Monday, 8 February 2016

The Human Condition

If it’s cliché of me to return to blogging after breaking in a brand new year, I don’t give a shit. I’m well past the point of being fashionably late to wish you a happy new year, which is good; I don’t need to engage in a conversation about my resolutions, or lack thereof. I don’t make resolutions, because I think they’re as much bullshit as the over-hyped holiday they’re associated with. The over-hyped, stupid holiday…that I buy into every year, hoping one night will miraculously erase the crap in my life and I’ll wake up January 1st invigorated, with a fresh outlook, and maybe even with a boyfriend (or at least someone I shared a magical first kiss with at midnight...I am that cheesy).

If I had one of those really loud, annoying buzzers from a game show that signals the very WRONG answer, I would use it right now.

Did I awake and find some amazing man in bed who materialized overnight to sweep me off my feet? Hell fucking no. Did a night of champagne shot-skis and drinking games erase the emotional baggage I’ve gained over the past year(s)? Of course fucking not! (It was a lot of fun though.) Is my path in life now cleanly laid out in front of me with a rainbow and a pot of gold at the end? You guessed it - NO! I have no fucking clue what I’m doing 99.9% of the time; though I am apparently upping the fuck quotient in my vocabulary.

You know what I did wake up to on New Year's Day? Me. April. All of my intelligence, wit, beauty, neurotic tendencies, insecurities, and quirks that make me, me. I woke up and spent the first day of 2016 snowboarding with one of my closest friends; breathing in the crisp mountain air, soaking in the sunshine of a pure bluebird day, and relishing the feeling of my board cutting down the mountain (with a lot less powder than I’d like, but hey, as a prairie girl I will NEVER complain about a day in the mountains). Me…and the human jumble that I am.

There was someone in my life for a few months at the end of 2015. Something was happening with someone, and it was…something. It was a connection I never knew I always wanted. This something was deceptively simple. It was rare, and somehow simultaneously exciting and comfortable. I was twitterpated. I could see it becoming official, and amazing. And I could not have been further off-base. As subtly and easily as it began, it unfurled in a stupefying confession and left me bewildered, and with the heaviest of hearts.

During our parting conversation he said something that surreptitiously laid the groundwork for this post. After apologizing for his behaviour, which he realized had led me to believe he also intended for our thing to become something...maybe even the thing, he said he "needed to be the best version of himself in order to fully commit to one person."

Insert gameshow buzzer here. WRONG.

This has been pulling at me for a while. It's been winding around inside my mind, slowly coming to the forefront. It does seem crucial to me that a person would want to be the best version of themselves for their someone else. I want to be my best self for that person (if I should ever fucking find him). But...we're human beings. However pristine our exterior, it belies the tumultuous interior of a human. At our core, we have hearts and emotions that defy all logic. Those hearts and emotions can muddle things, especially relationships. We can strive for perfection, for our "best version," but there's always going to be a bit of mess, it's inevitable. We're humans, and we fuck shit up (maybe more often than we care to admit). Case and point: being so much of a mess that you throw away the woman standing in front of you saying she wants you just as you are, mess and all.

I don't (only) want the best version of you, because I won't always be the best version of me.

A

P.S. - Because Bon Iver is the embodiment of sad bastard music, this song must be shared. And because this post turned into my heartbreak instead of whatever vision I started out with. Also, because it might tug at your heartstrings as much as mine and then I won't be the only sap with a tear or two in her eyes.

Monday, 1 February 2016

Some beach...somewhere...

Ladies and gentlemen, we are 8 days away from vacation and I cannot contain my excitement. That's right, I'm eagerly counting down the moments until I step onto the plane, settle into my seat, and order a caesar.

Mexico, I'm coming for you.

So today, as I distractedly put the finishing touches on my next post, I will share this with you. My current mood. In 8 days, I will be on a beach sipping whatever concoction tickles my fancy (likely something with a substantial amount of rum in it), reading Shantaram, and working on my freckles.

I will not apologize for unashamedly announcing my impending high dose of sunshine. If you don't like it, fuck off. These past couple of months have perhaps not been the easiest, and I need some fucking sunshine. I need to breathe in the salty ocean air, have my hair defy all logic in its ability to become a frizzy mess, and I need to get the fuck out of Saskatoon for a minute or two.

See? I really need a vacation.



A