Sticky Beak
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The Skinny
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...life in small Northern towns, working for assholes, boys who refuse to become men, synthetic personalities, anorexic models and their link to emotional scarring, bad marijuana trips, crazies on BC Transit, beer, piece of shit cars, living out of a suitcase paycheck to paycheck, unrequited love, Seinfeld, minimum-wage jobs, broken New Year�s resolutions, and over-limit Visa accounts.
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My Angel An entire weekend of utter nothingness. D's been gone skiing since Friday with a group of lads, and I've been sitting inside this house with the two dogs watching full seasons of depressing television shows. Did take a break from the intense fast-track of my exotic life for a few hours last night to have dinner/drinks/pool with a couple girlfriends, but quickly discovered that a night out of drinks & pool isn't as much fun when you don't drink and are 3 of only 10 people in the pub. I think we're getting old... which is ironic, considering the server marched straight up to us and demanded to see our ID's. "Seriously?" I asked. Seriously. Called it a night and was resting comfortably back on my couch by 11PM... nestled back into the indent that was left from the 12 hours I'd spent there in the earlier part of the day. Pathetic. I've been screaming (mostly in my head) this mantra of needing to be active in the creation of my own life; to participate in it. To have some input into what I take from this round... screaming, talking, praying, talking some more... but not actualy doing anything. It's lame, man. I'm standing on the end of the divingboard - knees bent, arms swinging, saying to myself "ok... this is it... NOW!"... not jumping, and then repeating it over & over & over... JUST FUCKING JUMP already!!! I'm trying, I really am. It's not the drop from the board to the water that scares me... it's not even whether or not I'll land ok without hurting myself, how the water will feel when I hit it, or even if I'll remember how to swim... What's holding me back isn't about me at all. It's about the rest of my team back on the sidelines that aren't jumping. How can I just leave that behind, turn my back and take the plunge? I hesitate... and that's why I'm still standing here, toes curled over the edge of the board ready to launch myself off at any second, but simultaneously crippled and glued in place. I guess if I'm being entirely honest with myself, I am scared... at least a little. Who wouldn't be??? It's a helluva long drop with no way of getting back. Small potatoes, really, in the grand scheme of things. Everyone in this world is on a quest for happiness... short or long-term. For some it's happily-ever-after, for others it's a full belly or a dry place to spend the night. The concept and interpretation of happiness is widely diverse, even among my own circle. I'm trying desperately to remain mindful that happiness isn't tied to any one thing (or person)... it needs to come from within ourselves or it's not real. Happiness isn't tangible, but so many of us get caught in that tangled net of "if I just had XYZ I'd be happy." Doesn't work that way... there's always another XYZ that follows. "Happiness is not a possession to be prized... it's a quality of thought, a state of mind." Listen to me... preachy McPreacherson. Probably more for myself than anything... well, duh, Holly. Of course it is... this is a rhetorical piece of writing posted in the infinite universe of cyberspace. There's something so cleansing about it, though.. even with that knowledge. Time for another cuppa "with" my mom. The enamel is starting to wear off of the mug she gave me... we each had one particular mug to use when we wanted to have tea together. It started when I moved to Ireland - couldn't bear the thought of not having that special, committed time with my ma - so I bought us matching mugs and when we spoke on the phone we'd each have a cup of tea in them. I had to leave everything behind when I left Ireland, so when I came home mom replaced my mug with another - one that depicts a child-like sketch of an angel and reads The bonds we have are everlasting.... I used this mug faithfully while she was alive whenever we "had tea" together - always made sure it was clean for the weekends so I could savor a relaxed morning cuppa with my ma. Last summer, I tucked mom's mug into a small wooden chest next to her ashes - alongside my dad's wedding band, her "mother's pride" ring, and multitude of letters from family - and we buried her under a solitary birch tree next to the lake,overlooking the snow-capped mountains she loved. Her mug is always with her, and I have a cuppa with her every day. And I know that the bonds we have truly are everlasting. My Angel. There's one giant piece of my happiness. |