If I Leave My Heart with You Tonight

I just dropped Jon off at the airport. Got up at 4am, no biggie. It's not a long time away by any means, but when you spend months on end seeing someone every single day, it's a shock to the system to be away for even one day. How will I ever survive eleven?! ...Heh. It's going to be a nice break and it means lots of free time to do things I need to get done but never seem to have time for. But darn it I miss him already.

There is nothing more beautiful than watching the sun rise over blue mountains and misty fields. I don't know what it is, but on this particular occasion the morning air makes me feel like I'm back in first year Bible College. I'm suddenly transported back to a similar scene: sun rising, misty field with a stand-alone tree and a cool, damp path to breakfast. It makes me think of sitting in a windowsill during sunset, a hot pink bedspread in a blue room, learning how to curl my hair, late night talks with a beautiful woman who I miss dearly, coffee stains on the carpet every morning, shower hugs and pebbles on my window. I don't know where this came from, but it's like I'm there, like I'm that person. What I wouldn't give to go back and tell her all the things I know now, all the things I wish I'd known then. Things would be so different.

But they're not. So here I am, a person who is learning and slipping and still crawling through the wilderness, being dragged through the mud in preparation for all that God has for me. Half the time, yes, I am the one who throws myself down, ties myself to the horse and then hits it with a stick, but I'm learning to better judge situations by God's standards and not my own. And when other people tie me to the horse "for my own good" or the horse just knocks me over, I'm getting better at overcoming, standing back up, and continuing on. Thank God that through all this He is carrying the load, or at least as much as I will give Him at any one time, and I do not have to do this alone.

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.

True Therapy

My roommate has this awesome habit of letting one simple fallback help get her out of any bummed-out mood. Whether she's too sleepy or too awake, too angry or too passive, or too stressed or too laid back, she has a shower. I don't think I'm one of those people. To me, shower means stress and lots to do and my routine and trying to stay on time and not letting the shower head point in that weird way that sends it over the curtain and trying to keep the curtain stuck to the sides of the shower by not touching my legs. Showers do none of the lovely things she claims. I am, however, an advocate for the after-shower therapy session.

Last year my roommate and bathroommates liked to make fun of me because I liked to get ready naked. I would blowdry, straighten, primp and preen with as little on as possible. Steph even wrote a song about it. Realistically, I was usually more clothed than any of us would ever admit, but it's fun to look back and pretend it was more scandalous than it really was.

But truthfully, I do my best de-stressing when I'm breezy and free, doing the simple tasks of getting ready while jamming out to my fave band of the morning. My favourite activity? Blowdryer dancing. Crazy, I know, but nothing does it for me like that does. I'm hooked for life.

I need more moments like these to grace my days. Even once a day is just not enough, especially when they're either interrupted or have that potential. Hopefully this Christmas break will be the perfect opportunity for just such times. I picked my courses for next semester today, and I'm taking a course by correspondence over the break in the hopes of lightening my over-the-top load for January (self-inflicted of course). I am drowning, and homework will be my lifeboat. And in May? I don't know, maybe more courses by correspondence, throwing myself headlong (and detrimentally) into ministry again, or maybe even a full out break out where I just sit around for four months and write. What else is there?

The Biggest Convo of Life

It's not too often that something pops into my head worth putting down on paper, but what comes out of my mouth is often of far more use. Too many in the past have suggested that certain forms of mental activity are considered symptoms of psychosis, as well as a danger to the rest of the world. I, on the other hand, would argue that this specific "line of work" is actually to the benefit of all, especially my roommate. I am referring to...talking to myself!

I'm sure we've all done it at some point. You know that crazy guy who always sits across from you on the skytrain, muttering about the birds and what will happen when they realize their own intelligence, as he spits into an old tuque? As much as we want to sit around and judge him, we've all been in the same place at some point. Picture this: you're in Aeropostale trying on a sweater, and you know you're meeting your sweetie in exactly 47 minutes for THE BIG CONVERSATION (dun dun dun). Will he want to continue the way things are going? Move forward? Take a step back? Break up altogether?! But then you breathe and remember, "Oh yeah, I still have 46 and a half minutes to get this perfect." And so you begin. "Well, you see, Petie, I've been doing a lot of thinking lately," (throw in the hair twirl) "and the thing is..." (loooong, dramatic pause) "...I care about you way more than my dumb words could ever say! In fact, I don't know how I'd ever go on living if you decided to just leave me here like this!" (Enter my good friend, Mr. Desperation) "I need you Petie! Not just for now, but for forever!" (Here come the waterworks) "Don't l-l-leave m-m-me like this!" (And cue frustration). "No no no! Dumb me! DUMB ME! Because THAT won't scare him away! Gosh, WHY DO I HAVE TO BE SO DUMB?!" And it's in that moment that you realize you're no longer having a fanciful monologue in your head, but are in fact screaming out your hopes and dreams of a life with Petie to the entire store. We've all been there. Or, at least, that's been my experience.

So what led to this onslaught of horribly thought out blabberings directed at my defenseless keyboard? As I was sitting on fb (facebook, for the under-informed) and desperately seeking out the meaning of life through no-thought-required wall posts and less than satisfactory chat conversations, I realized that for the last hour I had been laying on an assault of mind-blowing proportion. My roomie (her name is Stephanie, you will come to know her very well) was lying on the floor, completely helpless, as she was mercilessly exposed to the inner workings of my mind via talking to myself. And it's not enough that I just let slip out whatever first comes to mind. No, of course not. I'm far too obnoxious for that. I'm also the kind of person who sits on her laptop, headphones in with the rest of the world tuned out, watching Gilmore Girls and laughing and giggling like crazy...while other people sit in the room and have no clue what has brought on my newest psychotic episode (sidenote: I have a horribly ridiculous laugh that makes you wonder if I'm choking, hyperventilating, or just never learned how to laugh at all. But this will all be covered in more detail at a later date).

So, in summary, I probably do have mental issues. However, the most important part of the entire talking-to-myself process is learning to be ok with myself...no matter what comes through my scattered, mess of a head and out my mouth.