stezzzah.blogspot.

Greetings From Deutschland

2010-05-19T07:34:00.000-07:00

If I haven't said this before, I should say it. And if I have, it bears repeating. I am awful at blogging. I am ashamed at how little I've written since I've been living in Paris over the last 7 months. I have no excuse except for laziness. But as my time in Europe is drawing to an end, I am feeling sentimental and feel like writing.

I have since moved in and out of my little Parisian 'palace' by Voltaire. In the end, I became comfortable with living on my own, although given the choice I much prefer living with others. Nevertheless, it was a necessary experience for me to have and I feel more grown up for sticking it out. For 5 months, those 17 m2, were all mine. And though I may have cursed my small living quarters, that apartment was my little nest in a big city, and even housed many visiting friends and family. Packing up my things, I didn't feel sad or nostalgic to let it go (I guess I wasn't there long enough to), just grateful that I had had it.

Currently, I'm in Frankfurt, staying with an old friend of my mum, who is graciously putting me up for the next two weeks. Unfortunately, today is very cold and wet, and I've decided to forgo sightseeing in the rain. How unadventurous of me. Instead, I am curled up in a comfy chair, typing away on her daughter's beautiful MacBook Pro (Note: MUST get one the moment I can afford it). I want to dedicate the next several entries to memories and experiences that I have neglected to write about over the past several months. It would be impossible to write them all down, and in the detail I would like to, but I want to try to store a few of them while they are still relatively fresh in my mind. It'll be a work in progress, but I wan't to post it as I go along instead of just saving it as a draft forever.

Lorne's visit:

I'll never forget how annoyed I was waking up to loud knocking on my apartment door. Thinking it was the Jehovah's Witnesses that hadn't left me alone the week before, I ignored it. When I finally got out of bed to see why it wouldn't stop, there he was, staring at me through the peephole, three days earlier than expected. I had been sick, lonely and depressed in the week before his visit. I hadn't showered, or cleaned, or done much of anything. My thought process:, "Am I dreaming? How long have I been sleeping? What day is it? He can't really be here! I haven't cleaned the apartment or showered yet!"

The next three weeks were incredible. Not a fan of the typical French breakfasts (he doesn't like ANYTHING sweet) we had our share of bacon and eggs made on my little hot plate almost every morning. We had Valentine's Day, fresh coffee, the rugged coast of Paimpol, red wine, croissants, train rides, car rentals, more coffee, free heineken, cheese, family and fun in London, English breakfasts, Guinness, Lahksa at the Dawsons, more wine, dinner at the Mbalea's, Versailles, a very cold football match, rain, sun, and full moons, and then a very tearful goodbye (on my part).

The Trini feast:

I was lucky enough to make a group of friends in Paris that love eating as much as I do. And I must say that I really enjoyed the dinner parties we had together. On this particular occasion, Paul (my friend from Trinidad) was going to throw us a Trinidadian meal. I remember agreeing to meet up with him and Laura to help grocery shop. Little did I know that this would turn into a two day affair. I met up with Paul, Kate and Laura R., and we shopped at Tang Freres' in Chinatown for at least an hour before setting up to cook at Laura G's apartment because it was the only one big enough and with an oven. We chopped, and grated, washed, peeled, boiled, baked and sauteed for hours under Paul's intruction, only taking ONE much needed tea break before we completely lost all sanity. And I enjoyed every minute of it. Around midnight we had finished preparing everything we could and went home to bed. The next day was spent fussing about the finishing touches, with every one on hand helping out with something or other. At one point there must have been at least 10 people in the kitchen at once, working on something. In the end, we had around 16 people, from all around the world, munching on the most delicious selection of traditional Trini food. We filled our bellies until we couldn't eat any more, and somehow there was still food left over. Such a great way to spend a Sunday afternoon.

Okay, taking a break for the moment, but more to come later.

cont'd

2010-01-26T18:52:00.001-08:00

Ma petite "boîte" française

2010-01-26T18:36:00.000-08:00

Thought I'd post some pictures of the new pad.

2010-01-26T16:48:00.000-08:00

The first night in the apartment was bizarre and lonely. Sleeping in a new bed, in a strange place, with foreign sounds and NO INTERNET made me feel agitated and anxious. I carelessly burned through 35 euro worth of phone credit-an amount that can last me two months- on a meager 20 minute phone call home. And when the line cut abruptly short, I was left with a silence that slithered and squeezed so tightly around my chest, I felt I might never breathe in again.

I did.

Within a few days I found my way; slowly creating new rhythm and routine. Finding solace in music, or podcasts, or bits of conversation heard through thin wall. To be honest, learning to be by myself has been an experience that I do not take for granted. I am only now becoming aware of how immensely important this experience is for me. I realize that though there are times I crave solitude (I think we all do) I typically feel uneasy on my own. Perhaps due to the fact that I have rarely been by myself in my life. I come from a very close family, which I adore and love being around, and as far back as I can remember have always had at least one friend with whom I was joined at the hip. For the past four years, I've been lucky to be in a relationship where I can spend endless amounts of time with my bf, and it's never stifling, but rather wonderful. That's not to say that I don't have moments of solitude in my life; I often enjoy running or walking around the city or shopping on my own, however given the choice of doing those activities with others has always seemed like more fun to me. If I'm honest, I think I shy away from being by myself because I am terrified of loneliness-a feeling I confuse with being inept, pathetic, a failure- as it is something I find horribly debilitating.

I see now that it doesn't have to mean those things. While often unpleasant, feeling lonely can be a freeing, strengthening and ultimately a human experience. I have yet to meet one person who hasn't felt truly loneliness at one time in their life. Why are we, or rather, am I, so afraid to admit it?

Though I enjoy being able to go out with my friends more now that I live in the city, and it is a struggle pushing myself (a home-body) out of this 17 m2 apartment to try new things, I am, to some extent, enjoying my loneliness. I wouldn't go as far to say that I love it, but it has forced me to shift my thinking about myself and what I am capable of, and I am appreciative about that. At the end of the day, coming home to a quiet apartment isn't that bad after all...

...unless one is without internet. The horror!

Back in France

2010-01-08T06:18:00.000-08:00

January 8, 2010

Yesterday was my first day back at work. Due to the jet lag, I woke up around 4:30 am, and despite my effort to stay in bed for another hour, I gave up and got out of bed. When I stepped out the door into the cold morning I had to do a double take. For a minute I thought I was still in Toronto. Snow was falling heavily from the sky and the ground was blanketed in white. By the time I reached Evry I couldn’t believe how much snow there was. I felt the way one might feel to see a familiar face in a foreign place; “Hey! What are YOU doing here?!” Happy that keeping my furry mukluks in France hadn’t been such an absurd idea after all, I marched on through the snow, my hood pulled down and my scarf tightly around my face and felt very Canadian. My heart went out to some of the people I passed by slipping on the ice, their meager running shoes soaked through to their feet. It was a peaceful walk along the quiet path through the woods before the chaos of school that lay ahead. When I arrived, the kiddies were very happy to see me and I was just as pleased to see them. Unfortunately, due to the snow only 4 out of 9 teachers were able to make it in. Even the principal called in to report that she was stuck in gridlock traffic on the auto-route. One teacher frantically asked me if I would be able to take a class until their teacher showed up. “Oui, biensur, pas de probleme!” Luckily, I was with my favourite class. The other teachers started moving teacher-less classes to a larger room where they quickly put on a video and the part-time secretary was obliged to watch them. I felt like a real teacher as I sat at Michel’s desk and took attendance (I made them reply in English). When that was finished I led them in a little morning warm up exercise. They giggled as we ran on the spot, did jumping jacks, and stretched, but at least it got the blood going. Then I did an impromptu English lesson with them for as long as I could hold their attention. Still no teacher. “Um, okay class, who wants to tell me what they did over the holidays?” Thankfully they were all willing to tell me in utmost detail, even though I didn’t quite understand everything they said. When one girl explained how her parents got so drunk on New Years Eve that she had to take care of all her siblings, I decided to steer the conversation in a different direction. The bell rang for recess and I told the kids to go out and play in the snow. Finally, a replacement teacher showed up for about the last hour of the morning and gave them some proper work to do.
The rest of the day wasn’t as eventful. I began to feel exhausted around 3 pm and embarrassingly started nodding off in one of my classes. In my defense I had finished the English lesson and had nothing to do but sit at the back of the class (beside the heater) and wait for the end of the day. Their teacher, whom I get along really well with, politely told me that if I wanted to go home early it wouldn’t be a big deal. I initially declined, but when she persisted, I quickly agreed. Finally got home around 6:30 pm as there was slight delays on the train due to the snow, put my pj’s on, and plopped myself beside the fireplace to warm up. I am kind of glad that I have another week with Aulivia’s family before I move in to my own apartment because I think I might have felt a bit lonely on my own after being surrounded by so much family over the holidays. Now if I can just get over this jet lag...

How I'm spending my All Saint's Day Vacation

2009-10-30T05:56:00.000-07:00

Writing this in bed. I woke up sick yesterday morning. I think it’s just a cold, but I feel sleepy and achy so I'm staying in the house again today. With all this H1N1 stuff going on, Claudine is ensuring that I moniter my temperature constantly. So far no fever, so I think I'm okay. I don’t think anything induces homesickness more than being ill and not having your proper bed to rest up in. On a positive note, I do have some time to catch up on my blog writing.

One of the perks of working as a teacher in France is the vacation time. And seeing as I am officially working in the system for the next six month, I will also enjoy 8 weeks of it. You read that right my friends: 8 WEEKS. I thought teachers in Toronto had it made with summers and holidays off. But in fact they do not. Teachers in France benefit from almost 8 weeks of vacation (10 days October, 2 weeks at Christmas, 2 weeks in February, and 10 days in April) BEFORE the summer break. Over lunch last week I confided in my fellow French teachers just how little vacation the average teacher in Toronto gets in comparison. They were dumbfounded.

“Vraiment? Not even two weeks off for Easter? Mais, no!”

I shrugged, slightly embarrassed, and quickly added, “But school doesn’t start at 8:30 and end at 4:30 like it does here, we start at 9 and end at 3:30.”

As if the extra hour and a half difference everyday somehow equates to 5-6 extra weeks of vacation time…I decided not to tell them that schools in Toronto don’t get 2 hours for lunch either. I didn’t want to spoil their appetite with such a disgusting fact.

But, I digress…

Seeing as I am currently on holiday, I’ve been “profiting” as the French like to say, in this fantastic city. Yesterday I met up with some language assistants in the afternoon for a day of all things touristy. We started off at the Louvre, but after seeing the massive queue outside, and realizing that we should take advantage of the beautiful weather (17 degrees and sunny!) we headed off towards the Arc de Triomphe instead. I think I’ll go back to the Louvre sometime in the dead of winter when the gloomy weather has warded off all the tourists.

As we walked down the Champs-Elysee towards the Arc, we came across a little exhibit on Vogue magazine. Lining the street were posters of various Vogue covers dating back to the 50’s. Couldn’t help but take a few pictures. After the Arc, (we didn’t actually go up because the women at the ticket booth wouldn’t let us go up for free, even though we are entitled to with our long stay visas) we headed off to the lesser populated, but no less beautiful Musee Rodin. I have to say this was perhaps one of the best museums I’ve ever been to. Once inside, I was blown away by the understated elegance of the museum, originally a Hotel, where Rodin spent a lot of his time scultpting. The gardens surrounding the building are impeccably manicured, with rose bushes, shrubs, and pebbled paths neatly lined with trees. They provide a perfect backdrop for the sculptures scattered within them. It was wonderfully quiet inside, as if we’d stepped into another universe, far away from the bustle of the city. If ever I need to get away from it all, I just have to take my book and plop myself down on a chez-lounge by the fountain.

Although the museum is small, it is intimate and unpretentious. Natural light pours in through each window giving the sculptures a luminous glow (as if they needed any help). Many of them aren’t even enclosed in glass casing; you can put your face right up to the kiss and actually see the lovers' white hot marble embrace. Definitely a museum that evokes all the senses.

At one point before leaving, I found myself looking out an open window gazing out at the skyline of Paris. With my hands grasping the iron railing and the evening air on my face I had one of those moments where it hit me. Stevie, for the next six months, you get to live here. How lucky am I?

Miscommunication

2009-10-22T12:33:00.000-07:00

Today while playing the Hi, how are you today? game with the little french kiddies I misheard a students response to why he was sad as "because my father is dead" instead of "because I miss my father." Shocked, I responded back in English, "you're sad because you're father is dead?" He nodded with a solemn face, clearly not understanding me, and asked me to teach him how to say it in English.

"You say, 'I am sad because my father is dead,' okay? Repeat after me: My...father...is...dead."

Thankfully another student who was watching our conversation overheard the miscommunication and promptly corrected me.

"Mais, Maîtresse! Son père n'est pas mort! Son père lui manque!"

Oops!

These early morning starts really mess with my comprehension. Or so I'd like to think.

Le transit, le Goûter, et les rêves français

2009-10-18T00:20:00.000-07:00

I've realized that I've been only posting once a week (Sundays are usually the best days for me to write). But I hope to change that as I did acquire an Ethernet cord yesterday and now have a more stable internet connection. Hurrah!

Alas, homesickness has started to set in as I knew it would. My french is getting slightly better and I am adjusting to life here in France, but I am missing my hunny something dreadful. Thankfully, with my stable internet connection, I was able to see him over Skype yesterday. Bliss! Which reminds me, if anyone wants to chat over skype, add me! It's a bit tricky with the time difference, but I'm sure we can work something out.

As I am feeling more comfortable in my surroundings, and seem to find my way to work without any trouble, I've pushed back my morning commute time by half an hour so I arrive 15 mins early instead 45 mins early. But there are some disadvantages that come with traveling during peak hours. Last Thursday I experienced several of them.

After arriving at my first transfer I raced to catch the train along with at least a thousand other people. I didn't make it on my first try, and when the second train arrived I thought ''oh, there is no way I'm going to fit in there.'' And before I could finish the thought I was squished into the train by a woman in neon yellow vest. I felt like I was on the train in Tokyo. I spent the next five stops pressed up against an old French fellow who smelt like he'd not only had a few, but perhaps spent the night with his mouth under the beer tap. Can I just say that it was 7 AM!

At the next junction, I noticed that something didn't seem right. There were far too many people standing around and not enough train movement. I started to panic as I couldn't really understand what the woman on the overhead announcement was saying. She was speaking too fast. Eventually I figured out that there had been an electrical failure and we needed to board another train at another track. I followed the crowd, tried my best to understand the announcements and hoped for the best. Long story short, I arrived an hour and twenty mins late for work. And on the way back it was the same thing. In total I spent two and a half hours at work and five hours on the train. Blegh. Oh well, at least there wasn't a strike.

I still haven't been out doing touristy things around Paris yet. I really should be, but I just haven't found the will power to go by myself sight seeing after I get home from work. On my days off I sleep in, eat, help clean up around the house, look for apartments online,write e-mails, go for a run, eat some more and then make my lesson plans, etc. After this week, I'll have two weeks off, so I plan to do some sightseeing and traveling around then. I'm trying to not be so hard on myself about it. I have to keep reminding myself I've still only been here just short of three weeks.

What experience I've lacked in Parisian nightlife and culture, I've certainly made up for in french cuisine. There is deliciousness all around me. I've really taken to ''le Goûter'', a meal around 16:30, (similar to high tea), dedicated to all things bready and sweet. It's perfectly acceptable to slather nutella on everything, to have pain au chocolat twice a day, and of course, to eat half a baguette with every meal. I can't quite seem to understand how the country isn't obese, although I have seen some larger people too. Sorry Madame Guiliano, some french women DO get fat. Even as I've been writing this, Claudine has asked me seveal times if I have eaten something yet, and why don't I come eat some breakfast. Had to take a break to have a bowl of cereal and taste the artisan bread she had just bought fresh from the market.

Last week during my lunch hour I found myself with out any baguette to munch on, and suddenly the meal became lacking. What was I supposed to sop up my stew withÉ* My handÉ Pffft. Where was the breadÉ

*(Oh btw, my keyboard has turned itself french so I no longer have use of my question mark key. From now on, or until I figure out how to change it, this symbol: (É) represents question mark.)

Thankfully the weather is more temperate here and I've been out running lots. Yesterday I even accompagnied Lisa to the local pool. Claudine told me I was to make her swim lengths with me, but after about 6 lengths Lisa was tired, bored and itching to get in to the wave pool. I was equally as tired of trying to make a 7 year old do something she didn't not want to do, so off to the wave pool we went and stayed there until I told Lisa I was getting dizzy from all the head stands and waves. Floating around in an over heated wave pool counts as exercise, rightÉ

My father will be happy to know that I have finally started dreaming in french. They aren't long dreams, and who knows if the french is even correct, but my subconscious is working hard to make sure I'm fully submerged in the language at all times. At this rate, I'm bound to be fluent by Christmas!

...yeah right.

Bank Accounts, Job Search, and cell phones issues

2009-10-11T02:26:00.001-07:00

This past Friday I went to get my new bank card for my recently opened French bank account. Unfortunately, the location of my branch is not close to where I am staying at the moment, but it was the only bank that would make an immediate appointment with me last week when I was frantically searching to open a bank account to give to my employer in order to get payed. I guess that's what you get when you leave things to the last minute. Whatever. I prefer to think of my tendency towards procrastination as "living on the edge."

When I went to my "rendez-vous" last week to open the account (Aulivia's mum Claudine kindly drove me there) I was met by a jovial woman who offered us coffee and croissants before we got down to business. I had to look over a number of documents, none of which I really understood properly, so I just nodded at the appropriate moments, smiled, and signed away on the dotted line.

As a little bonus for opening up an account with the bank, I was told to select a free gift. I had a choice between a digital picture frames, mp3 players, or points towards something else from the vast catalogue. I ended up choosing the points; I've got my eye set on a sweet solar powered back-pack.

The account was ready right away, but I had to wait a week to come pick up my debit card. So after a quick look on google map (thank you god for Google map!), 20 minutes on the train, 10 minutes of wandering around lost and confused (only 10 minutes!) and 30 minutes on the bus, I was the proud owner of my very own French Visa/debit card. But, as the nice woman at the bank reminded me with worry in her voice, "You don't have any money in the account!" I assured her that that I was aware, that in fact I did have some money in another bank and that this account was just so I could receive my paycheck. And with that I smiled and wished her a bonne journee, feeling rather proud of myself.

The next thing on my To Do list was to start looking for an apartment and another job. After replying to a few offers on Craigslist, I felt slightly better about the whole thing. Just a matter of waiting for the response to come rolling in, no?

Feeling like I was on a roll, I decided I'd try to figure out how to finally change the voice-mail greeting on my phone, which was currently still Lauren's (Aulivia's sister) voice. The task proved to be a bit more confusing that I has anticipated. I couldn't really understand the options, and thus didn't know what numbers to press. After struggling for a few minutes, I was starting to get panicky. What if someone was trying to call me about a job/apartment and after hearing "Hi you've reached Lauren, leave a message" they got confused and decided they'd reached the wrong number. Gah! Everyone was out except for Claudine who was sleeping after working a night shift at the hospital. I wasn't about to wake up her up to help me with my phone, so I enlisted the help of the only other native French speaker in the house; Aulivia's 7 year old sister Lisa-Marie.

"Lisa, can you help me with my phone?"
"OUAI!"

I put the phone on speaker, and asked her if she could just tell me when she heard the appropriate option for recording a voice-mail greeting.

"Can you tell me when she says something about a recording, Lisa? Just tell me which number she says to press. Do you think you could do that? "
"OUI!"

It took about 3 minutes to realize that even though my little friend speaks French fluently, I had probably misjudged the potential technical savvy of a 7 year old child, or rather lack thereof. She starting hitting different buttons, held the phone to her ear, pressed some more buttons, giggled nervously, and then I lost her completely to the Lady Gaga music video that was playing on TV. Lisa likes Lady Gaga like an addict might enjoy their drug of choice. She kinda just drops everything, stands there glossy eyed, eerily still, with a crazed expression on her face, until the video is over. It's disturbing and makes me wonder whether or not there is something about Lady G that I'm missing out on.

I decided to calm down, remind myself that I most likely would not be receiving any calls from anyone for a few days, and wait patiently until Aulivia returned home from class to help me out. Besides, at least I was the new owner of my very own French bank account. Even if there isn't any money in it.

My First Day

2009-10-06T10:20:00.000-07:00

My apologies due to my internet problems/crazy schedule, I haven't really sat down to write at all.

Here I go! Fingers crossed that it doesn't cut out on me half way through.

Yesterday was our first day in our respective schools and I have to say I was a bit anxious to meet the children and start. I had to get up at 5:35 am to get ready and catch the 6:21 train. Ugh, these early morning starts are going to kill me. The commute to Evry from Roissy-en-Brie takes me 1h 30 mins and 3 different trains on the RER. At 8 am I met some other language assistants at la gare de Courcouronne and we walked over to meet our Conseilleur Pedagogique at the inspection together which was nice. I feel like I would have been completely lost on my own. I was pleased to see that my schedule allows me to have long weekends; I work Tuesdays and Thursdays from 8h30-16h30 each day with an hour for lunch. I work at two schools not far from one another. Yesterday we were there just to observe the classes and determine the level of their English, etc. etc. I was a bit shocked when the principal took me to the first class. The teacher looked about my age (she told me later that she is in fact 25, "but, shhhh, don't tell the students"). The kids are 10 years old and in the French equivalent of the 5th grade. Luckily for me they are quite respectful, listen to their teacher and even stand up when an adult enters the room. At one point one student was causing some mischief and got sent out into the hall. When he was allowed to come back in he had to explain what he had done and apologize to the class (not without a few tears, the poor thing).
The English lesson was hilarious. The teachers are obliged to teach the English classes themselves and it became apparent that they really need the help of an English assistant (I'm not really one to judge though at the moment, my accent in French is terrible!). The teacher began to play some games with the students in English for their half hour lesson and spoke to them almost all the time in English. They played "Simon Says" which they seemed to really enjoy. I didn't want to say anything because I was just there to observe, but there were several times I wanted to correct the teacher.

"Simon sayes to bwush yo 'eir" or "Simon sayes to dwink a coca cola"

I had to bite my tongue, but it was adorable.

At lunch I went to the caf with the students. The principal told me that I would eat lunch there for free that day, which I tentatively agreed to as I wasn't too keen on eating caf food, but also wasn't going to turn down a free meal. I should've remembered I was in France. I was served a hot lunch of ORGANIC beef stew with noodles, fresh frisee salad, a hunk of baguette with chevre, and grapes for dessert. Canadian schools take note; you need to start doing lunch like the french. Seriously.

And then it was off to the other school where my day got better and better. I have to say I love my second school already. The students are so eager to learn English and they have the advantage of having a great teacher. Thankfully he speaks English really well and I was welcomed into the class immediately. When he told them it was time for their English lesson, they all grabbed little decorated name tags and placed them on their desks. I soon realized that for their English class they have all adopted English names of their choice. One little guy called Mamadou, preferred the name "Bob" for his English alias, another girl chose "Cindy". We played some games together, one of which was a huger success. The teacher wrote some celebrity names on the board like Michael Jackson, Christian Ronaldo, Bruce Lee, etc. and then I student had to come to the front of the class to act out a person of their choice while the other students had to guess and then ask "who are you?" Needless to say, all the boys are completely enamored with the football (soccer) players. One little guy exclaiming "Renaldo is my brotha!"

By the time they had their gym class their curiosity about me had reached it's peak. As we walked together outside, their neat lines of two quickly developed into a swarm around me. I was bombarded with questions: "Do you speak French? How old are you? Are you married? How long are you going to be here? How long does it take on the TGV to get to Canada? and my favourite, "Can you stay with us forever?" My celebrity status only heightened when I accidentally answered "yes" to a girl who asked me if I had met Hannah Montana and Beyonce in really life (in my defense it really did sound like she was asking me if I knew of them). Before I could correct the mistake she was already half way down the hall informing all her friends that I knew H.M. and Beyonce personally. I'm not sure I have the heart to tell her otherwise. Plus, this type of appeal might come in handy for me...

The icing on the cake was at the end of the day the day the Principal insisted she drive me to the train station and told me that if there was ever a Train strike (apparently they happen all the time. (side note: this is a country of strikes...even the Lawyers here go on strike. THE LAWYERS!))that I was welcome to stay at her house and she would drive me to school. How is it possible that I've found people in France that are nicer than Canadians?!

All in all, a good start to the school year.

Now if I could only find a place to live in Paris...

Ice cream, percocet and magazines: How I started my summer vacation

2007-05-03T12:13:00.000-07:00

Alright, alright, I promised I wouldn't complain anymore about this, but the novelty of being able to relax, pop heavy prescription drugs and consume copious amounts of ice cream is beginning to wear off... I don't really know what all the fuss about Percocet is about; I just feel slightly dizzy and lazy. In all fairness, it does alleviate the pain for about a solid hour and a half, but then I need to wait another six before I can take another. I know that having your wisdom teeth extracted is by no means a big deal. In some ways it's a painful rite of passage for many. I usually have a pretty high pain threshold; but FUCK, this has been a little more painful than I thought it was going to be. I kinda hoped I'd be one of the lucky few who felt slightly woozy, but then bounced back in no time, by-passing the dreaded chipmunk cheeks stage.

On the plus side I did manage to eat some pasta last night (1/4 serving over the course of an hour) which was heavenly, but unfortunately today my face is so swollen that eating anything but ice cream hurts. Boooo.

I can't even imagine what it would be like to have major surgery, break a limb, or (gasp) give birth. What about people who get face lifts? I don't hold any judgment towards those who decide to enhance their looks, but I can't comprehend recovering from something like that. My mum's friend who had a full face-lift once told her that it was the most painful thing she has ever experienced and had she known she would never have done it in the first place. Although she does look pretty fab. It took her a solid week in an expensive recovery clinic before she was able to go home and begin to actually heal. That seems all too much for me.

I must admit that I was a little nervous about the whole thing because I'd never been knocked out before. I thought that they would make me count down from 10 or something, but instead they told me to make a fist and then all I remember is the nurse telling me to open my eyes and that my convulsions were normal. That's right, VIOLENT shaking, pure seizure styles. Luckily, it was short lived after they gave me an oxygen mask. All in all, I couldn't believe how fast the entire thing was. The surgery was about 20 minutes tops (which felt like 5 minutes to me), plus another 20 minutes sitting with my dad in the recovery room. The scariest moment was when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror on the way out the door (side note: Why do they have a mirror on the wall by the door? No one wants to see that.) I looked ridiculous. My teeth and sides of my mouth were covered with dry blood and I realized that what felt like my tongue hanging out of my mouth was in fact a frozen, droopy, cracked bottom lip covered in drool. Hawt.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in bed watching movies with my dad, brother and step sister Nathalie who was an utter gem and went out to buy me some Baskin&Robbins. By the time they had to leave, Lorne was over with another movie and some more delicious ice cream (my favourite gelato!). I kept falling asleep, but it was nice to have him beside me.

Today I woke up in agony and realized that my face was huge. I did manage to do all my laundry, clean and scrub the bathroom and read most of Nat's magazines out in the sun. Now I feel exhausted, nauseated and increasingly stoned as my second percocet of the day is beginning to set in. Time to end this pathetic blog and have a well deserved lie down.

peace out.

mobile blogging?

2007-03-22T00:01:00.000-07:00

MOBILE BLOGGING

Is this really necessary? I barely have the patience to send someone a text message (I blame my man hands for this). When I clicked on the instructional thingy to see how/why one would use mobile blogging I found a little cartoon comic strip explaining possible scenarios that might cause the impulse to blog from your cell phone. The comic strip follows a girl in a restaurant who spots a UFO, snaps a shot of it with her cell phone and quickly posts it on her blog via cell phone. That seems like a lot of work to me. And I can't really say that if I were to see a UFO my first instinct would be " I can't wait to blog about this."

In other news,

I happened to stumble across a blog which I probably shouldn't have been reading. I couldn't help it though. It was so fascinating. Entry upon entry upon entry. I felt somewhat connected to this person who barely knows me. Am I creepy? I mean, I suppose one blogs in order for people to read what they are writing. But I felt like I was reading some one's diary.
But if you are going to post personal shit on a live journal, then I guess you understand that people you don't really know are privy to more information about you than they should be. I guess that's the point?

To be honest I began to feel a little connected to this person. I feel like they are in the head space i was in last year, humming and hawing over the same things and people I was. It was also weird to see the overlap between our lives; to read an entry about a situation you were both in through their perspective.
At one point I wanted to lend a helpful comment, but for obvious reasons I didn't. Also, thinking back to where I was I know I wouldn't want to hear advise from someone like myself. Besides, it's none of my business.

I wonder if that person would even stumble over this.

It's L's birthday this weekend. I haven't seen him in over three weeks and that feels like a really long time. I'd give anything right now to not be in this broken, single bed at 3:44 am restless and awake. I want it to be summer quite badly. I just don't think I have the strength to make it to the end of the year. I still have so much work to do...I don't know where to find the motivation and energy to complete it all. This seems to always happen to me though. I leave everything to the last minute and never do as well as I probably could have if I started earlier. i am so utterly jealous of those who can complete things before they are due. I used to be one of those people.

Maybe it's because I couldn't give a fuck anymore.

a gals best friend

2007-03-13T23:34:00.000-07:00

This is Louis, btw. The bravest little 'Jackabee' I know. He's got my back, so long as I keep scratching his.

The roof is caving

2007-03-13T22:27:00.000-07:00

Literally.

A section of the roof in our crappy student house crumbled to the floor the other day. Actually, it was around 4 am when I was awoken by a loud banging noise. [Side note: Since my laptop was stolen from inside the house recently (while Amanda was there alone!) I've been a little on edge when I hear creepy sounds inside the house and I've become anal about locking both doors at ALL times]. My first reaction was to check to make sure the doors were locked. I woke up Louis who was sleeping soundly beside me in his little dog bed for back-up. Having no particularly sharp or weapon like objects in my room to grab, I prepared my keen reflexes and fists of iron should I need to bring the motherfucker down (yeah right). I made Louis go first seeing as he generally goes ape-shit if he hears a noise or senses an unknown presence. Luckily, he didn't start barking, although he did stare at me sleepily, looking rather confused. Still unconvinced I made him come with me to check out the dark living room.
Without warning he ran to the corner or the room behind the couch and started vigorously sniffing. I started to feel the blood pulse through me as I tried to figure out what it was he was smelling or looking at. The entire thing was out of a Lassie movie...except slightly twisted.
]
"What is it, boy? What do you smell? If it's a rapist, bark twice, okay?"

His tired and aimless expression left me thinking that he had probably found some long forgotten food from beside the couch. At this point I was beginning to wonder if I hadn't dreamed the entire thing. I double checked the locks (the backdoor was unlocked...whoops) and then my little friend and I went back to our respective beds.

In the morning on my way out the door I noticed that a part of the ceiling had fallen beside the couch where Louis had been sniffing (smart little pooch). Now there is a giant, gaping, moldy hole in the ceiling. Any character this house once held is now lying in pieces on the carpet.
I called our landlady on Sunday, she has yet to call me back. I guess it doesn't even matter. She is so cheap she'll probably just paint over it and tell us how rough she had it in the home country.

May 1st will never come soon enough.

It's so late it's early and I should be sleeping.

2007-03-09T02:13:00.000-08:00

"zoom! - what was that? -"

"That was your life mate."

"Do I get another?"

"No sorry that was your lot"

A friend offered comforting words on the topic of death this evening and I must admit the conversation left me feeling somewhat terrified. Why do I fear death?Or rather, why do I fear death now? I can remember a time when I didn't. I think the idea that terrifies me is that my death is predetermined and definite. It is inevitable that one day (unbeknown to me) I will cease to exist. Of course, I know this and I've always known this, but it never fails to perplex me. Does this knowledge make my actions, thoughts, feelings and experiences hold greater weight? I suppose they are the things that will define my life. Or does it make them as light as air, holding no great significance in the grand scheme of things? I'll be remembered as something of the past in the mind of those left behind, and then eventually as they too cease to exist so will their memory and I will die a second death. Nothing left of me at all, not even the memory. It'll be like I never existed. I am not scared of ceasing to exist. I've done it before. I have 'not existed' before my birth...and that wasn't so scary. I am scared of confronting death and realizing I don't want to die; Not being ready when it arrives. How horrible to get kicked out of the party when you just started dancing.

I don't believe in a Heaven or Hell. It does not make sense to me and never has because it provides me no comfort. I'd like to believe in reincarnation. I'd like to think that I've done this before and I'll do this again and that the familiar feelings and deja-vu that sometimes grab me are a part of something greater, something that's happened before. And that the people I care about in this life have been with me before and will be with me again, even if I don't remember.

Yeah, so no Monty Python schmaltz for me. I'm coming back for another round. Maybe try something different. Maybe come back as an animal. A cool one, like a whale...or a sloth! Yeah, sloths seem like they have pretty sweet lives.