Easily Red

...know about this.

I was over at Allie and Puck's tonight. They decided to show me video of my speech at the wedding. As it was cuing up I was terrified...fat arms...stomach hanging out...how huge was I going to look?

The tape started and the first thing that came out of my mouth was, "I'm not as big as I think that I am." The most unattractive thing about the version of me on screen was how unattractive I felt when I was giving the speech - I couldn't stop fiddling with my hair, I adjusted my dress, I rubbed my eyes. My insecurity ruined the speech. (Not really, but for me as me watching the speech.)

I need to give myself a break. I need to stop stressing about the last ten pounds. I've started to realize (again...for the first time) that being happy is the most important thing, and that my dress, whether it is covering my nipple or not, is never going to be perfect. Life is filled with things that are imperfect, but it is the struggle towards perfection that makes them beautiful.

Here is my confession. I sometimes feel alone.

Generally I love being alone. The quit times are wonderful and there is nothing like the feeling of relying on no one and being (pretty much) self-sustaining.

Wednesday night my co-workers and I partied hard like only the bookish can. Needless to say, I spent Thursday recovering and promptly fell asleep after getting home above the sheets, contacts still firmly in place.

Friday morning came too quickly, but upon waking up, I felt refreshed. After realizing that I slept with my contacts in, I gave them a quick rinse and was on my way to work. I've slept in my contacts before, and while not the most comfortable thing in the world, it's not a big deal. As the day went on, however, I was noticing more and more light sensitivity, redness around my eye, and tearing. I left work a half an hour early and rushed home to get the offending contact out. I am positive that I gave everyone on the subway the impression that I was one of those girls who cry on the subway after a fight with a boyfriend, especially because I was wearing sunglasses to shield myself from the light. How embarrassing.

Contact out I figured it was smooth sailing from that point on. It wasn't. It got worse. I laid on the couch all night in the dark with a left eye unable to focus on anything but the pizza pizza online ordering site, and the wikipedia entry for "eye irritation." I didn't get much sleep Friday night (partially from the pizza overindulgence, but mostly the eye).

Saturday morning rolled around and I was weepy. Nothing makes you feel more vulnerable than the realization that if something were to happen to you, it would be a long time before anyone figured it out. I was having the feeling that I've been having a lot, of just wanting someone to look after me once in a while.

I called my mom hoping that she would take me to the clinic. It was a sunny day and I was having trouble seeing. The light sensitivity was causing my pupil to roll into the back of my head and the whole state of affairs was making me pretty nauseous. Anyway, she didn't offer to take me and I (as always) had too much pride to ask. I made a couple of calls to friends to see if anyone was available - no one seemed to be home though, and I was too ashamed to leave a message. Hand shielding eyes, I set off on my own.

I almost turned around twice on the way to the station and almost fell in the middle of Bloor Street. The sun felt like it was boring into my head. Finally I got into the dark and cool office.

After a quick consultation I was diagnosed with pink eye. (Yes, I realize that I'm 24.) Eye drops in handbag and full of instructions about not picking at it, I looked outside from the clinic. Panic filled me as I realized that I would have to retrace the steps that I went through to get to the clinic...and I wasn't sure I was going to be able to. Finally, I swallowed my pride and called a friend of mine to help me to the subway. Ten minutes of peering out from the dark of the clinic later, my knights in black pick-up arrived and took me home.

I'm fine. The drops worked quickly and my eyes are just about back to normal (give or take a little crust) but I'm still filled with some sadness. I'm sad that I didn't have anyone with me. I miss having a partner that would check up on me, even if for the small everyday things. I'm also sad that I didn't feel comfortable asking for help. Sometimes I feel like my friends let me down, and aren't around as much as I need them. Sometimes it feels like I give much more than I take. Is it because I don't ask for help and give off an impression of independence that I don't get much in return? No one is a mind reader, maybe I should be more explicit. I need to sort out this problem in the coming weeks. Some time in my past I was given the impression that asking for help is shameful. I know it's not, I just need to do it more often.

Anyway. That's my confession. Sometimes I feel alone.

Check out the photo challenge.

A follow up to a previous post.

School principal pleads guilty to assault

So not only does she get to throw crap at people, she gets what amounts to a paid vacation?

This makes me SO angry.

I had my annual fall on the ice yesterday. I decided to wait until there was nothing left but the tinsiest of patches.

After a relaxing yoga class I decided to mosey over to the No Frills and pick up a couple of things. 

(Perhaps you've realized that I often have stories about grocery shopping. You should know that I eat about 4 lbs of cellulose a day. I don't buy food, I rent it. I digress - back to the story, yes?)

Trotting along merrily listening to my iPod, I noticed the chill as I walked through a shady patch of Bloor street. Just then the ice attacked. My legs splayed and I was down. Since I love lists, here are things that were good and bad about the fall:

GOOD

I've fulfilled the "I wipe out on ice at least once a winter" quota that has been in place since '89. I knew we could do it, team.

BAD

My cigarette flew into a snow bank. I had just lit it. The after-yoga smoke is the best you'll ever have.

GOOD

Having just limbered up from yoga, the slip allowed me to beautifully sink into pigeon.

BAD

My knee is royal blue.

BAD

On BLOOR fucking STREET no one stopped to asked me if I was alright. Two guys WALKED the hell AROUND me. I suspect I went undetected because I was wearing my invisibility sunglasses...

I just got back from dinner with my dad. As usual, he offered me money. He offers me money because he has it, and because he knows what it is to not, and because he loves me. He calls it my reward for choosing to go to public school instead of picking a $20,000 a year private school when I was given the option. Still it always makes me sad.

It isn't anything that I feel comfortable talking with my friends about, as many of them have larger financial worries than me and would appreciate the help. This is where the shame kicks in. Is it wrong for me to refuse help being given? Do I get off on playing the martyr? Am I no better than the Queen West "trustafarians" who get off on slumming it?

I know that my parents are trying to give me a hand and only want to give me help that they didn't have when they were my age, but I think that there is no glory in living in a house that you didn't earn.

Some great music to check out:

Paolo Nutini

Leon Jean-Marie 

Just Jack (Thanks, Kevin)

Beautiful Unknown

Emily Haines

Feist (new stuff!)

Arkana music

Mika

This morning as I shoveled snow the old bitch who lives next door yammered on not paying any heed to the fact that SOME of us have to work thereby making me late and I thought just thought about maybe salting her ever-so-precious flowerbed so that her land would be as barren as the section of my heart reserved for love for her.

And then I would crap on her front step for good measure.

I still might do it.

Within the last week I have come across two distinct reasons why I will no longer be a viewer of anything on Muchmusic (please note that this day was a long time coming).

Perhaps a week ago, Matte was announcing the winner of something. "Jennifer in Regina, SK" flashes on the bottom of the screen as he lists off the useless crap that she won. He then says: "So Jennifer in Regina, Saskatchewan, or Saskatoon, I can't tell because it just says SK, you just won..."

Excuse me? This idiot doesn't know that Regina and Saskatoon are two cities in Saskatchewan?

The final straw occurred yesterday when Leah was interviewing a band (don't ask me who):

Leah to lead singer: So do you play any instruments?

Lead singer: Well, I used to play the bassoon in high school.

Leah: What's a bassoon?

At this point the good folks at MM decided to flash not one, not two, but three photos of bassoons from different angles to help out the viewers at home. 

I realize that I am no longer in muchmusic's key demographic, but sweet merciful crap!

Move over graduation, Gillian has just found a new best day ever!

As callous as it sounds, sometimes I think of my relationships as investing in the stock market: One should always be analytical about the playing field, patience is a virtue, and any pay-off should be a pleasant surprise and never expected. While I feel that in the grand scheme of things I am only average as friends go, I feel rich beyond my wildest dreams.

Here's my Monday confession...I'm bad at blogging in a timely manner.

I'll be back soon. I promise. I just haven't been feeling it, ya know?