.

I feel like this guy. All. The. Time.

Vega thinks it’s cute that I get so excited about things, and I take that as the hugest, most wonderful compliment. I remember a time when even bacon didn’t excite me (BACON. I KNOW). However, my love, that is an oversimplification. I am excited about Victoria, but that isn’t really the thing that makes me jitter with glee and anticipation. Truth is, it’s just easier for me to focus all the happy-happy-joy-joy I feel about our life (even if nothing were to change, I am beyond the happiest camper in the world with our day-to-day exactly as is – I have everything I could ever want or need as long as we’re together!) into one particular(ly badass upcoming) event. Honestly, I feel that you and I have won at life, Vega. Everything from here on out is simply icing on the proverbial (gluten, dairy, and grain free) cake. I love you, my love; and I love our life, and our future. How I got so lucky, I will never know. That said, I don’t particularly care to know the how’s or the why’s – life needs a little bit of magic and random happenstance.

If you don’t get this reference, you’re definitely too young to be reading this here blog.

Anyways, this post has gone on for long enough, there are onion rings for me to eat, and I need t0 devote some time to stretching my calves.

Gratuitous cute:

More when there’s more to be said.

Wallace, out

 

Blog Updates + Where I’m At This Week + Things I Am Looking Forward To

Hello Blogoverse!

Happy Tuesday to you all! If your schedule looks anything like mine, right now you are on the couch, still in pyjamas, cup of coffee in hand and DOMS laden from yesterday’s maintenance run. I love rest days.

Add a cup of java and that’s me in a nutshell today.

Anyways – just thought I’d take a second to point out the shiny new “Music To My Ears” section – as per Cinderella’s request, I’ll be listing my running playlists here from now on, as well as links to the videos on YouTube. No judging my exceptional taste in music, pleaseandthankyou. I’ll also take requests, like the top 5 list I made up for Spinny a few months ago. You’re welcome.

Also along that tangent, I’d like to remind you all about the running challenge I’ve got going on. So far, two brave souls have opted in to do this with me (WOOP WOOP!) Yesterday was the official start date for the challenge, 3.5 miles – maintenance, and I got mine done like dinner (playlist to be uploaded post blog entry). It was a beautiful and perfect evening for a run – not quite raining, heavy foggy mist lingering in the air, cool but not cold, no wind whatsoever.. It took me what felt like forever to warm up; however, once I hit my stride, overwhelming peace ensued. It was one of those “completely lost in my head” kinds of runs, and I was happy with my pace, overall time, and the awesome high I ended up with. Yay, endorphins!

Because they’re jogging, Philosoraptor. Have you ever heard of a “jogger’s high”? No. No, you haven’t. Run it fast, reap the rewards.

Anywhore. Brother W’s high school graduation ceremony was last Friday. Mr. Vega and I got all dressed up, then made our way to the Stampede Grounds to watch him cross the stage. Whoever coordinated this affair grossly underestimated the number of people who would be attending, which was fine by me and Vega, but garnered some scathing remarks from the general public. Truth be told, we pretty much sat outside and smoked up to B. Wallace’s turn to grab his diploma. Following the ceremony, we found B. Wallace, who was there with Little Lady and Mother Wallace and Father Wallace. My mother didn’t smile ONCE, my father seemed preoccupied with making sure that Mother didn’t make a spectacle, and Little Lady and B. Wallace were just happy to say hello to Vega and I, despite the super awkward “Let’s Meet Mia’s Parents” scenario. I am more than happy to have been there for B. Wallace – mother had been trying to convince him that I wouldn’t actually be there, and he seemed more than thrilled that I was – but I tell ya, there is little in this world more embarrassing or painful than trying to relate to my parents on a level plane, particularly in a social setting, and even moreso when introducing them to my fiancé.

My $0.02 is that it’s a fucking royal pity that they choose to cling to the past as they do. I fucked up and I apologized and I moved on with my life (without them, seeing as all of my apologies, to them, null and void), they fucked up and they deny it and they remain in the depths of yesterdays long gone. My mother should have been thrilled – she watched her son graduate and was meeting her future son-in-law and couldn’t crack a fucking smile? My father makes me even more morose to think about, as he is to this day my hero; and yet, I am more disappointed in  him than anybody else on the face of the Earth. I wish I still had a good relationship with my dad – I miss our endless conversations about books and sci fi and life in general – but I resent him deeply, and as much as it kills me to feel that way about somebody I love as much as I do my dad, I love myself more. Too much of my life was spent trying to make him and my mother proud of me, and seeing them Friday was truly the best reminder and affirmation of why the separation from them is the best thing possible for me at this juncture in my life. Vega and I had a funny encounter with someone who also had dealt with my mother’s claws recently – further proof that I  am not insane. Sad truth that I am not insane, that she is in fact as abrasive as my memories of her tend to be. Not my loss, not anymore. In fact, I was pleasantly surprised at how unscathed (100% thanks to Vega) I walked away from that whole encounter.

Unscathed enough to enjoy a beer and a burger at the Ship with my (unbelievably dashing in a suit) love after the whole thing was over and done with. This is big for me. Usually, the only thing I can find it in myself to ingest following time spent in the presence of my folks is a heavy dose of insecurity served with a side dish of manic depression and a cocaine chaser. This, my friends, is progress.

Amen to that, Grohl.

Saturday and Sunday were both busy and exciting and cray cray  to the extreme. Saturday was a double show day with the Endure crew, and a beautiful day to boot. By the time I got home, I was exhausted and elated and passed the fuck out rather promptly following food on the couch in Vega’s lap. Sunday was closing night, crazy and sold out and a fun crowd. Bawled my eyes out at the end with MJ, then we all went out for food and drinks and celebration. I have some potentially amazingly exciting news on that front, but since I don’t like to count my chickens before they hatch I’m going to leave that one as a cliffhanger for now with a side of HOLY FUCKING BIG OPPORTUNITY. Regardless, I am so grateful to G for getting me onto the Endure train – it’s done me a world of good, from being surrounded with such amazing people, to getting to dip my toes back into the arts, to adding more kindling to the running fever I’ve got rocking.

As far as today goes, I slept in, woke up around 2 in the afternoon with Poochie Fantastico licking my feet (seriously dog, you are bizarre and I love you for it) and the smell of cigarettes and coffee. Hauled my lazy bones outta the bed, had coffee and a smoke, slowly started to wake up over BuzzFeed and ISFP. Got the laundry done and put away, went for a quick walk around the block with Vega, made brekky, and consumed another two cups of coffee while reading the news. As of now, I’ve been listening to tunes and blogging for the past hour and a half, and coffee has been replaced by a Tree Brewing Co. Cutthroat Pale Ale (delicious delicious Tree Beers). This evening will be spent watching old school cartoons (SERIOUSLY YOU GUYS, THE MAGIC FREAKIN SCHOOLBUS IS ON NETFLIX) with Vega on the couch with my old friend Mary Jane and more beers. Kickin’ it low gear and resting up sounds just about perfect to me..especially when Miss Frizzle is a part of the equation!

Besides being inordinately excited over the influx of cartoons from my childhood that are now available on Netflix, I can pretty much barely contain my glee over the fact that there are but 23 days separating us from the coast. Besides getting the rest of my identification paperwork back from my parents and trying to get a few more items sold on Kijiji, my work in Calgary is done. I can’t believe that it’s already June, and I think it’s starting to hit Vega pretty hard that the move is coming up so soon, too. I can’t speak for my lovely love, but I’m really, really excited to finally close this chapter in my life. Calgary hasn’t been all bad – but it’s definitely just not where I belong anymore. The idea of leaving my past – truly leaving this city and the memories and the baggage and the bullshit – leaves me with the most fantastic feeling of freedom. In fact, the whole trajectory my life is taking these days makes me feel free. I can’t really put it into words, but it’s overwhelming and awesome and so much more than I think I deserve sometimes.

Anyways, I’m going to wrap this one up here. Playlist to follow, and of course, more ramblings when there is more for me to ramble on about.

Gratuitous cute:

Wallace, out.

Vega and I Are Apparently Nocturnal (or, How We Learned to Subvert Human Contact)

Hello again blogosphere!I am warning you in advance that this is going to be a long and rambly post, best read with plenty of caffeine and some patience. You’ve been warned. Anyways, when I left off with the last post, Vega and I had executed a foolproof plan to fix our retarded sleeping habits with the assistance of a very long, caffeine fueled day. We got through it, sold a whole shitload of things off of Kijiji, and by five o’clock, we were both ready to hit the hay for some much needed comatose like sleep. Basically, my eyes were closed well before my wee head hit the pillow.

Basically, this.

Foolproof plan was foolproof…until my subconscious decided to rebel and I had the weirdest, worst nightmare I have had in bloody years. Woke up with a start, then looked at the clock–6:24pm. There may or may not have been about five minutes of cursing at the clock and at myself–I mean, C’MON PSYCHE. ONE HOUR AND TWENTY-FOUR MINUTES OF SLEEP? AFTER A FULL DAY AWAKE? Tossed and turned for another half hour, then gave up and shuffled out of the bedroom so that I could read XOJane articles and let Mr. Vega continue to rest.

I felt pretty much exactly like Patrick at 7:00pm last night.

About an hour and a half later, Mr. Vega woke up and came out for a smoke and a hug, and much to my chagrin, I was nowhere near as tired as I wanted to be. Post-couch snugglies, Vega wandered back to bed and I continued with my (super important) internet readings and (not-so) patiently awaited the Sandman while snuggling with Visa on the couch. Another hour later (and still no closer to sleeping), Vega re-emerged from the bedroom and we decided that it was time for coffee (for us), food (for the dog), and the continuation of our Restaurant:Impossible marathon viewing (thank Jeebus for YouTube). Three cups of coffee later, we’d decided that sleep was for the weak.

Word to yo’ mama.

So, we did the responsible thing and ordered a pizza. After devouring the pizza, we decided that it was as good a night as any to nerd out and watch a superhero movie (note: “Thor” was absolutely fucking fantastic. So. Much. Nerdgasm). Post-“Thor,” (aka 4:30 am) neither one of us was anywhere near sleepy, so we accepted our fate and watched a favorite of mine that Vega hadn’t seen yet (note: “Paul” is AWESOME) over a bag of SunChips and a glass (or five) of mead. I absolutely live for geek nights with my love – it’s such an amazing privilege to have the capacity to be able to talk to the man you love for hours on end about all things sci-fi  and space and aliens and such without feeling like a total loser.

question of the night: if you were the lucky first person who was to greet an alien having landed on Earth, what would be the first question you’d ask them?

After “Paul,” we were up for another hour or so discussing “Dune” and other such wonderful things (by the way, another round of kudos to Herbert for continuing to be an important fixture of mine and Vega’s relationship – from our first date to the present, “Dune” has brought us together) while finally feeling the sleepy-fairies working their magic. Neve rmind the fact that it was 7:00 in the morning (who really cares when you don’t care for the general public? Not really missing anything), it was time to finally give in and enjoy a much needed and well-deserved sleep. Naught but fifteen minutes later, me and my pillow were getting some serious face-time.

SCREW DAYTIME – today was a holiday anyways, I have zero regrets about my obviously wise and well thought out scheduling of sleep.

I am happy to report that thirteen and a half hours later, I awoke from a comatose sleep feeling refreshed and with no weird as fuck nightmares to note. We’ll count that as a life win. Vega woke up before I had, and upon my return to the land of the living, there was a hot cup of coffee awaiting me. That, Mr. Vega, is also a victory. Points to you for being both handsome and perfect. We ascertained that the pet food store was closed, so Visa had some rice noms for dinner, and as I type this, my wonderful and handsome love is in the kitchen making some seriously amazing smelling brekky food for the two of us. I bagged a serious keeper – not quite sure how the hell I got so lucky, but I am sure as fuck not about to complain.

Coffee and brekky AND couch snuggles? Hell yes, I was a-smilin’.

In fact, following a delicious brekky (eggs and hashbrowns, cooked with lots of love), I was on the receiving end of an unexpected foot rub (not sure what I did to deserve that…once again, Vega scores top of his class and has made a very happy and spoiled woman out of me), and he’s going to do the dishes. Seriously. I love Vega heart and soul already, and just when I think he’s done everything and more possible to spoil the living hell out of me, he finds ways to spoil me even further. Lucky, lucky, lucky woman. The mind-blowingly amazing part of all of this is that we have years and years ahead of us to spend with each other–I need to figure out how the hell to ramp up my game, as I have been pampered entirely too much by my lovely love. Vega, you are amazing, and I am the luckiest woman in the universe.

And I love you with everything I’ve got ❤

As of right now, we are enjoying some old school Iron Chef (gotta love voiceovers), poochie fantastico is snoozing between us on the couch, and we have managed to find potential buyers for more Kijiji treasures. In fact, tomorrow should make us another $130.00 in furniture that’s slated to be picked up, and there’s the potential for another $150.00 if the replies I just replied to pan out as I’m hoping that they will. Sell dressers, get money (much nicer a modus operandi than disregarding females and acquiring currency–either way, I’m still an OG..and a goofball). This evening (morning in my case but whatthefuckever) is going to be spent relaxing and enjoying some time with my love (case in point: Food Network marathon and couch time – we enjoy the finer things in life, which are the simple things, natch) and blogging (obviously). Since we didn’t rise until 8:00pm, Vega will be able to attack his work day at a normal time, and I’ll be able to facilitate selling shit – should be a productive day (actual normal person time day), which will hopefully end at a normal person time, with two tired monkeys (me and Vega) by 8:00 tomorrow evening. Slowly but surely, we’ll conquer this sleep pattern thing. Until then, I think we’re both doing a pretty awesome job at making the best of things as they are. This is going to be a huge and wonderful positive for us both when we make it to Vic – Vega’s going  to be in an office during normal office hours, and I’ll be finding a job that takes place during normal people hours. This interim is just that, a pause from the normal, and as long as we keep plugging away at the necessities that come along with the process of moving, some fucked up behaviors (i.e. becoming intermittently nocturnal) aren’t anything to be hung up on.

As far as everything else goes, I had been feeling guilty for like 3 minutes about not being my usual work out 6 days a week kind of self recently, and then, upon realizing that I am still stuffed up and fighting the seemingly endless cold from hell (seriously, I am still nowhere near 100%, my energy levels are still low, and I would basically give an appendage to be able to breathe without snuffling), that going for a run or trying to attack a cray cray HIIT circuit with how I’m feeling now would be straight up futile. I’d end up with a shitty pace, hack up a lung, and come home feeling discouraged and probably end up being meaner to myself than I ever really deserve. I also start my “job” with that theatre group on Wednesday, and that’s going to require me being able to talk and laugh and be energetic. Burning myself out before I even have a chance to get better would be stupid. SO – I have a game plan. I’m still going to get my plank-off challenge done, along with my wall-sit challenge, but I’m giving myself the right to a day off. Guilt free. That’s right – Mia Wallace, taking GUILT FREE time away from workouts. This is new for me. Even last week I’d been trying to eke in some (what ended up being half assed) workouts at home, and at the end of it? Still sick, still don’t fit into my size 0 jeans (disordered thinking at its best – as IF a week, let alone a month, let alone a lifetime of workouts and actually eating food again is going to allow me to magically become emaciated. Duh.), and last week I was straight up being a bitch to myself.

Take this, loop it in your brain on infinite, and you’ve got me last week. Sad state of affairs.

Changing tact – a few days to rest up, making sure I continue to eat (I fucking loathe my broken food relationship. Luckily, I have amazing support systems in the form of Vega and Visa (seriously, Visa’s love of kibbles makes me feel guilty about wanting to not enjoy eating), and I’ve not relapsed since Oromocto), and going into the next week with the promise to myself of stopping this being mean to myself and expecting it to work somehow paradigm. News flash, Mia: it didn’t work then, and  it won’t work now. What WILL (and is) work is patience, with myself and with the process. And quite frankly, I deserve to enjoy the freedom that is being with someone who loves me exactly as I am. It’s  a hard pill to swallow sometimes…but it’s got magical healing powers. Truth is that Vega absolutely adores me. All of me. Even the squidgy bits I’m trying to (in a healthy way, now) get rid of. And the other truth is, I’m really quite far from being fat. In fact, when I was a teenager, I’d have killed to look as I do now. Mirrors and scales and disordered eating kind of skewed the way I see myself (edit: MAJORLY skewed the way I see myself), so good part of the BHAG that I’m only now learning to give importance to has been learning not to trust myself in a lot of respects; and instead, to listen to the outside voices (in my case, Vega) that see me as I truly am. Of course, this isn’t to say that I’m perfect, because I’m not. I have plenty of toning and leaning out and gaining muscle to do–but that isn’t really anything I have to be stressing myself sick over. I’m going into this new week and the next few days of guilt free resting up anticipating there to be stumbling blocks, but I shall persevere. I deserve to be healthy and well-fed and well-rested and happy; and Vega deserves to be with someone who is capable of all of those things, without the bullshit baggage that EDNOS, Ana and Mia have left behind in my head. Recovery process. Baby steps. Endless verbose paragraphs on the matter (like this one).

Just gotta keep plodding away, and this remains the truth.

Whatever it takes (even if its another damn paragraph on the matter), I’m committed. Why the fuck is this part (the eating noms and enjoying noms and being healthy and enjoying being healthy) so much goddamned harder than its emaciated counterpart of my past (which was starving myself, exercising until I literally couldn’t move the next day, looking like a corpse and eventually getting checked in to the recovery ward)?! Logic dictates that this part should be both easier and more fun. Recovery nurses told me it would eventually become that way. I am trying so so so very hard to focus on the positives, but the sick and sad truth is that sometimes, I just want to revert to my old days when I could literally list a week of food  on one hand (cup of rice, apple, coffee, banana, cocaine). When I really think about it though, those are the days I want to revisit the least. Literally the only thing I was in any way in control over at that point was my food intake, and by not eating, I was basically giving my power away, back to the people who wanted to exert power over me in the first place. How, you ask? Simple–Sunshine wanted a “hotter” girlfriend (as I lost weight, I gained looks from other men..), my mom and dad always wanted me to look “better” (aka thinner), Sunshine’s mom was always on my case about not having food in the fridge (so I solved that by not eating)…basically, the one thing I exerted control over eventually took control of me. I get judged about this all the goddamn time – I’ve heard it all, from “well you don’t look like you’ve had an eating disorder,” to, “eating disorders don’t exist,” to, “eating disorders aren’t a disease, you can choose to start eating again whenever you wish”. I don’t want to go backwards in my life, to hand my power off to idiots, to not take charge of the things I am in control of. I know I’m kind of going off on the topic tonight, but it’s been weighing heavy (pun not intended, but welcome) on my mind lately. Maybe I don’t “look like” I used to be emaciated (and trust me, I am grateful for that fact, despite the difficulties that come along with it). Maybe you’ve never had a tube shoved down your throat in the name of re-feeding you. Maybe you just don’t understand, and that’s fine..but if I’ve lived my life and can stop judging myself, who the fuck are you to judge my life?

Em’s got it right.

I promise I’m done ranting now, at least over the ED stuff. I’ve noticed that I really don’t write about it anywhere near as often as I think about it, and in terms of the BHAG, that is just wrong. I suppose that good part of the reason I’ve been holding back on things in the blog is a certain reader who up to this point has remained hidden. NO more – mother, you’ve been exposed. Truth be told, I cared a little bit about what it was I was writing in here for a little while after I found out that she was still actively seeking out information on my life (mainly via sourcing the URL for this here blog of mine), and in turn, she was getting in the way of my BHAG. She took away the sanctity and the safety that this blog provides to me in my life, and in keeping with the aforementioned reclaiming of my power in life, I’m done with the filters. Mom, I hope that it hurts you to read a whole fucking lot of what I write in here, because the harsh reality is that you’ve caused me to undergo a whole fucking shitload of unwarranted pain in my life. Deny, deny, deny will likely be your reaction (as it always has), but I’m denying myself the right to write no longer, about any and every thing that comes to my mind and weighs on my soul. Keep reading, or don’t – I could give half a flying fuck these days. I’ve cared for almost 23 years, and I can afford that in my life no longer.

Bye-bye, closet skeletons.

Man it feels fucking amazing to just talk sometimes. I do a lot of talking in this blog – not often that I’m quite THIS stream of consciousness. Granted, it’s tough to be truly stream of consciousness when you’re as all over the place as I tend to be, but hey. Learning curves abound! While I indulge my blogging bone here, Mr. Vega is currently cheffing up some sushi for the two of us to nomnomnom on (reason #3276 why I don’t miss my eating disorder: my fiancé cooks delicious noms which I fully enjoy eating), the house smells amazing, and I’ve got the Beatles playing in the background of it all. Totally self-indulgent use of my time. Totally spoiled by the world’s most wonderful man, who also happens to be mine. Totally tickled all shades of pink by the fact that Vega is tickled pink to see me once again blogging my heart out after my wee hiatus.

I was actually just thinking to myself that I don’t remember the last time that I felt this happy and this whole living my life (literally every aspect of it is better than I could ever ask for, including the stumbling blocks), and it also just dawned on me now that the reason I can’t remember is because this is the first time in my life I’ve ever felt this happy and whole. Kind of a sad revelation, really–but it’s giving leeway to the most unbelievable new lease on life for this here blogmistress. I realize that to you, dear readers, this is all variations on a theme (the theme being me realizing that my life from now on is not at all going to be what it was before the love story of Vega and Wallace began to take shape); however, it’s a whole new world for me and I make sense of things by rambling and reveling–and after years of convincing myself that I’d never land in a place as idyllic as this, I’m taking the liberty of stepping back and analyzing the situation.

…worth the wait. Trust me.

Part of the BHAG that you’ll recall from four and a half months ago is starting the seemingly gargantuan task of writing my book – the story of my life. That’s also in part where this rambly never ending post is coming from – it is in part me stepping back and trying to ascertain where in the fuck I’m going to jump in and start writing this book from. I wish I could tell you that this exercise has cleared things up for me; however, as I sit here and ponder the thought, I feel more lost than ever. It feels like everything up to meeting Vega is the tale of another person’s lifetime. Funny how your whole life can change so many times within a lifetime (if you let it). These days, I feel like happy dancing everywhere I go, all the damn time. It kind of frightens me, trying to imagine the depths of awesome awaiting Vega and I on the coast. I really and truly could not be more excited to be alive these days – and I have a whole fucking lifetime of it ahead with the love of my life. Seriously, how did I end up getting this lucky?!

If there’s a short brunette chick doing this in the streets, it’s probably me. There is a limit to how much I can suppress my urges to happy dance in public.

I suppose the whole point of my rambling this evening is twofold – first, I’m a creature of habit. When I’m overwhelmed in life, I deal with it by writing. Lots. Usually in my journal, never to be seen by the eyes of the general public (or in this case, typed out to be read by the blogosphere). Normally; however, this happens when my life is falling apart. I have a sneaking suspicion that from now on, that isn’t something I have to fear. Second point in the rambles? The more I write to myself (and the blogosphere) about the positive things in my existence, the more the negativity of my past seems to fade away. I am hoping that eventually, through writing it out and through living in this new paradigm, I can free myself from the nightmares and the uncertainties and the disordered thought patterns I’ve built up and lived with for so damned long. The future I’m building with Vega takes my breath away sometimes, in the best way. I’ve got to stop holding on to my past.

Complete tangent here – Brother W graduates in a week. I can’t believe that my little kid brother is about to make his foray into the big bad world. Expect a post regarding this in a few days time. Until then, I have to work on deciding what the fuck I’m going to wear to his commencement ceremony. Being a girl is so tough sometimes…

…like seriously, so many clothes and NOTHING to wear. Sigh.

But that’s a post in and of itself.

Anywhore, Vega’s got sushi ready, I’ve pretty much exhausted what I wanted to say, and I’m going to leave you with some gratuitous cute and call this a post.

nom nom nom

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.

“Isn’t It More Exciting, When We Don’t Have Permission?”

Hey blog realm, happy Friday’s eve!
I hope you’ve all had wonderful Thursdays, mine’s been an extension of Wednesday; however, it has been truly fantastic and I wouldn’t change a thing (besides maybe the snow that’s beginning to fall…). Vega came home from recording last night around 11, and we spent a few hours just enjoying each other’s company on the couch with Visa; me reading Reddit and he playing YouTube DJ with some fantastic metal tuneage. We eventually moved on to him showing me some of the basics of what his job as a producer is (the technology is fucking nifty and it seriously fascinates me…he’s wickedly good at what he does (albeit too humble to admit it), and we had some musical nerd out bonding time) before we realized that it was 3 in the morning and we were starving. He made a deee-licious pork and veggie stirfry and we noshed watching Buffy, as always.

The Buff-athon lasted until this morning when he had to return to the work-realm, and I whipped up brekky, made lots of coffee, and cleaned some. It was nice, to spend the night just talking and snuggling and enjoying each other’s company and to begin the day on a high note. After the dishes were done, I rocked out a hellish workout, took a shower with my masn (not too sure if I emerged cleaner or dirtier following that one), and am now snuggled up on the couch with my netbook, the pooch, and the Vega, who has just finished work for the day. I’m in a fantastic mood. This has shifted to being the norm rather than the exception, and I am loving every damn minute of it. In  fact, I’m looking forward to a lifetime of it, and I consider myself exceptionally lucky to be able to say so.

So that’s where I’m at; however, I do digress, as I’ve been promising some more meaningful Mia-musings as of late and have yet to deliver. I just want to make a cup of coffee first, so while I do that, enjoy this picture of an adorable seal pup.

Don’t you just wanna snuggle him? Don’t club him, snuggle.

Ok, ok, so I should know by now that I should just end posts when I say shit like that. It’s just after noon here on Friday now..I got distracted last night with a walk down to the hippie grocery store for dinner-making supplies (Vega cheffed up spaghetti bolognaise, t’was fabulous), and by some Buffy before we passed out at 9:30. This morning started at 10:30 with Visa whining for brekky, so I hauled my lazy bones outta bed, fed ze poochie, and set about making coffee and brekky for Vega and I. It’s a beautiful sunny day (little chilly, but hey I’ll take it), so after I finish this post I’ll be taking Visa for a stroll then attacking my WOD (fun little kickboxing circuit today methinks) while Vega works a bit. This weekend…well, who the hell knows for sure, but I think it’s safe to assume that there shall be good times ahead. I woke up on the right side of the bed again today. Such a good feeling.

Now once again I digress, and should get back to the true point of this post, which was to elaborate a bit on the things that have been giving me soupy-brain. I should preface this bit just by saying that I don’t want you, readers, to assume that any of this is inherently a bad thing. For the first time in a long time (even moreso than I felt in the 506) I feel that I have both very little control over and at the same time, complete understanding of the thoughts in my head.

I think the majority of this garbled thought stuff commenced last week around this exact time when the KFP sent me that Facebook message. Instantaneously, it was a fight-or-flight moment, but that shock wore off rather quickly and left in its wake a very unsettling jumble of nonsense in my wee head for which the immediate cure was a decent amount of beer, which effectively allowed me to forget for the evening. That said, since last week I’ve been trying to make sense of the realities of my past, of the years I spent with the KFP lying to myself and to everyone who cared about me that yes, I was happy. I don’t know how the fuck I did it, I really don’t. I was miserable under his control; too young to even be able to realize it, too stupid to do anything about the situation until it was already too late. Now, it wasn’t all bad..I do believe to this very day that he did care about me somewhat, and there were the happy times in-between the chaos; however, in the end those happy times were what made it easy to leave (besides my dog. I miss my dog)–I wanted the happiness to be the defining factor in my life, not the broken bones and the fear and the overwhelming depression that eventually made it nearly impossible for me to get out of bed for weeks at a time. I’m still a little bit shaken over the fact that he’d even try to get me to talk to him again after everything he put me through; which does, in fact, make me a little bit ashamed of myself–I’m so much more than justified in telling him to fist himself with a cactus and never bothering to even open his messages ever again, but the fact that he got under my skin like that? Disturbing. Part of me almost wishes that he could see me now; in love and loved truly and for the right reasons, happy from the depths of my soul. Call me vindictive, but that would be the best revenge. Clearly, my silence and absence has not drilled the point into his thick skull yet.

The second thing that’s been bugging me this week? Welp, Maother Wallace is back up on her underhanded “let’s piss Mia off” podium with one of the most obnoxious tactics I’ve seen yet to date. One of my (many, many, many) cousins got married in Panama recently, and while I had wanted to go, I simply couldn’t afford the trip, accomodations and et cetera involved, so I did the adult thing and regretfully, didn’t attend. She, my father, Brother Wallace and Brother Wallace’s girlfriend (we’ll call her Little Lady from here on out) of course went; which actually makes me happy as hell, I wouldn’t expect nor want anything less for my cousin on her big day. All fine and good by me..until Mother decided to send me not only one but THREE emails full of pictures from their vacation. Sorry Mother, if I wanted to fucking see it, I’d head on over to Brother Wallace’s Facebook and browse his pics. We haven’t spoken more than her prodding via text and my sarcastic replies in fucking months..why she’d assume that I’d appreciate these emails is so far beyond my realm of comprehension that I can’t even begin to tell you how annoyed her display of vulgar narcissism made me. It hasn’t been something I’ve been willing to think about much lately (I’d much rather live in the here and now and revel in my happiness); however, even throuhg the happiest of my childhood memories, this exact feeling is what I remember the most of. Every happy family vacation has the overtone of me somehow being this massive fuckup–somehow, I always managed to piss her off, to drag the tone of the trip down from relaxation to hell. In all honesty, I would rather wait another decade and vacation on my own terms than to ever go along with them ever again–there really is no way to relax and unwind when you’re constantly perturbed by the sensation that you’ve somehow already fucked everything up. Again, call me vindictive, but I look forward to the day when I can send her unsolicited emails full of pictures of my happiness, to which she was never invited in the first place. Silence is powerful; this much I’ve learned, but I’m just about ready to throw my successes in her face. I am weak that way and I’m the first to admit it. I want her to hurt as much as I have been made to over the years–in fact, I want her to know firsthand what it feels like to have to deal with a pathological narcissist. It isn’t funny and it isn’t fair; it’s made me stronger having been through it, but it’s also worn me down to the point of desired retribution. The sick thing is that no matter how fucking hard I try, I’ll never be able to make her bleed like me, she’s so damn sanctified in her own head that whatever I try to accomplish in “showing” her what I’ve felt will always and forever be overshadowed by her ability to spin things in her favour and never take responsibility for her actions. It’s sad, really, that this much older than I woman will never be able to truly act her own age. How we share genetics, I will never know. What I do know for sure; however, is that I will fight every day for the rest of my life to consciously never become even a shadow of the woman I call Mom. It’s a damned shame and it hurts like hell, but it hurts a LOT less than when I used to bend over and take it.

It’s funny to me how these two prevailing trains of thought have left my head in such a spin. I was trying to explain it to Vega a few days ago–it isn’t like there’s one specific thought that’s bugging me in particular; moreso, it feels like all of these fragments, these half-thoughts, these years old experiences that I shoved down down down into my soul are finally starting to make their way back up into the conscious part of my being. The thing that’s weirding me out isn’t necessarily any one of these thoughts or bits of memory; rather, the sheer volume of things making their way back up. I always knew on some level that one day I’d be slapped in the face with the shit I didn’t bother to handle at the time, but it’s happening in a much different manner than I always thought it would. Maybe, just maybe, I have gotten to the point where I’ll finally just be able to let this shit go. As much as I fantasize sometimes about what I’d say or do differently in those situations if I could go back knowing what I know now, I’m much happier knowing that I can’t go back and that they’re over and done with. I have some mass graves to dig and some major grieving for the people and places and times I’m laying to rest in my head; and I’m hoping that with time, love and support from Vega, and just a little more strength than I think I have in my soul, I’ll be able to do just that.

Life is good, and I can say that with absoluite certainty and even more pride. Thanks in large part to Vega, I’m starting to not only see myself in a different light, but to accept that this isn’t just a passing, fleeting phase in my life; rather, this is who I am and how I should be seen, treated, and accepted as. Somewhere deep inside of me, I’ve always known this (otherwise I wouldn’t have spent the better part of my existence trying to find it and fighting hard for it), but it’s a strangely difficult thing to accept as the truth. As much as it pins me to admit, I’m afraid. I’m piss my pants terrified that I’ll fuck this part of my life up now that I’ve accomplished what I’ve always longed to achieve. I am 99.99% sure that this is just the remainders of the nagging voice my Mother implanted in me trying to (once again) break my brain and make me crawl back to that shell of a person I used to be; however, there is that 0.01% of me that I have to consciously ballgag and ignore on a daily basis, and I can’t wait to stake that through the heart and rid myself of it, too. I’m kind of done with that bullshit in my life. In fact, I’m kind of done with a lot of bullshit in my life, nowadays it’s alllllllll about moving forwards and forgetting the nonsense.

Sorry for the rambling, readers. I’ll step down off the soapbox now, and admittedly I do feel a shitload better having gotten all of that off my chest. The crazy thing? I’m still in an absolutely spectacular mood. Vega has been working away while I blog, we’re enjoying my YouTube DJ skills (on the docket today, plenty of ’90s alt-rock and some early ’00s metal for good measure) and Visa’s been giving me plenty of puppy snuggles to keep me warm and smiling. This was truly the point that I wanted to make–prior to the recent swing over to overwhelming positivity in my days, all of this thinking would have absolutely broken me down (in fact, even in the 506, I spent many days huddled up in bed paralyzed by uncertainty when I’d get all think-y); and now, here I am in the depths of some major processing with a massive grin on my face and some crazy happiness going on. Things do come around and make sense, eventually (Kid Cudi reference anyone?); you just have to exert some patience and fortitude of spirit in order to get there. I’m seeing things from a very different vantage point as of late, and I like the view from here.

On that note, I’m gonna go and run a brush through my hair and take Visa for a stroll before the weekend begins for Vega and I. Have a fantastic remainder to your day, readers–and make the point to take some time for yourselves this weekend. We all deserve that much!

For now,

Wallace, out.

Why I Like My Past Despite the Bullshit (Or, “In The End It’s All Perspective.”)

Happy Monday, readers. Hope y’all had fantastic weekends and that the first day back to the grind was manageable at very least (if not, they do have a support group for those who hate Mondays, it’s called “Everybody,” and they meet at the bar (might have stolen that from a witty meme)).

Mia is in rant-y mode so if you’re feeling the angst, this post is for you. HOWEVER–before I get into the meat of this post, I’d like to take a minute to express my undying gratitude for three F-words that make my life infinitely more amazing. Despite all heavily imbued cynicism, I am an optimist (even if I have to actively bring it out some days).
1. My amazing FIANCÉ. Yes, it’s true dear readers. I am beyond happily engaged to Mr. Vega (sorry, Tarantino, I think Mrs. Mia Vega has more of a ring to it than Mrs. Mia Wallace), who surprised the good god damn out of me early Saturday morning by getting down on one knee. The funny thing is, nothing in our paradigm has really shifted, as we’ve many times stated our intentions to be together forever and a day; moreso, the re-definition of our involvement is making the gravity of the good thing we have going much more palpable (and it’s seriously awesome watching the reactions of our friends and families via the wonder of the interwebs). We’re so unbelievably lucky to have each other, and to have defied statistical probability in so many ways. We’re also so in love that it is beyond words. Lucky. So fucking lucky. And SO in love. Not quite sure what graces of the Universe have allowed this to become my existence; however, I am more than grateful for the love of my life and the life we’re going to lead together.
2. The much too shortlived glory of a TV show that was FIREFLY. Particularly, Firefly marathon sessions on the couch with my fiancé. We’ve watched the entire series now (thank-you Netflix) and it’s been lovely us time–nothing better than science fiction and snuggles with my man! Also, Josh Wheadon, for the love of bacon please go through with making season 2. Just pretend the movie was never made and give us all what we’re chomping at the bit to see. You’re WHEADON for chrissakes–buy the damn Space Network and make it happen.
3. The utter awesome that is a good FOOTRUB (given by my fiancé while watching Firefly, natch). I am a spoiled, spoiled girl. And that combination completes my trifecta of awesome F-words. 🙂

Now for some angsty rambles before I drown myself in tea. So. The meat. The chewy part of this post hinges on perspective, of which I have found that the masses are hugely lacking in these days. It’s personally frustrating watching my friends and family forget that they’ve BEEN THROUGH SHIT BEFORE, and end up having a pity party every time more shit happens. Maybe I am just bizarre, but personally I tend to stop and think when I am faced with a shitty situation, recall what I did wrong and what worked the last time I was in a shitty situation, and allow common sense and some cajones to allow me to ride the waves. I simply do not understand what part of forgetting the past and wallowing in the present is conducive to productive, forwards motion. How can you forget what the fuck has made you stronger?!

On the flip side, I get equally frustrated by pity parties held for events that are past. I could easily justify (well, at least by common standards…) wallowing for days about what the KFP or Sunshine put me through. Hell, by the standards of certain folks with whom I spend the majority of my time, there is no logical way I should have ever gotten over them in the first place. I can’t compare what I’ve been through to what any other living person in the world has been through. I have not walked in his, her, their, nor your shoes; therefore, any attempt I make to speculate on the lives of others is merely that–speculation. What I can tell you is that the darkest days of my life would have broken the masses. I can say this with my head held high, just in watching the reactions of others to some relatively benign situations in the past few days. I make the choice to acknowledge that the things that broke me happened. I can’t change that. However, I can change my future by not forgetting the circumstances that were, and working my ass off every second of every minute of every day to make sure that I never land in those depths again. Wallowing brought me NOTHING (except sleepless nights and eating disorder relapses); whereas getting the fuck back up, brushing myself off, and continuing on has gotten me further than I ever thought I would get.

I am being purposefully vague here, as I am still attempting to be sensitive to the feelings of others. That said, sometimes I wish I didn’t care so much so that I could hurt their feelings to help them move forwards. Soon, Mia. Soon you’ll be in the 403, then the 250, and all of this will be but a distant past, too.

Caring too much about people who don’t care enough about themselves is one of my mkajor character flaws. I’m trying to correct it, but it’s hard. I’ve had too many people not give a flying fuck about me in the past…I suppose in some twisted way, it has made me care too much about my friends and family sometimes. I guess it just seems so common sense to me–that life is bullshit, largely–that I get annoyed by those who haven’t seemed to figure it out yet and lose perspective on what is worth putting time and energy into. You got through a bad relationship? That sucks. But doesn’t ignoring the good one you’re in now suck more?

…I can actually feel my heartrate regulating as I get this off my chest. There’s a lot I just don’t say anymore because I know my words largely fall upon deaf ears. Call me conceited…but I’m just smarter than most. It isn’t ego. It’s fact.

Okay, okay. Maybe a little ego in there too. Sometimes I gotta stroke it too hehehe.

Regardless, it’s one of the things for which I am the most grateful for my Vega. We’re pretty well an even match in every aspect (he’s smarter than me, I maintain; however, I’ll concede to his semantics and agree that we are equivalent in intelligence, just in different disciplines), and it is such a breath of fresh air to me, having found my love in life–with whom I can be truly, brutally honest, and with whom I have to filter myself absolutely NEVER. He ain’t perfect (and neither am I), but he’s perfect for ME.

And on that note, I am going to call this a post, make a cuppa tea and some popcorn, and enjoy watching “Serenity” with my FIANCÉ. Still can’t fully wrap my head around how amazing it is to be able to call the love of my life my FIANCÉ (insert happy as fuck dance riiiight here). Frustrated as life might make me, nothing really seems so bad since he waltzed his way into my existence. It’s all just a matter of picking my battles wisely for the next few weeks, and then 403, and then 250, and then happily ever after. With my Vega and his Wallace and his wonderful pooch in tow.

For now,

Wallace, out

 

“de·liv·er·ance (/diˈlivərəns/); Noun: 1. The action of being rescued or set free”

“I left out from mama’s with my thumb in the wind/
The leaves on the ground/
Winter’s comin’ again/
Solid on the surface as I crumble within/
But legends are made out of vulnerable men/
So on the brink of death I still manage livin’ life/
Cuz so rarely in this world are these chances givin twice/
I indeed sold my soul without glancin’ at the price/
No instructions when I was handed this device/
But with what I did give I was more than generous/
Put others over self on several instances/
But I’m back on my feet without a hint of bitterness/
And one way or another I shall have deliverance/”
–Bubba Sparxx, “Deliverance”
_________________________________________________________________-

I’m having a solidly awesome day today; definitely feeling more up to par with my usual self than I have in the past few days. It’s funny how sometimes you feel like you’re somebody who you do not recognize; like you’ve somehow woken up as somebody you don’t recognize, don’t know, don’t want to be. That’s how I felt since the flashback on Friday night–I felt weak and broken and scared (not necessarily unknown emotions to me..I felt very much the same as I did the last few months dating Sunshine), I knew that it wasn’t Mia. I woke up this morning feeling re-charged, my feet hit the floor and I was back to being ME.It’s good to be back, readers. I apologize for any uncharacteristic posts while I was gone (haha).

The quote above is from one of my all-time favorite songs (It’s totally a throwback, and always takes me back to middle school; however, remains a mainstay on my playlists and I recommend a listen if you aren’t familiar. Good old 00’s whiteboy folky-rap.), and it’s been resonating with me pretty strongly today. I spent the majority of the day focusing on myself, on reveling in feeling good and alive. Boo made us a delicious brekky which I thoroughly enjoyed, ate it downstairs over a cup of coffee and an episode of What Not To Wear and girl chat and general feel-good girly time. It was a great start to the day (11:30 and awake?! FUCK YEAH), and we lounged around until 2:00, when I headed upstairs to finally finish putting my room together.

I suppose I had been procrastinating on the whole final touches to my room thing because I haven’t really felt at home anywhere until now in the past 5 years of my life. This is definitely my place; my room is definitely my space. I have gotten over my fears there, and I thoroughly enjoyed emptying my closet, folding and hanging everything I own, finding a spot for all of my accessories, and watching my room come together, exactly as I want to see it, with no fear of anything going missing, or of having to leave unexpectedly, or of putting down some roots for the first time in a damn while. It makes me so happy to see all of my things all settled in MY SPACE! This time, if I do have to pack my things before the 18 months in Oromocto is up, it’ll be by choice, not necessity. A novel, welcome concept in this woman’s life.

I finally got through the cleaning at 5:30pm, at which point I decided it was time for a workout. I definitely had to do some talking-up today; however, by the time I made it down to the pit at 6:00, I was feeling badass and ready to attack the task at hand. I put in a solid 45 minute legs and glutes hell circuit today, and when I emerged sweaty and sore and exhausted, I was elated for having finally killed a workout the way I enjoy doing so. I made us all a delicious dinner, then did the dishes after Sarge and Boo went to bed. It was a seriously nice way to watch the day begin to come to a close.

My poor Vega is sick right now, so he’s been having a bit of an off-day. Luckily for both of us, we managed to get Skype to play nice for a really well-needed hour long date. It makes my damn heart skip beats when I see him (and it makes me SO sad when I can’t be there to play nurse and make him feel better when he’s all sniffly and not himself), and it was so unbelievably awesome to just see his green eyes and his megawatt smile and hear his voice and revel in the comfort that the love of my life provides. I seriously can’t believe how lucky I am, how lucky WE are. This is going to be an amzing visit, and I am thoroughly looking forward to being able to revel in his presence. Everything about it is just tantalizing; I am going to be the happiest woman alive to be able to hug him and kiss him and fall asleep with my head on his chest and wake up in his arms. I still cant quite wrap my head around the fact that I have a lifetime of this to look forward to. I never thought I’d be excited about my future…and here I am. Here WE are. Mutual elation. Mutual awesome,

Deliverance, is certainly what I have found. I have been rescued by so many helping hands along the way; I have been set free from my past, by the headstrong curious bullheadedness that IS Mia, that has allowed me to persevere. I definitely didn’t get here on my own; and I’m lucky, lucky that so many along the way have helped me so much. That said, I think the true deliverance comes from realizing that I have become someone more than I knew I could be. A year ago, I was settling for abuse from so many sources that it makes my head spin. I thought it was normal because I thought it was all I deserved. Now? Everything in my life surmounts my expectations; and it’s the craziest paradigm shift, learning to accept the truth–that I am enough to deserve all of these things. I think that’s where the flashbacks come from sometimes; it’s almost like there’s a part of me that still believes that I deserve to be treated like a sack of shit, and that the life I am living can’t be mine. What gives me hope, what makes it possible to snap out of the darkness, is the realization that this isn’t just a dream.

My parents, The KFP, Sunshine.. they can all kiss my well-toned ass. I won at life. I don’t owe anybody ANYTHING anymore. And it’s a glorious feeling.

On that note, I’m going to go get comfy in my now-clean room, read some D.H. Lawrence (re-re-re-reading Lady Chatterley’s Lover, amazing novel), and think about my Vega.

Did I mention that I’m NINE MOTHERFUCKIN’ DAYS AWAY FROM SEEING HIM?!

yeah, pretty stoked.

For now,

Wallace, out.