Here's Hopin'

These were my horoscopes in the local papers for the coming year. Apparently I'm dodging infamy, attaining the impossible and becoming a swami. Sounds good to me.

If today is your birthday: Thankfully, a much-dreaded disaster never did come to pass. And as a result, you'll find that a certain impossible dream becomes quite possible. With Jupiter providing support you can expect this year to bring you a most favourable and surprising outcome. Happy birthday to Quentin Tarantino, 46.

No matter how turbulent the events that take place around you over the coming 12 months you will find a place of inner peace that makes you immune to the ways of the world. Once you've found it don't ever let it go. If you can, help others find it too.

Ten Years On

"If I can just get to the kitchen."

These are the words I remember going through my mind ten years ago this past Friday on my 28th birthday.

If I could just get to the kitchen, I reasoned with myself, I could get a glass of water and some codeine down me and get back to bed. If I could get back to bed, I had a hope in hell of riding out the menstrual cramps that were lacing through me with a ferocity I had never encountered before.

At that time in my life, I'd become accustomed to losing my life for a few days to the haze of hormones, painkillers and bone numbing fatigue that was my monthly period. But this day was different. This day, while I sat doubled over on top of the toilet, it felt like someone was running a knife back and forth across my lower stomach.

If I can just get to the kitchen...

The next thing I was aware of was my breathing, the forced, wet, heaving of air that I began to sense ricocheting off the floor and across my cheeks. I was on the floor. My head was on the floor.

I was on the floor and I could taste blood.

"Get up." was my next thought. I have to get up and get to a phone.

I recall blinking my eyes, getting my bearings, having the sense of myself come back into my body the way it only ever does after I've fainted and my brain's rebooted. I somehow managed to sit up and prop myself against the wall. I saw my cat Mojo in the hallway just outside the bathroom staring at me, unblinking and unnerved.

I somehow got myself up, grabbed the phone and got back to bed. I called my folks and let them know what had happened. Despite being a 40 minute drive away, they were the best choice because they had a key to my apartment and that meant I wouldn't have to get out of bed.

And they were my parents. If there was ever a time I needed my parents, this was it.

"It's not pretty." I remember saying on the phone and I was glad I did, that I had prepared them. I woke when I heard my parents at my bedroom door. I felt Mojo's paw on my shoulder and realized I had fallen asleep with him doing the exact same thing.

I turned and looked up, the blood now congealed all over my forehead, my right eye almost swollen shut. I saw my Mum brace herself as she looked at me, physically stifling the urge to react to what she was seeing.

She came up to me and had a closer look, cradling my chin in her hand, settling my spirits with just a look.

"Right." she said, "I'll get a washcloth."

About seven months before this, I had left my previous mind numbing job in the investment industry. I had been giving an electronic day timer as a gift and shortly after starting my new role, I made an entry in the month of April that said "Quit job and pursue acting."

I had started a job in July at a consulting firm and within three days knew I had made a terrible mistake. I worked to make a living and had now moved to a company where peopled lived only to work. I had been seduced by more money and a well tailored interview process that had made the job seem more exciting than it was. I'd ended up in a well paying version of high school, and the cool kids got to decide whether I got a raise or not.

I'd be damned if I'd go cap in hand back to my old job, so one day as I lay in the bath tub, I felt a wave of relief go through me when I finally acknowledged that what I was doing just wasn't my bag. I'd hang in until the end of March, get my RRSP bonus and then quit. My body had other plans and quit for me instead.

For months I'd been working through an escalation of bad sleep, fatigue, sadness and relentless anxiety. Despite everything, I made myself keep going through sheer force of will. What's ironic in retrospect is that I was so hard on myself during this time. I kept telling myself I was a loser, a weakling, and yet it took smacking my head into a bathroom floor to finally make me stop.

The whole experience bestowed on me a fatalism I've never quite shook since. It showed me how easily your whole life could be changed in a heartbeat. I went from auditioning and holding down a full time job to feeling triumphant if I was just able to get out of bed and stay up for more than three hours. The first three months of recovery were hell. After sixteen months of rest, antibiotics and iron supplements, I was able to return to work, but just barely.

After months of trying to get well while being refused benefits by my insurer, I had eventually conceded defeat, decided I would rack up the debt I needed to rack up and just focus on rest and recovery. I had to get my life back.

And I did, but I can honestly say that it's only in the last year that I've felt like I finally lifted my head up right off that bathroom floor. Ragdoll wrote recently about how trauma can undermine your confidence and I think that's very true. I went from an anxiety laden existence of perceived trauma to having the real thing to contend with. Illness and loneliness are the most eviscerating of couples.

For a long time I felt like I had accomplished nothing. More accurately I hadn't accomplished what I had envisioned, but I've realized that doesn't mean I don't deserve some credit. Many things have changed for the better. Ten years ago I didn't own my home, didn't have a loving and stable relationship, didn't have a job that required some creativity, didn't have my brood of cats, didn't have the energy to do theatre, didn't have a healthy body, and didn't have the strength to keep up with a workout plan. There's been inevitable casualties along the way. People I've loved have died or have no longer desired my friendship. Plans didn't work out. Betrayal and disappointment litter my life as they do any other.

But I have still accomplished. I'm still standing and more importantly, I'm starting to climb again. Do I have further to go? Of course I do. The journey to ourselves is ongoing.

This morning, an incident popped into my mind that I hadn't thought about in nearly 30 years. My family and I had gone up north to stay at a lodge for a week. One day we went horseback riding and at one point in the trail, my horse decided she wanted to gallop. It was my first time on a horse and not having any skills in this area, I eventually got thrown right off.

Fortunately I had no broken bones and though shaken up, I was no worse for wear. My mother stopped me as I headed back to the horse. She thought I should walk. She said to me later that she thought I was very brave for getting back on and riding the rest of the trail. I realized this morning that at the time, it simply hadn't occurred to me that not getting back on the horse was an option.

I think I'll always want to have inside of me, that nine year old that's going to get back on and ride the rest of the trail.

Hand Me Down My Walking Cane

This past Sunday I drove my father over to the city's east end to see my grandmother. She'd been quite ill and my Dad had had his right hip replaced, so they were anxious to see each other. I have to admit that I got a little choked up when I picked my Dad up at the house and saw him walking more normally than he has in over two years. Plus he now has a cane to wave about when he's doing his belligerent old man schtick. It's very funny.

On the way over, we were listening to a program called the Sunday Edition on the CBC. They're currently doing a series on music that changed the world, and this latest show was about rap music. I thought it wouldn't be my thing, but it was actually very interesting and though very high level, hit on a lot of the essential points.

My Dad enjoyed it immensely and said that though he wasn't going to run out and buy a rap CD anytime soon, the show had very much informed his understanding of rap and its sensibilities, and that he had a lot more respect for it as an art form.

When we got to my grandmother's I was happy to see her looking better than I expected. She had a bad bought of viral pneumonia back in October and hasn't quite bounced back since. She was recently in the hospital with congestive heart failure.

I really feel for my grandmother sometimes because she is on her own, is old and has a lot of health problems to contend with. Granted, she has a good network of friends who stay in touch, but there's nothing like the feeling of being ill or not quite up to things and not having anyone around who could provide simple comforts of a cup of tea. I remember the year and a bit I was off ill, and it's those simple hurdles of day-to-day loneliness that I had to get over that I remember the most.

And that being said, at least I had Mojo my cat.

Plus at 80+, my grandmother is still as sharp as a tack. Inevitably, she also has to contend with people treating her like she's senile, particularly hospital staff. It all must get so tiring.

At any rate, we were all able to have a nice chat, sandwiches and coffee. I threaded two needles as my granny's eyesight isn't what it used to be and fixed her humidifier. My father waved his cane around at the appropriate moments.

I find as I get older that it is these little moments that stick to my heart and gain in importance. I can't wave a wand and make my grandmother better, but I can wash some dishes and thread needles and listen to her stories. She won't be here forever and will join the line of others I've already lost as I've travelled through life.

I often think about this and my niece Rosy. One day, God willing, she will be here still but me, my sister and my parents will all be gone. I cannot bear the loneliness of this thought for long because it usually isn't contextualized by the notion that she will be a grown woman with a family and friends of her own by then. I usually quickly shift my mind elsewhere when it crops up, because to me my niece will always be my little Rosy.

I suppose I also enjoyed the visit this weekend because the death of Natasha Richardson had been weighing on my mind quite a lot. Like most people, I can't get over the almost flippant quality the circumstances of her death have taken on. It's hard to fathom that one wrong spill on the bunny hill is all it takes.

I remember when I arrived in New York City in early 1993 that we were all abuzz with the fact that Natasha Richardson and Liam Neeson were starring in Anna Christie. Tickets, particularly for poor students were a complete no hoper and I was disappointed. At the same time, if I'm honest, I was also jealous. I coveted her family connections [which is ironic considering that by all accounts, Ms. Richardson moved to New York to escape them] because I saw them as a ticket to the artistic life I was working so desperately hard to have.

The closest I have ever gotten to a Redgrave was when we got free tickets from school to go see Shakespeare for My Father, Lynn Redgrave's one woman show. It was simply a tour de force, absolutely wonderful and afterwards, a group of us waited in the front lobby to perhaps catch a glimpse of her and wave hello.

Not only did we get to say hello, but she autographed my Playbill. I still have it. I will never forget how gracious Lynn Redgrave was. I'm sure she was exhausted, but still she took time to give us autographs, ask us about school, and generally just let us bask, if just for a moment, in the light she gave off.

I get emotional about this because I've heard in news commentary so many others speaking of Natasha Richardson in this same vein. Many reference her warmth, her great laugh, her fierce love for her husband and children, her love of her craft. I think she was at once relatable and inspiring because she struck me as someone who was genuinely enviable for having made the best of their talents, for being someone who seemed comfortable in their own skin. It was refreshing to encounter this in an era of celebrities famous for being wealthy, attending parties, or in general, just behaving badly. It has seemed unbearably cruel to see someone so competent and exceptional at what they do taken in their prime.

It is whimsy at its worst, so I take in the good moments as much as I can, these moments at my grandmother's, spending time with my parents the rest of the day, hearing more funny stories about my niece, having the Marine and my cats to come home to when the day is done.

No matter what else I may ever want out of my life, I have already been given so much. It's important to remember that.

Da Tribulashuns

Sometimes I am, like most people, not the most mature person in the world. Sometimes, I lose perspective and really the only remedy for it is to laugh at myself in the end.

Sometimes, however, it also seems as if nothing can go right, as if you are participating in your very own comedy of errors. Such was my morning Romanship.

It all started out very well. I had my first training session in about six weeks and I was in surprisingly fine form. The last time I worked out, I was just about to go on vacation and still recovering from the relentless pace of the last few months. I didn't do very well in the sense that everything was an absolute struggle.

But today, I was back to normal, hitting my target heart range without too much difficulty but still breaking a sweat. My weights portion was tough, but I muddled through.

So I was getting ready for work, feeling good about my workout and looking forward to getting into the office a bit early and getting ahead of the game a bit. It was at this point I realized that I hadn't packed my top for work, just my pants, underwear and pantyhose.

I toyed for a moment with the idea of just wearing my workout t-shirt. It's not ratty, but a little too figure hugging and frankly I'd just been sweating in it for an hour. The idea of wearing it didn't appeal to me.

My next line of defense was to call the Marine. His cell phone was off. I called the house and got voicemail, left a message then just deleted it because I figured he had already left for work.

What to do? I know! Zipcar! I remembered there was a zipcar in the basement of the building my club is in and another one not even a five minute walk away. I'll just call Zipcar. It will be half the price of a cab to home and back.

Except, it seems you can do everything on the phone with Zipcar except talk to a live human being to book a car. Sure I was able to go through a listing of available cars. Problem was, none of them were remotely near me. I just needed to tell somebody "book me this car at this location" but it was next to impossible.

I know! My club has internet access. I'll just log on and book online.

So I go to the front of the club and explain the situation and the fellow at the desk says no problem and that I can use the one of the trainer computers.

Except zipcar is a restricted website that I can't get access to. I then got back on the phone to Zipcar trying to find a live human being to whom I could speak. It was at this point that my trainer walked by and I admit it, I was starting to freak out a bit. She asked the other trainer if she was done on her computer [which apparently was unrestricted] and she said yes.

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to freakout." I said "I just need to accomplish something very simple and it's next to impossible."

Thankfully the other computer worked and in less than a minute I had a car booked.

I dash out of my club and across the huge parking lot by the grocery store. I nearly damage the mini parked next to my car because apparently the driver who previously rented has a waist of twelve inches and didn't need space to get out.

I start hurtling home in the car, the hour of 9 am drawing ever nearer.

Ring ring. It's my cell. The Marine is on the other line.

"Did you call earlier? I was in the basement."

"Yes. I was trying to get a hold of you to ask if you could drop a top off at my work. I forgot it."

"I can do that. Where are you."

"In a Zipcar heading home."

"Oh."

"But if you could drive back with me and drive me to the coffee shop by my office that will easily save me ten minutes."

So I drive home, except the garbage truck is blocking my street. I debate backing up, going around my crescent and turning the opposite way up the one way street my driveway is on but decide against it given the garbage truck will have worked it's way down by then and will be blocking my driveway anyway.

I manage to find a spot on the street close to my house. I dash in, change and we are on our way. I vaguely remember muttering something to the Marine about the grocery store, south parking lot.

We turn onto the main north/south street by my house. The Marine is ahead of me until I get trapped behind.......a street cleaner.

I turn at the light, get caught up with the Marine who takes a short cut through a corner parking lot. I follow only to have it come to nothing as the light changes and the opposing traffic starts coming.

I manage to turn right onto the street, then left onto a side route, catching up, then have to come to a near standstill to get around the handicapped patient transfer van that's parked on the street.

It was at this point that I took a cleansing breath, because like I really want to be the asshole the honks at the handicapped patient transfer van that is taking somebody to, oh I dunno, hospital perhaps.

I finally catch up with the Marine. We need to turn left. He's turning right. I'm waving my hands, honking the horn. He turns. I follow, while getting out my cell phone to call him.

At least I thought I was. Instead I was punching in gobbledeegook. It was at this point that I unashamedly screamed

"FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCC
CCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKK
KKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I get the Marine on the phone.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm not sure. Where are we going?"

I tell him. We get there and at last I get the car parked and hop in to our car. The Marine drops me off, I thank him and then get a desperately needed coffee.

Fortunately the rest of the day did not continue on this theme, my PMS remained in check and I gave everyone at the office a good laugh recounting my travails.

I won't even get into how my pantyhose was riding half way down my butt the whole day. LOL

Where Did the Week Go?

"Why is it that every f*&ked up cop lives on a boat?" - Ragdoll's commentary on Pride and Glory

Has it really been a week? Really?

Well not sure how that happened but I can only put it down to daylight savings time. I dragged my ass into work all week, essentially negating any sleep catch up I gained from my vacation. Still, I've continued to feel good, if a bit worn out. I'm looking forward to spring, to the tulips that are now just poking up through the soil, to warm breezes.

In other news, the Guru got engaged! I've been hunting high and low for a "congrats on your engagement" card. Do you think I can find this anywhere? Of course not. Call me old school, but some things just warrant a little bit more than a posting on someone's Facebook wall, so I'll need to keep looking.

Had my second sleep test on Friday night. This time my technician was named Vasily. He's from Belarus and has been in Canada for 20 years. I like to chat with the technicians, especially during my Borg assimilation procedure where they paste all the electrodes on my head. I originally had my test scheduled for Thursday, but it got moved to Friday because I was the only one booked. Thank God it did get moved because I had an awful night's sleep and going into work would have been hell. Utter. Hell.

Ahem.

So that basically screwed up my sleep quite a bit, not to mention the fact that I didn't exercise on Friday. I'm not gonna put my trainer's business out there, but suffice it to say she had a family emergency so we weren't working out. Seriously, it's been a gauntlet run for that chick. But this weekend I was able to get some more clutter busting done. We managed to get to Value Village and the Toronto Humane Society, but alas, we were defeated by the St. Patrick's Day parade and couldn't get leftover magazines to Princess Margaret hospital. The Marine gave me props for trying, but I was too tired and just didn't have the killer instincts you need when you're driving in those kind of conditions.

I ended my weekend at Ragdoll's house for dinner. She makes a mean cod and brussel sprouts and it was nice to see each other in the flesh after such a long time.

I'm getting a bit more into the swing of things at work. I'm still fighting the boredom factor, but I'm just focusing my energies on being thankful for a job - period. As for workouts, they start again on Wednesday. It'll be tough, but I just have to keep going at this point.

Here's something else I stumbled across on Daily Beast, an interesting article by John Forté on his stint in prison. What I like even more is his version of Running Up That Hill. I usually consider Kate Bush sacred, but I really loved this.

Progress, At Least It Feels Like It

"One year isn't ten." - my maternal Grandmother

Today ended up being one of the best days I've had in ages. Granted it didn't start off too well in that my trainer was sick again and slept through her alarm. She felt so bad when she called me to cancel our session. It's so unlike her, but she's been having a rough time of it lately. I said we could easily regroup and we'd both had pretty tough winters so not to worry about it, that we'd get back on track.

She laughed and said I sounded like her.

At any rate, I got some much appreciated extra sleep and went into work a little sleepy headed but overall feeling pretty good. I had a real gauntlet to run meeting wise but I felt today like things were finally starting to sink into my brain in terms of my job and that overall, we're starting to get into a groove as a department. I have to keep reminding myself that our lovely interns leave at the end of April. They just have such great personalities and already feel so much a part of our workplace. I'll be sorry to see them go.

About this time last year, I was doing Act II of my play! I remember that week, how exhausting and exciting it was all at the same time. I'm amazed at how much I've been able to change in my life since then, but at the same time it doesn't feel like a surprise. I remember feeling like that play was a new beginning for me. The whole experience had a special quality to it and I remember thinking at the time that if I could get back on my feet in terms of acting again, I could get back on my feet in other ways. Suddenly, other things just seemed, at their purest level, possible.

And if you had told me last year that I'd be in the situation I am now at work, I don't know if I would have believed you. I've gone from being on my own in the physical outreaches of a building, trying to do the job of two people whilst working with an employee who resented my being there, to being in a skylit pod area, brightly painted and fully staffed with just my job to do.

I've gotten a demo done, and today managed to get in touch with two voice over agents who asked me to pass it on to them via email.

I physically feel better than I have in years.

I'm on a merciless clutter busting purge.

I'm eating and sleeping well and feel better able to take care of myself.

I'm on top of things for the first time in ages.

Normal life. What a concept.

Petty Frustrations

Today was my first day back. It was a little rough, primarily due to a supreme lack of sleep. We had howling winds and lashing rain. I hate wind like that. It goes right through me and makes me feel wrung out.

And my brain just would not calm down. It's like a default mechanism that flips on, that makes me start anticipating and planning when what I really need to do is get to sleep.

And of course, there was Daylight Savings Time.

I went into work all full of good intentions but as usual, my brain just shut down. I don't know what the problem is exactly. I work with great people. I now have quite a fun job and yet most days, my general feeling is "meh." I just can't garner any enthusiasm.

My boss is amazing, so quick and smart, so engaged. Meanwhile I'm fighting the urge to go read Perez Hilton. I wish I could shake this feeling and feel less detached. I care about my work and want to do well. I just care about other work more I suppose. In many ways, I think I'm subconsciously resisting the recalibration in my department. By no means do I want my boss' responsibilities. I think my brain just doesn't want to learn another new job. Again. I need to get around this somehow.

On the up side, I've been feeling better physically than I have in ages. I think my iron and vitamin D are both finally approaching meaningful levels. It's the only thing that makes sense to me as an explanation, well that and getting a vacation, but this feeling of wellness is more in my bones, not the relaxed veil of detachment a week off the grid can bring. Long may it continue.

For I can only hope it remains as I go back on Wednesday for my first work out in a month. I'm still enjoying my fitness program, but my last workout was tough. It's nice though to feel myself making progress, to have clothes now hanging slack where I used to fill them.

But I still think that elliptical machine's gonna be a killah.