28.5.10

Love of My Life




I love the ocean. There is nothing like the smell, the taste, the breeze that can only come off of thousands of miles of open water. The sand has that feel of being touched by sea, whether it's white powder in Cancun or beige sand in Santa Cruz or gritty grey in White Rock. It all feels the same on my toes. But the one thing all ocean beaches have in common, storm or calm, are the waves.
Life generally comes in waves; ups and downs, risings and fallings, hard times and the most wonderful times come one following the other. Tides come high and low, but they never falter. Waves are constant.
My life is not waves. When I think waves, I think little shpsh's to great white breakers and everything in between. My ups and downs tend to follow more of a hurricane versus frozen-over/only-slight-undercurrents-beneath-the-solid-ice ends of the spectrum. I rarely see an in between.
I am in a hurricane. The old adage that says when it rains, it pours...truth. It never stops. One thing after another after another after another. It's like getting caught in a strong current or a sudden volley of giant waves with no room to breathe in between. Just when I think it's safe to inhale, another wave smothers me and only stinging water enters my lungs. I haven't been able to breathe in a long time.
Today was another tsunami. A BIG one. I mean, yes tsunamis tend to be viewed as pretty huge, but this one was a monster. It nearly swallowed me whole. I cried and cried and cried. I haven't cried like that in...I don't even know. It was pathetic. It was pathetic, but it was real.
Tomorrow will probably be just another aspect of the hurricane. Maybe things will be better, but only until I realize I've just been resting in the eye and need to buckle down for another long fight.
There's something about the ocean that takes me back. Back to walks on the beach in tender years with a woman whose age I will never know but whose love I will never forget. Back to my eighteenth birthday kissing a boy who I still loved but I knew deep down had long since stopped loving me. Back to swims and bikinis and sunburns and crabbing trips and boating trips and weeks at summer camp and long meaningful walks and first rebellions and confessions. Back to the first night I knew someone cared for me, truly cared, and staring out across the bay with him altered me in a mystical, soul-changing way that I can't shake.
I love the ocean. I love the feel and the smell and the taste and the refreshment and everything it does to me. But I'd take waves over tsunamis any day.

27.5.10

Break It Down




Every part of me feels on the edge of a breakdown.

No one knows yet, but our church is done. Decided tonight. This will be our last Sunday.

Nothing has sunk in yet, but on some level I must know. I came home and did two weeks worth of dishes and made Chinese food. I don't want to sleep because I know I won't want to get out of bed for days. I don't know who to be.

I have done ministry with 90% of my waking time and thought and energy and passion for the last three and a half years. Everything I do has always been weighed against how it will affect the church, and when I mess up my first thought is always how it would affect my youth if they found out. I don't have that anymore.

I'm in shock, probably on the road to a breakdown. I think I'll go and get away for awhile...next Sunday I'll leave and I won't come back until I have to. I don't know where/who/why to be.

22.5.10

Baby, Why Don't You Stay?




Side mirrors only make you aware of how close things are that you don't want to hit.

I'm tired of looking back.
Is there anything to look forward to?

This song has been stuck in my head.
Which chorus do I mean?
Couldn't tell you.

All I know is that I don't know anything yet.
I'll be twenty-two in twenty-four days.
And I still know nothing.
Nothing.

My heart's on my sleeve.
Again.
Ugh.
I never care for the right person at the right time.
If there's any such thing.


don't know what to say
i've given the best of me
so why don't you stay

21.5.10

STRENGTH




I AM DESPERATELY TRYING TO TURN AROUND.
I DIDN'T REALIZE HOW FAR OFF TRACK I WAS UNTIL I LOOKED BACK TO SEE HOW FAR I'D COME. ALL I SAW WERE MILES AND MILES I NEVER PLANNED TO TRAVEL.

"WHEREVER YOU GO, THERE YOU ARE."

I CANNOT ESCAPE MYSELF.

STARTING IN SEPTEMBER, I MIGHT BE TAKING ON THE SCARIEST UNDERTAKING OF MY LIFE. I NEVER WANTED THIS, I NEVER ASKED FOR IT. UNTIL TODAY. UNTIL TEN HOURS AGO, SITTING OUTSIDE STARBUCKS, WHEN I SAID THAT I WOULD DO IT. AM I INSANE? OR IS THIS GOD FINALLY BREAKING THROUGH MY PRECONCEPTIONS?

I'LL HAVE TO CHANGE. I'LL NEED TO BE A BETTER PERSON. I'LL NEED TO STEP UP AND FINALLY BE THE PERSON I'VE ALWAYS BEEN CAPABLE OF BEING BUT HAVE NEVER HAD THE NEED FOR.

I NEED THAT BETTER PERSON NOW.

20.5.10

I Eat Things




Today I got a new couch. The way I always seem to have fancy furniture handed to me on a fancy French platter that is magically free astounds me. This is couch number four. Five will be delivered tomorrow. We already have The Make-out Couch, The Smoking Couch, The Uncomfy Brown One, and now we add The Shizzz to our collection. I have a strange feeling that we'll have no choice to call the fifth "The Shizzz the Second." I'm assuming he or she will be just as heavenly.
Tomorrow we also get another TV, a new shoe rack and some drawers. I'm like a magnet for free awesome stuff.
I also get free food. Tuesday I got free chocolate milk and cheese. Today it was cheesecake and salad. I'm a machine.
I also eat things like Crispers and Life brand Pringles and peanuts and pickles and crackers and chocolate and anything else that can come in salt-and-vinegar flavoured. Oh! And beef jerky. What is life without beef jerky?
I saw lots of cows in Alberta. Before we saw the cows, the hundreds and hundreds of cows, we saw bison on the side of the road. Three bison. To which Irvin says: "Wow, look at the bison! They're like the cows of Alberta!"
Seriously.
Once I saw an emu in Abbottsford. Emus must be the crows of BC.
Wildlife is dangerous. The deer were crazy on the highway. We kept seeing deer EVERYWHERE, and then suddenly I see it: the deer sign. The warning that tells me that sometime in the near future I might see one of the crazy bambis and possibly collide with it. After kilometers and kilometers of deer but no deer signs. At the sight of it, I yelled in jubilation: "Well thank goodness! Someone could have been hurt!" Dude. I had already been driving about thirteen hours, so please cut me some slack.
I also kept yelling out to my deer. "My Dear!" My deer's name is My Dear, please try to keep up.
As we went along, the deer on the signs got bigger and bigger. Apparently Albertan deer are massive to the extreme in comparison to our wimpish pansy deer here. When you compare the sizes on the signs, we're suddenly dealing with deer that can leap the entire highway at a prance. They don't even need to pick up the pace to clear my car. These deer are freaks of nature, and suddenly they're out to get my car; I'm still expected to go 110km/h while avoiding these GIANT FREAKING DEER.
I think I'd rather hit a moose.
Speaking of which, I have a feeling they'd be better eats anyways.
I eat pickles and Crispers and mooses and chocolate milk and emus and salad and French onion soup with a delightful layer of baked swiss on top. And George Bush eats babies.
Friends?

17.5.10

The Bane of My Existence




Oh trains, how you plague my already pitiful days.

Jasper is picturesque, postcard-worthy, and the perfect vacation spot...when you choose to be here. Returning from my Stephanie's wedding, my car decided to die. Of course. Cameron really knows how to be a jerk at just the wrong times in the wrong places. As we had no choice but to sleep illegally in my car across from the body shop that couldn't open until monday morning, we were forced to cross the railroad tracks every time we wanted to go into town.

Trains, I hate you.

We were situated right beside a main CN junction, so trains go by about every 10 minutes. This is especially inconvenient when I want to eat or pee or do anything immediate.

Oh trains. There is nothing more to say on less than 20 hours of sleep in 5 days.

12.5.10

Drowning in a Venti White Chocolate Mocha Frappuccino Double Blended Hold the Whip Please




Oh Starbucks and your wily ways. Half-price frappuccinos for ten days during "happy hour." This is my third day...even ventis are less than $3 and I just can't help myself!
Coffee, chocolate, cold. Best ever.

Drowning in my Own Expectations (Re: You're Making Me Angry)




I usually consider posting more than one blog a day to be...how do you say?...Ridiculous.

I cannot, however, be expected to be held to the same standards of unridiculousness at 2:24 A.M. while I am reading old blogs to pass the time until I finally fall asleep.

In October I posted a blog detailing how I must never ever under any circumstances cross my heart and hope to die do whatever it takes to stop it NEVER let myself be able to say it's been a year.

It's been a year.

As of five days ago, it has been a year. That hurts to say. Not a sharp pain; an uncomfortable, dull ache fills my stomach and drags me deeper within myself.

One year and six days ago, I think I was pretty much okay. One year and five days ago, I was not. And it continued. And it built. And so much happened that eventually I was overwhelmed. And here I am, no better off than I was over a year ago. I don't want three years of dry season! Gosh darnit, I didn't even want one!

Maybe I just expected too much from myself. I do that...a lot. It only serves to hurt me time and time again, but I can't help expecting too much all over again when a new situation presents itself.

I wanted to be better. I wanted to be well. I wanted to be out of this desert and at least on my way to the promised land. But what defines a promise anyway? Do I really have one at all? Or is another mirage catching me off guard? I am hopelessly lost, wandering in a sea of sand with nothing to block the horizon except my own hand in front of my face. There is no waterfall. There is no fresh summer grass. There is no milk and honey or happiness that doesn't last less than five seconds a pop or marriage to one's true love or beauty or the children I so desperately long for.

I am not getting better. This is not recovery. This is slowly wasting away.

Drowning by Choice




Picture this, if you will.
I'm on a boat.
A big one with lots of cool stuff.
Suddenly!
*gasp*
A storm!
The brilliant blue sky is darkened in minutes.
The waves, in turn, appear sinister.
The crew is scrambling.
I stand in the middle, obviously in the way.
Then.
Out of nowhere comes the hugest wave any of us has ever seen
(think 'Perfect Storm' huge).
It rises.
Rises.
RISES out of the rest of the sea.
We travel swiftly into the valley that the monstrous wave has drained.
Higher.
Higher!
HIGHER it rises until we can't remember a time before the wave.
Slow motion.
I t b e g i n s t o d e s c e n d . . .
Panic!
No time.
I am washed out to sea.
As suddenly as it comes, the storm passes as if it never occurred.
My overboard body is the only consequence left in its wake.
The sides are high.
There is no ladder.
Panic.
I cannot get back to where I was before.
I tread water.
First with only my feet, then with only my hands.
Trying to conserve energy.
Lasting only seconds.
Failing miserably.
A streak of colour!
A plop into the ocean beside my head.
A life preserver.
Or so it tells me.
I stare at it, conversing with myself about the pros and cons of grabbing the red and white tube.
I want to trust it.
I want to believe it won't leave me stranded, worse off than before.
But what if it's lying?
What if the moment I grab on and stop swimming, it drops me like a rock?
Paranoid.
Or possibly just safe.
The water is freezing my fingers.
My toes are numb.
My mind is not what it should be.
A moment of clarity!
(I hope).
I tell it to go back.
I beg it to leave me alone.
I remain treading water, losing strength and energy by the second.
But I need it to prove it is telling the truth.

I may drown in the waiting.

8.5.10

Drowning in My Own Reflection




Today I got front row tickets to someone else's heart-wrenching pain. She took me through hours of monologue; memories of the last month that she can't shake were suddenly more important than anything else. She is 17 and has just learned that guys will lie about love to get what they want.
She lasted longer than I did. I got my first boyfriend at 15 and, four days into our "relationship," he professed his love to me at the public swimming pool. Despite my incredulous laughter, he said that with love in mind we should have sex. Then I really laughed. We broke up later that day. Shocker. The lesson I learned that I'd always figured but never had solid proof of: men lie about love.
This happens for one of two reasons:
  1. They're lying to themselves, deranged enough to think they love me despite not knowing all my pleasant niceties or pitiful faults, which are both essential before such a declaration. You either love all of me or none of me at all; therefore, if you do not know all of me, you cannot love me.
  2. They're lying to me and they know it because they think it will get them what they want. Ugh.
She's 17 and hurting because she thinks she broke this guy's heart. A week later he already had a different girlfriend. And she's broken and I understand and there's nothing I can do to help, despite my huge amount of experience. It makes all my heartache feel useless.

She is a slightly more sane, less messy reflection of me. I wish I had something better to say. I wish I could help her before she turns into me.

Drowning in the Ocean...A Big, Wide, Empty Ocean




When I'm walking and waiting and eating and engaging and conversing and crying and interacting and imagining and creating and cooking and laughing and lounging and showering and shopping and deciding and dreaming and fighting and flattering and sleeping and shivering and lying and living...I think I'm doing those things. I think I'm doing them convincingly well. I tell myself that this is just the way life is.
And then.
You walk into the room. Or call. Or just make eye contact. And all of a sudden, it's like I'm coming up for air. I realize that all this time that I thought I've been living like a normal person, in reality I have been holding my breath, drowning in a sea of withoutness.
I don't know how to live without you. I thought I did. I thought I could do life and be okay. But I'm not. And you might never know now.

6.5.10

Drowning in Mascara and Lip Gloss




I think there is something critical missing from my make-up.

Bronzer, duh. Have you seen my complexion?

Jokes.

I think there is something critical missing from my chemical make-up.

Most people, from what I've heard, are born with this natural sense of self-preservation. The fight or flight option only exists to help us survive. We are trained to respond to the needs of our bodies as they come: hunger, thirst, low or high temperature, bathroom breaks in the middle of something really important. We are hard-wired to protect our lives at all costs, except in some very special cases.

I do not have this survival instinct.

My Body: "I'm tired."
Leanne: "Yo Body, let's stay up as long as we can tonight!"
My Stomach: "I'm hungry."
Leanne: "I'm not very hungry."
My Stomach: "I'm really getting hungry."
Leanne: "I've only had a croissant and a cup of coffee all day!"
My Stomach: "FEED ME!"
Leanne: "Weird, I wonder why I don't feel good."
My Adrenaline: "That man looks sketchy."
Leanne: "Hey! Let's go ask that man for directions!"
My Adrenaline: "Jumping off this is probably a bad idea..."
Leanne: "Hey, I've got an idea! Let's jump off this sixty foot cliff!"

It's almost like I have some kind of aversion to doing the simple stuff. Or the sane stuff. Or just stuff at all.

Tomorrow I promise to do better. And wear make-up.




Disclaimer: No hyperbolizing was used in the writing of this blog. And no animals were harmed either, except possibly Scooter because I don't think Melissa feeds him and I can't remind her when I barely remind myself.

1.5.10

Bliss




There is something incredibly beautiful about just...being. I'm not good at it. In fact I downright suck. I feel the need to be doing; I seem unable to do being.
I don't know what I'm saying. I just want to do so things get done, and I can't seem to let them be.
I cannot wait until Monday for so many reasons, and I can't decide which are noble and which make me suck.
Yet. Somehow. The tiniest part of me is happy. Blissful. Things aren't as bad as they could be. And if my hair ever gets that long again, I plan on wearing roses in it every day.