Too Many Changes To List - Yet, behold! A List!

There seems to be a recurring theme in my poor old Beaver blog. I write volumes of content long hand, which I then hoard, under the guise of 'someday' transcribing the material onto the site.  Then I get too lazy, stressed or frustrated and nothing happens. Or I wait until some catastrophic happens, and I come on here and spill my problems for the world to see, before disappearing again. This cycle seems to repeat itself every few month.

So here we are again. How to describe the last few months in a nutshell?

Bullet points! Those should do the trick!

• May - Packed up 9 years worth of life, two dogs, one cat, one 9 year old, one 5 year old and one husband and sold our house.
• June - Homeless until our new house was ready. The husband opted to stay in his city of business as the prospect of sleeping on my parents' couch had no real appeal. I spent the month working overtime, drinking and sleeping on a 'bed' composed of patio furniture cushions and homemade quilts.
• July - The move into the new house runs smoothly until my brother in law had the unfortunate situation of being murdered. By his father. Just because you're a dick, doesn't mean you should die like a dog. 
• August - Was hot. My overtime continues.
• September - Goose and Roux begin at their new school. I feel stress regarding religious standards that I cannot possibly meet. I am given a police back check before I am allowed to participate in school events.

 There are times when I miss the fandom that gave me such peace. But at the end of the day, I realise it was the people I loved that made it all worth while. Those individuals will be carried in my heart forever; I'll never forget a single moment I had with any of them.

Blessed Be.

Concerning Perspectives and Pink Sweaters

It's all about perspective. The more we focus on things, the more we miss. I consider myself to be an observant person, but I know that left to my own devices I easily become overwhelmed with the details. So much of me is about the details.

Sometimes, details feel like they're all I have. I cling to them, and they cling to me.

Last week a sweet, wonderful little soul moved on.

Today I needed something pink to wear to her visitation.

Pink. The simplest of gestures.

As I stood in front of my closet, I felt the weight of so many things pressing against me. The lack of a place to live in less than a month, new job, new schools, lack of money brought about by my own gullibility, leaving all familiarity for the unknown. So many variables. So many worries.

But in that moment I just needed something pink.

Because that moment wasn't about me, or my problems, real or imagined.

It was about finding a fitting way to say goodbye. It was about letting go.

Sometimes, when life seems to be at its most complicated, focusing on the simple things is the best solution.

In that moment, there was no me, worries, houses, money or false promises.

There was only a pink sweater.

More details about the sweet soul in question, can be found here: Lifewithlol.com

 

 

Poor, Poor, Beaver Blog

Here's the thing about having a blog...not updating it, doesn't mean you don't have anything to say. On the contrary, usually it means you have too many things to say.

I've felt completely smothered by words over the last few months; first waves, then just a gradual drowning; so gradual, I didn't even realise it had happened until it was too late.
So late, that the mere act of writing them all down felt completely overwhelming. I just felt, so much-too much- everything.

Everything I wrote seemed too angry, too self-pitying, too accusatory, too heartbroken. There just seemed to be a never ending flow of words. Too personal. Too mean.

I don't consider myself a cruel person; I have my moments, but I've always tried to put out into the world what I wanted back. So when things went wrong, I felt like they were going wrong on an epic scale.

I thought I had something, but I broke it somehow. I don't think I'll ever really know what I did. I'm sure there was a list. But it broke part of my heart I thought I'd forgotten. Hell, it broke something I didn't think I had to break.

I coped poorly. Which is to say I broke the rules by which I judge others so harshly. I hurt other people who cared about me, and for that, I can only hope to earn their forgiveness.

Pardon my french, but it just seemed like the proverbial clusterfuck. My friend's father found out he had terminal cancer, which in itself was horrible enough, but then he asked that I stay with him and his family while he was in hospice. Apparently he felt I'd make everybody laugh...and because I'd known him since I was eight I agreed. But it was harder than I thought hard could be. I know in the end, I made the right decision, but still. Having to speak at a funeral to a congregation of people who were only listening because the guy in the coffin told them they had to listen was very disheartening.

Then I broke a promise to somebody who'd never been anything but sweet to me; the shame I felt just added to the guilt I was already feeling about everything else. So the cycle continued.
I hurt, and my hurt spilt over.

This is already way too long, and way too whiny and full of self pity. I apologise to everyone who has read until the end, but thank you for listening.

Essentially a Post Where I Whine. Alot.

Sometimes, late at night, when it's just me and my computer, I find myself asking the questions I'd never dream of asking during the day. At the end of the day, I know the answer though, and the answer breaks my heart.

Even trying to get them out now is harder than it should be.  These last few weeks have been incredibly difficult for me. The beginning of the month marked a very important date to me, even if it went completely unnoticed by others. I lost somebody very dear to me, and for the first time, though I'd never so much as hinted at needing support before, I felt very alone.

Mid month would have been my ten year anniversary with the Big Green, and though I haven't regretted leaving it for more than a minute, all that I'd turned my back on stung a little.
Then last week I received another blow about my seemingly never ending health saga, and when I reached out, which in itself is a rarity, I found myself systematically shut out.

You know when one thing feels like it leads to another, and another and another? Suddenly I felt completely overwhelmed by everything. It felt like my meticulously constructed, safe little life was crumbling and I was powerless to stop it.

My husband, bless his goofy aspie heart, tried. He really tried. But he couldn't give me back what I felt was lost.
So I sit, musing, writing, musing.
I'll cry later.

London Lament

A few weeks before my scheduled trip to London, an unexpected parcel arrived in the mail; in it, I found gifts from a person I'd never met. At the time, I was distraught at missing out on all the fun everyone seemed to be having, so you can imagine the utter shock I felt, opening the box to discover this:

Holding something this tangible, made the anticipation so very real to me, I hardly wanted to speak about my trip in case speaking of it, somehow caused it to be taken away.

I have been back in Montreal for nearly two weeks and have started to write this more times than I care to count. Truthfully, I started to write it that Friday night after the play, but found the experience too emotional, too personal.

My week in London, was, for lack of a better word, magic. It may sound cliché, in fact, I know it sounds cliché, but that’s how it felt.

I had the opportunity to meet wonderful people, see beautiful sites and be a small part of something I’d dreamt of for nearly half a year. In a nutshell, that’s the problem. Putting so much emphasis on something, and using it as a touchstone, is a dangerous game.

Truthfully, I’m not going to bother with the intimate details of the trip, for they are mine, and I’m not going to name drop to justify my place in the fandom. I’m not even going to review the play. I was blessed to be able to see it on two occasions, and both performances were refreshingly different and deeply captivating.

Moments sparkled. I felt peace for the first time in years. I told myself the trip was a gift to myself, but it was oh so much more than that. Even now, I find myself unable to fully articulate what I want to say. How much I want to say thank you. I don’t consider myself an emotional person, but I find myself fumbling to find the words I need to express the myriad of feelings in my heart.

"Do not spoil what you have by desiring what you have not; remember that what you now have was once among the things you only hoped for.”~ Epicurus

Sad Snowy Musings

Here’s the thing. At the end of the day, I’m not an advocate for anything. Oh, like most folks I do enjoy a spirited debate, but I prefer to debate topics like sweaters, or Shakespeare.

I don’t like conflict, and strive to avoid it whenever I can. Now, to the people who know me, I admit I can be abrasive and a loudmouth…but that doesn’t mean I seek out conflict, but rather I don’t shy away from it, should it happen to find me.

Now this morning, which could hardly be considered different from any other Tuesday morning,  except that this Tuesday morning,  my dear friend’s roommate was attacked and beaten in the street.

His only crime? Walking to class. Apparently something about the way he walked inspired a follow twice his size to grab him from behind, call him a faggot and beat him nearly unconscious.  In broad daylight. On a crowded street. Nobody did anything.

This event leaves me angry and confused. Has my life really become so sheltered that I find it bizarre that nobody would say anything? He called 911 himself. Nobody sat with him while he waited for the paramedics, concussed and alone.

Again, I seldom use my soapbox these days, but maybe I should dust it off. I noticed in HFB yesterday somebody mentioned it would be better to be ‘Gay behind closed doors’ but I didn’t say anything.   I worry that I spend so much energy debating things of little importance, that I’m forgetting bigger issues.

So I sit, angry and confused. Mostly with myself.

Why Tom Hiddleston Did Not Make Me Shave My Head

Today I shaved my head. Or, I suppose more accurately a lovely stylist from a local salon did. Still, you get the gist of it.

I've wanted to participate in my local radio station's 'Shave to Save' for Breast Cancer research for years, but I was always too scared, and my workplace was always too corporate.
This year, though, I have a new job and new personal reasons. Now, this is not going to turn into one of those 'My -insert close relative/friend here- has cancer and I did it for/him her' pieces; all true, so no offence to anyone who may be offended. Cancer sucks and I see no real value in repeating it. Though...Cancer Sucks.

I did it because I wanted to. After speaking with my CEO and agreeing that the campaign in no way impeded the messaging of www.TheFashionHero.com it was decided that I could participate and the company would back me.  It was a great feeling, being supported by a company, and really, when I think about it, I don't think I've ever felt that way before.

Sometimes I think the Big Green made a game out of seeing how many times they could say no. Memorial plaque to my friend who died at 48 on their property? Denied; too upsetting for existing employees. Mitochondrial Disease Fund raising? Denied; they'd never heard of it, it could have been a scam. Below the Line? Denied; UNICEF is a corrupt organisation. [Hello Pot, meet Kettle]

So as an office we fund-raised, and as an office we took part in the shave; right down to the girl who decided to do my makeup at the last minute. It was a great feeling...the inner core of www.TheFashionHero.com working together for a common goal.

So, over donuts and coffee and jokes about the hardness of my head, we did it. As much as I'd like to spin this into yet another of my 'Tom Hiddleston makes me want to be a better me' pieces, I can't, because it simply isn't true. Tom Hiddleston did not make me shave my head.

Loki did.