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You might have been wondering where I’ve been. My presence here comes in fits and spurts it seems. I’m trying to fix that. I’m getting a lot of help from Joe. I’m actually planning on launching another blog. I know, two blogs for me to post on in fits and spurts! The real reason for not posting this time? I just finished a ginormous writing contract. I traveled two and from the office for three weeks. It was nice. I’ve enjoyed sleeping in yesterday and today. And I’ll probably enjoy it again tomorrow. And then maybe I’ll worry about finding more work.

I’m also in a bit of a down period right now, but it’s kind of par for the course when you’re a girl. Bless Joe for not suffocating me with a pillow. A PMS migraine is lurking and so I’m having trouble sleeping. And me having trouble sleeping means I’m super cranky. Which means I probably shouldn’t blog unsupervised. But really with no supervisor there is no one stopping me.

I was planning on not ending my last posting spree with the downer that was my series “On being dumped”. I had planned on ending it with this post, but I never got around to it. This is kind of the end of that, but really it’s the beginning of something better.

It’s the beginning of having someone in my life who no matter how many bad dreams I have about him leaving, he kisses me and says I’m stuck with him forever. Or is he stuck with me forever? I can’t remember for sure.

And for those of you who like the rose (Joe’s rose, i) and don’t watch my Flickr stream like a hawk: Joe’s rose, ii.

Originally posted on August 12, 2009

The Globe and Mail asked me: Do you believe in ‘the one’? [Survey is now closed, comments are pretty great though.]

Regardless of the results of that survey, the gist of it is: yes.

I believe in the one…
…who I want to spend all of my time with.
…who I immediately want to tell all of my news to, good or bad.
…who I want to ensure is the happiest person on earth.
…who is in my thoughts as soon as I wake up, all day, and before I go to bed.

I believe that there is one person out there for you that will be your best friend till the bitter end and not give up on you when even you’ve given up on yourself. I don’t believe that this person is predestined to be with you or that you’ll even meet this person. I believe that some people have to try and fail a number of times before they find that person. I believe that some people are lucky enough to find that person right away. I believe that with love and patience and effort, anything is possible.

I just got off the phone with the one as I wanted to make sure that he was okay with me talking about this online. I told him that I thought he was the one, and he was okay with that. So he’s the one that I want to spend all of my time with and all that jazz. Even though I wasn’t very good at blogging regularly before him, it certainly has been more difficult after him. Not that I’m blaming him or anything. Ahem.

I asked my ex once if he believed in “the one”. We were sitting on the futon and it was facing the big windows in our apartment and he was sitting straight and looking out towards the windows and I was sitting facing him. His answer was a flat out no, which immediately made me feel bad for suggesting such a silly thing. This should have been red flag a bajillion and two. But at the time I loved him more than anything else believed he was the one, and I fought hard to keep him. And it turns out he was right, he didn’t believe in “the one” and dumped me rather unceremoniously. And if I’m honest with myself I knew that he wasn’t the one a long time before I found that note taped to my wall with duct tape.

It took me over two years to muster up the courage to give my heart to someone, over two years of thinking and creating standards for myself and listening to those around me and not just rushing in head first and making more mistakes than I had time to fix. I thought I was broken beyond repair and that I’d never find anyone, let alone ‘the one’. Luckily I had people (especially V) who didn’t let me think that way all the time.

But then one night I decided that I would peel myself out of bed, put on some nice clothes (blue jeans, cute blue shoes with flowers on them, brown t-shirt, black shawl, gold necklace from my grandmother, brown beaded earrings from E.), put on some makeup (the usual black mascara, black eyeliner, sparkly bronze eyeliner, shiny lip gloss), walk outside and buy a birthday card and attend the birthday celebration of a friend of mine. It was a supper at Café Paradiso followed by dancing at The Rainbow and I had convinced myself that I would go to the supper and not drink too much and go home early.

And then my world changed.

After an evening of gorgeous food (I had the vegetarian pasta, it was one of my first meals out as a flexitarian. He had the lamb. I was really jealous) and loud funk music, I knew that I was on to something good.

I realize that there is almost a rose theme to these posts! Completely untended and my love of roses has nothing to do with my breakup being dumped. I realized that there is an important distinction that I’ve made for myself that makes me feel a whole bunch better about the situation.

I didn’t get to go through a breakup. There was no negotiation, no goodbyes. I was dumped. No wonder I felt (and sometimes still feel) like garbage.

This post was an important step for me. I felt a lot of guilt for the bridges that had gone unmaintained for years and posting this made me feel as though I’d put myself out there and tried. At least a little bit.

This is the last of the original “on being dumped” series. It kind of abruptly ended when I was focusing my time on making a new relationship work as opposed to mulling over an old one. But then again, it’s only been since the relationship that I’m in that I’ve been able to share so openly and honestly how I’m feeling.

But I promise you this, it won’t be the last. They just won’t come as often as they have the past couple of days. But now at least you are up to speed!

Originally posted: August 19, 2009

I’m trying to scan more photos as I’m trying to piece together my life between 1999 and 2006. I did a few scans when I first bought my scanner (the photo above included) but have yet to do anymore. The time between 2006 and today has also been rough.

I don’t for a second want to go back to when I was in this photo. Even though then, both of my grandmothers were still alive and I still got to spend every day with my family. My Dad was sick. I longed for adventure.

I didn’t have a Bachelors degree in Political Science, I certainly didn’t have a Masters degree in Canadian Studies. I hadn’t been a Senate Page. I hadn’t been a Parliamentary Intern in both the House of Commons in Ottawa and in London. I hadn’t spent 4 years gaining invaluable work and life experience as a public servant in Ottawa (August 24 is my 4 year anniversary of walking into the building where i currently work).

In this photo, I’d never been kissed, never had a boyfriend. I didn’t have two glorious cats who are the best roommates on earth. I had never met Him. I hadn’t met some of the greatest people in my life (I’d name you but honestly if I forgot one of you I’d not be able to forgive myself. If you wish you were one of the people I’d name, you are one of them). I’d not been to my little sister’s beautiful wedding.  I’d not be sitting right here right now writing this blog post.

I had never been dumped.

Being dumped was a terrible experience. Being dumped meant that all of the effort that I had put into the relationship and sacrifices I had made for that relationship didn’t matter. It meant that six years of compromises and shaving off bits of myself so that we could fit better together and so that our relationship could work didn’t matter. I was left sobbing in the middle of the apartment, not eating and just waiting after every time I heard the elevator doors open (my apartment is right beside them) that there would be a knock on the door and the words that would make the nightmare stop.

I felt as though I had done a terrible thing. I had sacrificed so many things for a relationship that was over with a note duct taped to my wall. I had sacrificed time with my family every time I went home to Manitoba so that I could spend time on the phone with him. I had sacrificed friendships to develop a relationship with someone I wholly believed was my best friend and who I believed I would be with forever. Which is how I justified the sacrifices. Because they were worth it.

I’ve learned something. I’ve learned not to sacrifice bits of myself that are important, because you never know when you’re going to have to go back and make six years worth of apologies for lost time. I feel so much guilt, sometimes it’s so overwhelming that I just try and ignore it. Other times I realize that though I didn’t really burn bridges that I’d be more comfortable about asking for help if the bridges were in better repair. So this post is dedicated to repairing bridges.

I have no idea who reads my blog. I barely know how to access my site statistics, I have no idea who subscribes to the feed. I know that I import the posts as notes into my Facebook account. I know that I get lovely comments on occasion from lovely people.

But if you read this and you’d like me to repair our bridge, please let me know. I’m right now trying to do the best I can but I’m spreading myself thin and getting overwhelmed. I don’t know what bridges were out there and who cares to reconnect. So if you read this and you want me to make you cookies or go to coffee or let you yell at me while I sit quietly, let me know.

For those of you who don’t want to let me know, I’m in the process of importing all of the blog entries I’ve ever written into this blog. For the longest time I have struggled with what I wanted to share and what I’ve shared. I figure at the very least that you all deserve to root through the contents of my last six years and see if there is anything good.

I’ve hung the big old “Under Construction” sign on my network of bridges people. Through the power of the Internet I hope we can get in touch.

http://herrealworld.com/

http://flickr.com/photos/herrealworld/

http://twitter.com/herrealworld/

http://facebook.com/herrealworld/

I’ve been feeling bad about not posting much. Especially since I have a bunch of older content that I’ve been waiting like crazy to share with you all. So I made a promise to myself that I’d sit down and schedule some posts sometime this weekend, as well as write a new one on my thoughts on Mental Health Camp Toronto, an event that happened yesterday that I wasn’t able to attend in person but watched from afar on Twitter. I also plan on doing laundry, taking measurements so I can build my new bed, taking measurements for my bathroom for the lighting installation I’m doing and reorganizing the kitchen. You can bet your booties that I’m going to be blogging about all of these things, but I can’t make any promises about when any of them will get done.

Especially since my eyes are bothering me and I don’t know why.

So here is another older post. I did a search in posts for “dumped” and realized that this would make a great addition to the “On being dumped” series I did. So over the next few days you can hear my story. And today (since re-organizing the kitchen is on the list of things to do) you can hear about how I cleaned my microwave (and the way I’ve cleaned it ever since).

Originally posted: October 28, 2008

I’ve not been posting much.  But I’ve been thinking about posting a lot, which I think should count for something.

I’ve been thinking a lot about why I blog.  Lots of people thinking blogging is crazy.  Lots of people think that the internet is a scary place where I shouldn’t put personal information.  Goodness knows, someone might read this in 20 years when I’m Prime Minister and learn about all the crazy things I’ve done.  Like: clean my microwave.

I’m too lazy to look up any previous posts I’ve made on the matter, but one of my “things” is the fact that I’m ashamed of a dirty house.  There are probably many reasons for this, but the most important reason is that when my house is messy, I am sad.  Not because my house is messy, but because the cleanliness of my house is a barometer for my mental health, and dirty means down in the dumps.

Which is why cleaning the microwave warrants a blog post.

My microwave has been dirty for longer than I care to admit.  It has smelled like microwave popcorn (sometimes I wonder if I should have just spent money on an air popper, instead of a beautiful LG microwave popcorn machine) and had a little chunk of paper towel stuck to its turney-table-thingy for what seems like forever.  But today after heating up my pizza I decided that I was going to use a bit of cleaning knowledge that I’d learned from goodness knows where, and clean it.

So I put a bowl full of water in it, and turned it on for five minutes.  I then forgot about it for 20 (I was eating pizza!), but then remembered it again.  I turned it on for another five minutes, this time remembering to go and rescue it after it beeped.

Inside, everything was steamy and lovely.  And with the assistance of no cleaning product whatsoever, I was able to wipe the inside free of all of the dirt with a paper towel.  And it looked gorgeous.  And I felt better.

I’m having a particularly hard time at the moment.  Money is always a bit of an issue, more so around the time when I have to pay rent and student loans.  You would think perhaps I’d change the dates so I didn’t have to pay both at the same time, but that hasn’t as of yet happened.  Even though my iPhone brings me immense joy, I worry that I shouldn’t have bought it and instead have paid down the credit card to ensure that I’d have enough room to book a plane ticket home for the holidays.  I have to remind myself that the iPhone was purchased with “me” money, and I have to stop spending that on rent or I’m going to go even more bonkers than I already am.  And I truly love my iPhone.

It’s also hard because we’re transitioning to the season and the time when I was rather unceremoniously dumped.  I’ve not talked about this much, and I’m not sure how much I’m going to talk about it other than to say that though I’d not hoped for a parade, the decency of a goodbye might have at least respected the fact that the relationship had lasted almost seven years.  Smells bring back a lot of memories, and right now the cool crisp smell of winter coming reminds me terribly of the weeks I spent curled in a ball wishing for any life but the one I was living.

This will only be magnified by the anniversary date and magnified again by the holiday season.  The hardest part is that my love of snow and Christmas and all things magical and wintry has been tainted by the fact that it’s associated with a time in my life I’ve been doing my best to forget.

It’s times like today (even when the first glorious snowflakes are floating down to earth) that I have to celebrate the small victories, no matter how trivial they might seem.

I cleaned my microwave.