Birthday

It's my birthday in 25 minutes.
I hate my birthday. Too many bad memories/disappointments.
I wish I could just skip over the 29th. I wish I'd been born on a leap-year day. Then I'd only have to celebrate my birthday once every four years.
This is what I have to say about turning 24. Two-four.

18 minutes.
I'm going to bed before it's too late.

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes!

I don't know about you, but I've always LOVED change. It means something better is coming around the corner--be it a better opportunity, a better lifestyle, a better me!
And that's what Spring signifies for me: change. Ch-ch-ch-changes to be exact.
Oh David.


This Spring is a different spin on change. Nothing drastic, just a muturing, or coming-into of ideas and dreams.

I've realized, and not in a self-pitying, passive way, that I might never get married. And that's not a bad thing--it's just a different thing. So I've had to change my way of thinking about the present and futute.

My ultimate dream is to own a small 12 acre farm, have a mutt from the pound named Teddy and a cat named Henri, an old pick-up (preferably red or green), grow most of my own food organically, preserve beets, pickles and jams in the fall, make braided rugs out of the rags I've been collecting for YEARS, have some chickens and maybe some sheep, and be able to take off on mission trips two or three times a year.

It's not impossible. It's not unreasonable. It's not even very exciting, but it's my dream, so why haven't I been working towards it?
Because I've been waiting for a husband. Clearly, that's the way to go. But I can't wait forever, and I'm not going to. I'm going to walk on into my dreams and hope he meets me there.

And in the immortal words of David Bowie...

Still dont know what I was waiting for
And my time was running wild
A million dead-end streets and
Every time I thought I'd got it made
It seemed the taste was not so sweet
So I turned myself to face me
But I've never caught a glimpse
Of how the others must see the faker
I'm much too fast to take that test

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes
(turn and face the strain)
Ch-ch-changes
Don't want to be a richer man
Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes
(turn and face the strain)
Ch-ch-changes
Just gonna have to be a different man
Time may change me
But I can't trace time

I watch the ripples change their size
But never leave the stream
Of warm impermanence
So the days float through my eyes
But still the days seem the same
And these children that you spit on
As they try to change their worlds
Are immune to your consultations
They're quite aware of what they're going through

CHORUS

Strange fascination, fascinating me
Ah changes are taking the pace I'm going through

Effing Effingham

My brother-in-law told me about a magical little place called Effingham. He said it was a little hamlet nestled in the escaprment with a stream going through it; he said it was just like Wales.
Well, I had to find out for myself...so...
Effingham isn't actually ON a map. Technically, it doesn't exist. And with a name like that, who can blame them? Effing Effingham. That will never get old.
So here it is--Southern Ontario--more specifically, the Niagara Region. You'll find Effingham nestled below St. Catharine's and above Thorold.

As I was approaching Effingham, I stopped at a bakery to ask, 'Where exactly IS Effingham?', to which everyone replied 'There is no such place.'
Ah.
How do you explain THIS then?!?!

Exactly.
THEN the adventure began. Huge dipping roads, twisty corners on gravel and a wide, but shallow river, the Twelve Mile River, running beside you.

Of course, I had to stop and take self-portraits!

Oh, wasn't today beautiful? The spring wild-flowers were in bloom, birds were singing, the river was gurgling away, like the sound of my stomach when I had the flu. It was melodic.

And last but not least--a poem. Written by a man named Brown. I'm not sure of his first name. Wikipedia just said 'Brown' like I was supposed to know who that was. Anyway--here it is--and this sums it up.

"Effingham"

Low nestled in the Pelham Hills
Where angrily the Twelve Mile spills,
Her crystal flood o'er earth confine
Then rushes on as if on time:
And not unlike the sportive steed
It races down through vale and mead
Impatient in its onward flow
To swell Ontario's tide below.

Here let me rest, 'neath maple shade
Of charming bowers of nature made,
And whether I gaze on vine-clad hill
Or two-fold pond and rustic mill
In all around I find a scene
For artist's brush and poet's theme.
No crowded walk or busy street

But you stop and talk to whom you meet
On grass finged path up to the store,
Or to the church with welcome door-
A spot where simple joys abound
And peace and plenty abound

Where life is real and not a sham,
Believe me, this is Effingham.

Why do I suck at life so much?

That's the question I asked myself today after I hung up the phone from talking to my tax guy.

I think it was after I said " I don't have an income." or maybe it was before I said " I'm really bad at this--my Dad told me to." that I had to spell my email address to taxman Rob,
"Yeah, it's um, it's punkaroo, P U N K A R E U X....at gmail.com." Silence on the other end.
"Oh that's a very clever way of spelling Punkaroo." (She's retarded.)
"Ah aha...yeah. Thanks." (Oh my gosh--I am SUCH an idiot.)

Why can't I wrap my head around taxes. I just don't get it. Don't I pay 14% on everything I buy anyway? Why do I have to...oh right....it's income tax. Well then. But I still don't get it AT ALL.
It's very upsetting actaully. My tummy hurts and I'm a little teary. Money. It just stresses me OUT!
Can anyone educate me? Is there a book out there? I need help.

Annnnnnnd on that note I'm going to go spend some money on food and trees. Just a typical day really.

One of those days...

Ever have one of those days? The days where everything dumps on top of you and you feel a little crushed by it all? Aka, Life. Yeah, today is one of those days.

I can't do anything I'm normally good at, I have a hard time communicating, there are lots of misunderstandings, my head hurts, my clothes don't fit, I'm hungry and nothing will satisfy.
Anyway--it's Sunday which means Napday. Perhaps that will help. That and some chocolate. Yes.

The surgery saga

It is the year 2007. Science can create the world's first bionic woman. She will be made of flesh, bones and lasers. We have the technology. This is her story:
Consultation day:

I was assulted with dilating drops, antibiotic drops and inundated with flashy lights and lasers. This was the effect: crazy eyes and greasy hair. Naomi refered to me as a cartoon. I agreed.

Surgery day:

Dilating drops, valium, and a friend who acted like she was on valium is the culprit here. If you look closely you can see where the nurse marked the whites of my eyes with a marker. That wasn't as fun as it sounds. ***Note the red-eye. My pupils were so dilated that I can't photoshop them out.***

Surgery afternoon:

Again, valium, percocets, gravol and McDonald's is the perpetrator of this heinous photograph. Catherine had the privilage of picking me up from the clinic after my surgery, taking me to McDonalds (valium does straaaaaaange things), tape protective visors over my eyes and tuck me in at 430 in the afternoon.

Post-operative life:

Lots of drops. Drops drops drops all the time because it feels like there are little demons in under my eyelid that are gnawing away at the lens of my eyeballs if I don't lube up.


Cleaning myself is even more of a treat now that I have to wear goggles to do so. Yup. Goggles. The man at the sports store rang the goggles through and asked "So how often are you in the water?". "Um...almost everyday." I said.

I want to be loved

A pretty piece of poetry from a bluegrass band I happed upon.
Once you've been in love or close to it, sometimes it's hard to let go. Sometimes nothing else will do. Isn't it so true?

I want to be kissed but only by your lips, dear
For you’re the only one who’ll ever do
I want someone to hug and call me honey
I want to be loved, but only by you

I want someone to help me in my sorrow
And someone whose heart is always true
Somebody who will stay with me forever
I want to be loved, but only by you