Wednesday, 19 August 2015

They Say Change is Good...

Change - noun: a transformation or modification; alteration.

I've been staring at that definition for a few days now. As per usual, I've written, erased, and rewritten this post a million times (and I'm now finishing it after the fact...oops). But I keep coming back to this one thought: nothing in the definition of change suggests that it will ever be easy. Perhaps change is good...but it is not easy.

There is a big change happening for me. It's probably a commonplace occurrence to many people; I'm in the process of moving into a new apartment (and procrastinating unpacking by writing this). Those of you who know me well, (likely most of you since I think my readers are basically my close friends...and my dear momsy) know that moving into a new apartment means I am officially roommate-less. I have been dreading this inevitable moment since my roommate started dating her boyfriend.

This is not your average roomie situation. First off, she's one of my closest friends. Fuck that. She's the sister I never had (yup, that's cliché, but it's true). My parents refer to her as their pseudo-daughter. For the nearly three years that we've been living together, I have jokingly referred to us as non-lesbian life partners (the term was born on a night where we ventured into the world of scotch...only to determine the particular scotch we tried that night tasted like someone had asked us to lick an old cow hide painted with gasoline; how's that for a tasting note?). And non-lesbian life partner is leaving me. She's moving away to Calgary...for a man. Like, WTF roomie.

Nine years ago, sitting in a not-so-gracefully aging lecture theatre awaiting the start of my first nursing class, I would not have pictured this. I would not have imagined I'd still be single, living with one of my closest friends, and trying to figure out life when it's nothing like you imagined it would be. Nine years ago, I was living with my then boyfriend (a jackass of epic proportions...I would delve into that, but it involves dredging up so much past bullshit). I was going into nursing as a back-up plan. I needed to ace the MCAT on my second attempt and then apply to medicine, and nursing seemed like an appropriate stepping stone. Life seemed somewhat sorted. And then, through nursing, I had the amazing opportunity to go overseas and spend a six weeks working in Mozambique with my future roomie.

To say that trip changed my life is an understatement of a lifetime. I left Canada for the first time at 25 years old, embarked on a trip that would take me away from my jackass boyfriend for the longest we had ever been apart (at the time, I only suspected just how much of a jackass he really was), and all with the roomie at my side. I came home after three months of traversing Mozambique, South Africa, Namibia, Botswana and Zambia as a very single, enlightened 25 year old woman - with a new bestie.

My (now former) non-lesbian life partner has stood by my side through some of the worst times in my life, with a glass of wine in hand for each of us. She has celebrated with me in countless good times...also with a glass of wine in there a theme here? This fucking change is more than merely moving to a new place and setting up house. It means my go-to for bitching about work will no longer be here when I get home. The person who has a glass of wine/scotch/other delicious cocktail waiting for me after a rough day will be six hours away. No one else will make sure there are leftovers for my shifts, and if I leave clothes on the drying rack they will not magically make their way to my bedroom, neatly folded (unless I can order some laundry elves on Amazon? I've gotten everything else on there...). I can't count on my new neighbours to be respectful when I've just worked three night shifts. And there will be no one at home during Christmas who will be as excited as I am for the first spiced rum and eggnog.

Yes, I'm whining. And yes, I've been completely spoiled for the last three years. So spoiled that when the option of having another roommate (aka cheaper rent) came up, I turned it down. I have had the crème de la crème of roommates, and no one else will do. If I ever actually move in with another guy or get married, they are going to have some mighty big shoes to fill.

But, because I'm so mature (and because I just opened a bottle of bubbly to enjoy in my new apartment), I can step back and see the bigger picture here. I am incredibly happy for my roomie/non-lesbian life partner/pseudo-sister/BFF. I love her, and I love her and her bf together. I'm no psychic fortune teller (if I was I'd stop bitching about being single because I'd either know I have to suck it up and love my single life, or I'd be chilling out waiting for Prince Charming to show up...preferably in the form of Charlie Hunnam á la Sons of Anarchy), but this guy is the one for her. If I'm wrong, then I have the worst intuition on Earth and should give up dating...wait a minute...(ha!).

So...cheers! (Don't worry, I'm holding my glass up and fake cheers-ing.) To change being good for you; despite it being difficult, tear-filled, and heartbreaking at times. Salut! To one of the most important people in my life finding love and throwing herself into it - it's inspiring. A votre santé! To closing one chapter and opening another...and to a few more glasses of vino in the very near future (like, right now, since the bottle is open).


Wednesday, 5 August 2015

Stuff and Shit and Things

Oh, hey there.

I probably should have mentioned that come summer, (which kicks off by me devouring as much live music as possible at the Jazz Festival) I would likely disappear from the blogging world. When your summer can be as short as Sasky summers can be, they tend to be crammed tight with activities.

That was also totally an excuse, so I hope you can forgive me. I've been busy, but I've also been avoiding you. Skirting the issue of dating, yet somehow still dating. Yes, even I'm confused by that.

You see, stuff has happened. There have been dates. There have been make-outs and a hook-up and someone who caught me off guard. I fell harder than I would have imagined I could still fall for someone (especially when it comes to someone imminently leaving), and I watched as he walked away. I deleted and re-downloaded Tinder numerous times. I went on a few more dates, and deleted Tinder again. I considered rejoining the legit online dating world (and not just swiping left or right out of pure boredom). I was asked out on dates, I was excited, and they never materialized. I aimlessly wandered the datescape in Saskatoon and (surprisingly...ha!) came up empty handed.

In the midst of all this, I tried to write. I sometimes made a concerted effort to sit at my computer...and stare at a blank screen. I couldn't find a single sentence to communicate my rising ambivalence toward all of this dating bullshit.

I vacillate between caring about dating and giving zero fucks about dating. How dare I ever even complain about being single? I have the freedom to do whatever the fuck I want; I answer only to my conscience, my bank account, and whatever semblance of adult responsibility I have. Also...I don't have cancer, I wasn't born into a war-torn third world country, I'm not dying of starvation or being sold into slavery, and I'm not a lion named Cecil (Hahaha...too soon?). Life is good.

But I'm a human being and I crave companionship. I'm ok on my own - in fact a lot of times I almost prefer being on my own (see above - I have the freedom to do whatever the fuck I want). But there are times when the sting of loneliness is all too real. Times where I meet someone who rekindles something; a feeling I had resigned myself to believing I would never experience again. But, of course, life intervenes and fear takes hold. And for one ridiculous reason or another, we hold each other at arm's length despite wanting to pull each other in and never let go. These times are what stopped me from writing. Somehow they simultaneously destroy and build up my will to date.

I'm entering familiar hypocritical territory, I know. We all do it..."I'm never drinking again." After a particularly crazy long weekend, who didn't say this on Monday? I did. And then tried to cure my ugly sinus cold with a hot toddy (click here for the recipe - it only succeeded in making me pass out, the cold still reigns). Riiiiight, NEVER drinking again.

I know my friends have heard that same statement directed at men/dating/relationships..."I'm so done with men." And then within a week I manage to meet someone, go on a date, or make out with someone on a dance floor (my mom is so proud right now). I go through this cycle at least once a week. I mean, wait, I mean a year. Yeah, once a year. The ambivalence cycle. Does everyone do this? Do all you single people out there waver from super-excitement because you've met someone new (I'm talking, playing the Rocky theme, air-punching at the top of some stairs because you're so pumped up) to being utterly forlorn shitty date after shitty date (and hence listening to the finest sad bastard music this world has to offer)?

I'm kind of exhausted just re-reading this. But that must be the sinus cold. Yup, the cold. Time for another hot toddy...