Category Archives: salty

This Skin // This Voice // This Year

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This Skin

Kindness to this skin I live in has been an overarching thought this year.  I’ve drifted beyond the question of popping the whitehead or not (spoiler alert: I usually pop it), and asked deeper questions: are the words I am saying sinking deeper beneath this skin? am I the best version of myself with the skin-covered beings that surrounds me? Am I hydrated? (if so, what by?) Could I have gone to bed three hours earlier last night?

How many milligrams of caffeine have I had today? Do I realistically have the stamina or the recovery time needed to pull an all-nighter? Am I reflecting on areas of possible growth without dwelling on my shortcoming?

Am I truly living in the present, or am I living in spite of my past?

I had an anxiety attack on Christmas that left me in a limbo of crying and shaking for hours.  I don’t understand my body sometimes, but anxiety is an unpaved freeway I am still learning to negotiate. It’s okay to cry, to have a reaction to everything around you.  It’s okay for the holidays to not be as joyous as the media has depicted them in holiday classics.

Kindness to this skin looks like mapping my anxiety and possible areas of crisis. Setting an alarm for when I need to get ready for bed, planning out meals, hydration, assignments, and giving time for the weather, the attractions, the friends, the foes along the way. (There’s really nothing like a text from your ex the night before a major term paper is due, which you just started.) I’ve learned that third year feels a lot like driving at night, in the heavy rain; knowing your destination but never knowing the roads that will lead there.

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This Voice

Still with me? (This is a question more for me than you, honestly.)

I’m learning to be more intentional with my vocabulary, but with that comes a lighter tread in my voice sometimes. I have grown more conscious of the space that my voice takes up in certain spaces (white privilege, male privilege, settler privilege, socio-economic status based privilege, able-bodied privilege et cetera.) I am on a continuing learning journey of when to hold my tongue; when my voice does more harm to the conversation than good.

With that I find a certain passiveness has formed within myself, where it has now become easier to not say anything at all in most situations where perhaps I really should participate.  The result: I am somewhat resentful at myself for what has become my overarching silence.

This voice struggles to articulate thoughts, metaphors, creativity.  I think a lot of it stems from a pattern of self-deprecation as a certain style of writing that I ascribed to for a while (see: “How to Be a Hot Mess”).  While satisfying and easy to play off as a sort of satire, I find that this particular path became a sort of manifest destiny above anything else.

Ultimately, I am my worst critic in all of this and I think the fear of judgment, of saying the wrong thing, of not reaching anyone and feeling alienated scares me as a writer, and living in that zone finds me producing nothing.

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This Year

This year found me starting a relationship with myself: my health, my body, my pain, my tendencies, my wrongdoings.  It’s a hard shell to crack, and the majority of the time I didn’t like what I saw within.  For so long I had focused on the exterior; how I came off, how well I was liked/admired/respected, what my wardrobe choices said about me, what my resting face said about me, if I was pleasing to prospective romantic conquests. The interior is a whole other galaxy of planets, comets, meteors, lifeforms. It is the grey inside of a Lucky Charms rainbow marshmallow that I am learning to paint vivid colours this year.

Move to Trash

~Shoutout to Wreck Beach for keeping me sane~

This blog would not exist if I wasn’t honest with what’s happening, and what’s not happening.

This month has really been a trying time for me. Real talks.

I’ve attempted to put this whole month into a blog post, like four times, already, and I’ve just ended up clicking the ‘move to trash’ button.

That’s the thing. It’s really easy to throw everything away, but starting over is a daunting feat.

—

I did something recently.  It was kind of an impulse decision, but I still did it. I quit my job.

It’s something that I’ve been doing for just over three years, and sadly it grew extremely banal for me recently.  That, and to be honest, my academic progress is rather lacking, to put it lightly.

I’m not putting the time I should be into school work, because frankly I find most of the stuff we’re doing to be trivial.

-pause for a moment, as I hover over the ‘move to trash’ button, yet again-

Nope, nope. I’m still here.

—

Here’s the thing: I’m lost.

I’m feel really lost, right now. In all of this stuff. It’s like swimming in the middle of the ocean, and I don’t see any islands or ships, and all I taste is sea water, which I liked to begin with, but now I’m just dehydrated, and burnt out.

I’ve been dealing with this feeling for like the last two weeks, and it’s heavy.  It’s not something I wish on anyone; to carry this burden around of not feeling like you’re in the correct place.

Like, you’re some sort of visitor to your own life, and you have to wear the ‘Visitor’ lanyard, which sticks out a lot, and everyone knows that you’re not a regular.

—

I had all these plans for next year. They all seemed so grand, and everything.  I said, “I’m not going to get attached to them. I don’t want to get my hopes or anything.” But I totally did. I attached myself to them, because it seemed like an upgrade to be in a different place.

And, now in this place that I didn’t really plan for, and I feel like I’m a warden of the State or something.

—

Starting over is something I hate.

But, it’s exactly what I need to do right now to get myself out of what I’ve landed in.

Perhaps, in the coming week, I will not eat an ENTIRE jar of Nutella. (pause of LOLs…) I mean seriously, I was just MAOWing.

Maybe, I’ll actually do some real editing of the stuff I need to turn-in.

Possibly, I’ll stop staying in bed for an hour, after I wake up.

HAAAAAAAAA..

—

I will find myself somewhere in the mountain of clothes on my bed, in the spilled wax on my chest of drawers, in the empty mugs on my desk, in the old to-do list, in not noticing cars when I decide to go for a run, in every mediocre grade.

Something good will come of this.

You know why?

Because everyone loves a comeback story.

 

Happy(?) Holidays

Greetings, and welcome to back to The Wasteland.

Today, I will attempt to articulate more of the things that actually go on inside of my head.

So, cool, since like we’re all saying it and stuff, I’ll like give into peer pressure, and acknowledge the fact that I had to throw away recycle my 2013 page-a-day calendar.

This of course means that like the holidays are now officially over and that we are supposed to move on with our lives and start something new, and deal with the repercussions of the holiday season, which no one really acknowledges.

I mean, they’re supposed to be filled with joy and cheer and all that, but what if they’re not?

Well, folks, then you are proclaimed as a grinch, and everyone forever just writes you off for the season.  But, like there are some serious happenings:

a. ca$hMoney$wag

Not gonna lie, I kinda spent the panettone amount of money, on my wonder bread budget.  I mean, I was just really behind on my shopping after a certain point and things got out of hand.

Not like it’s serious, don’t worry y’all, it would just be nice to not have to go into the New Year being super frugal.

It’s cool.  Walmart does have Mr. Noodles, though. And I hear those jazz sticks mix well with bologna. also side of ranch with that. hey girl.

b. Food

It’s the time of the year to “indulge” and “treat yourself.”  Stuffing your face full of Stovetop is completely acceptable.

–Flash-forward some time and you’re now expected to work out every single day and become some new person, with some great new bawdy laik wow omg.

But, real talks, I have a box of Himalayan pink salt caramels that aren’t going to eat themselves.

c. Persona

You’re totally expected to be this new person, who is super optimistic and positive, after the holidays. With all these goals, and new healthy activities. And then if you don’t do them you’re like a failure or something. I don’t understand.

I mean, yes, it’s the first of January, but be your own person or something, and don’t let a calendar dictate to you which days you want to bring change into your life.

You’re not going to dramatically change overnight.

UNLESS:

– you buy a month’s supply of Proactiv. sponsored by Justin Bieber, Jessica Simpson, Adam Levine, or everyone else who doesn’t actually understand what severe acne is.

-Or, like cut off three and half fingers…

so transforms. much change.

 

d. Drama

So much family time is bound to end in some skeletons coming out of the closet, right?

Same goes with your friends too.

Let’s not forget about “holidayting” a person: only dating for the holidays, because of loneliness.

But, like on the bright side, who needs cable with all of the drama happening in your life? I mean cancel your Netflix too, and save yourself $8 a month, and go buy some bags of ice for all the burns your friends dealt out.

And, like that fancy grade popcorn, none of that microwavable stuff. You earned the bag of white cheddar stuff for all of the cheesy, romantic nonsense that discharged from the mouths’ of the “holidaters.”

the struggle is real…

—

So holla. The holidays are a weird time.

I’m just gonna go eat soup and take some selfies until school starts.

 

How to Be a Hot Mess…

Hello, and welcome back to the Possibility Wasteland.

I am not dead, contrary to popular belief.

I was just busy being a really disorganized university student trying to manage: my work schedule, my social life, my final projects, my sanity, my food intake, and my dryer’s amount of lint discharge. Y’know, trying to make the basics, seem not so basic.

Did I succeed? Well, more or less. I mean, I made it through term one, and didn’t get Mad Cow Disease.  I did, however, end up getting bronchitis about two weeks before the end of term, which was really fun times. [laughs to keep from crying]

It was all in the name of being a hot mess, though, which turns out to be what I succeeded in.

How did I do that, you ask?

Well, you too, can achieve “hot mess” status by doing these things:

1. Don’t start any of your papers until the night before they are due! Bonus points if you don’t start it until 2AM, on the morning that it’s due.  The extra stress, combined with your lack of consciousness for spelling and grammar errors is sure to get you the highest mark in the class, and probably a spot on the Dean’s List.

2. Break up your meal schedule.  It’s a really great idea to have breakfast at 6AM, followed by lunch at 3PM.  This ensures optimum clarity in all of your classes.  I mean, whoever brings water, or energy bars, to class is clearly doing something wrong.  Up the ante by disregarding dinner on the night before your term paper is due (which is obviously haven’t started) and by having a three-part nervous breakdown between the bulk-food section at save-on-foods (I was talking to the bin of dino sours), your bathroom floor (after throwing your phone across the room), and your kitchen floor (after you receive text messages that you will read too much into).  Of course, a heavy penne dinner at 10:30PM will solve all problems, and not sit in your stomach for hours on end, or anything.

3. Pull an unhealthy amount of all-nighters, in combination with a semi-full time work schedule. Please make sure to pull an all-nighter during take-home exams, and then say YES to overnight shifts at work. Because sleep is for keeners who actually get As in their classes. I mean who needs a relatively above-average GPA. Pssshh. Those are so overrated.

 

4. Catch up on your sleep during lecture! I mean, if you’re actually putting your notebook on the lap desk, and not your head, you’re doing something wrong.  Bonus points if you fall asleep in the front row in your class of only 25. This will ensure that your prof will appreciate your iconic sleep-swaying all the more! (shout-out to Dr. Mauro. happy holidays. xo)  Of course, you’re only hardcore if you’ve fallen asleep in every single class, AT LEAST ONCE.

5. Always show up 5-15mins late with Starbucks. This really screams that you care about the class enough to show up on time. Profs will really value your presence.

6. Don’t even budget. LAWL spending like crazy is a really great idea, and like the fact that you might have to dip into tuition to pay off your credit card bill, is totally fine, and won’t cause you panic attacks. I mean only Greece has to budget.

7. Always keep what’s in your mind ’till later. I mean that point that you had regarding neoliberalism will truly be as valuable during dinnertime discourse, as it would have been in your sociology 100A class, right? It will totally earn you participation marks. Bonus points if this carries over to your social life, and you end up exploding at people a month after the actual issue. Yes, very smart, poised, and sexy.

8. Obsess over small things. You see that zit on your forehead that you wanna pop like a molly at a rave? Yes, you should pick at it until it bleeds like Gatsby’s heart. Then you should loathe your own existence for not having any self-control over things like that. Yes, that is very healthy. Also, obsessing over what anchor iPhone case you will get off Etsy should be a really deep source of stress in your life, or you are clearly doing something wrong.

 

9. Dwell in the past. I mean living in the now is so cliché. Who does that? You should always live in your mistakes, and your short-comings, and failed voyages. That will really get you where you aspire to be, and truly make you seem present in social situations with people who might be there to change your life or something, idk.

10. Own the title. You clearly earned “hot mess” status all by yourself, why not brag about what a massive screw-up you are all the time? Yes, this will earn you respect in the company of your peers.

So, there you have it. And, if you follow these steps, you will indeed become just like be! (Bronchitis not included)

[disclaimer: please don’t do any of this, I seriously warn you.  Bad things will happen. Your overall well-being is at stake, and this was only written in an attempt to evoke change. xo]

 

 

That Time I Put Chips in a Girl’s Hair.

hello, and welcome back to another episode of my random life. today, we will be flashing back to various enigmatic fragments of my childhood that shaped me into the mysterious human being that I am today.

But,

Maybe I’m not even human?

Maybe I’m not even mysterious? (Certain people from Chicago would agree…)

Maybe it’s not even today?

[pause for philosophical reflection// to go eat brownies out of the pan with(out) a fork.]

 

So, most people are really cool cats and they have their rebellious stage in like the early years of high school etc.

but, like I am clearly cooler, so I had to have it in grades 1-3.

If I remember correctly, my whole rebellion began when someone wrote “Derrick likes girls” on the board, in grade one.

Look at me, hanging with the ones with cooties. I was basically the Miley Cyrus of my grade. But, my popularity was once eclipsed by this other boy who got one earlobe pierced. Plot twist: he had two earlobes on one ear, too.

Like, HOW DO I COMPETE WITH THAT?

Answer: Petty HARDCORE Theft.

GUMMY BEARS.

So, yeah, I would just go into our classroom at lunch/recess, because the teacher left the door unlocked (what a rookie), and go into the unlocked drawer of her filing cabinet (seriously, she was too trusting), and take handfuls of gummy bears for my friends and I.

Needless to say, this made me popular again.

Eventually, my teacher figured out that someone was doing it, and actually locked the door at lunch. YAWN.

But, I was never caught.

(Mrs. Tressider, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry if this caused you any emotional turmoil, and will buy you a tub of gummy bears. Heck, maybe two since you read my blog.  Ok, seriously, three, because like if you were actually reading this that would be hella creepy, and creepers like you deserve some serious props.  Keep doing what ‘chu do, gurl.)

That was grade one summed up, save the occasional bartering with my teacher regarding what reading level I thought I was, versus what she thought I was.

—

By grade two, I had gained a status as an ally with the girls, and was occasionally put in as mediator, when two girls argued who killed the spider, which had evidently caused the rain.

I had also grown an overactive imagination, on account of the sleep I did not really get. I imagined that, at night, my parents got in their car, and turned into monsters, and went around eating people.

Yep.

Of course, they returned back to normal, in the morning.

My peak though was putting chips in this girl’s hair, whom I was like really crushing on. (HEY KIMBERLEY, IF YOU’RE READING THIS.) (side note: she also goes to UBC now! small world, yo.)

So obvi I had to figure out a way to get her attention.

Which meant chasing her halfway around school to put crunched up salt ‘n’ vinegar chips in her hair.

It was some of my finest work.
Critics were raving about it.
Supervision Aids were overly concerned about it.
Hair was lost over it.
Tears were shed.

Needless to say she wasn’t into me, even after I had poured my metaphorical heart (of chips) all over her. WHY COULDN’T SHE SEE? (I’m really good at giving/receiving signals regarding affection for someone, LAWLZ, not.)

 

So, I moved on, to this other girl, who liked TY stuffies, like me, and also had a slight obsession with the Lindsay Lohan version of Freaky Friday.

A majestic playdate ensued, and we ended up watching Freaky Friday together, and we both fangirled over the fact that she had a DVD player. (I came from a VHS family, guys. The struggle was real.)

I drew a portrait of her and I on the cover of my “Student of the Week” planner, when it was finally my week. Turns out that book is full of lies, because I forgot which hospital I was actually born in, so I just said Children’s hospital to fit in with the people that were emerging as popular.

—

Grade Three was basically me being super angst-y, and taking it out on my handwriting notebook.  This is probably why my handwriting is really ugly, to this day, and like why I can’t really take notes in a class, because I usually can’t read them after.

The key display of my angst was around remembrance day 2003 (THROWBACK GUYZ), when this kid and his mom brought in these patches and medal things (that were his grandfather’s) for show-and-tell.

We were expected to pass them around and gawk at how amazing they were, but I was so unimpressed, so instead of getting up to pass the patch around the room, I threw it.  Now, it was a patch, so it went like less than a foot, but it still hit the ground. DUN DUN DUNNNNNNN.

And my teacher was all, YOU GET A YELLOW CARD.

and I was all, STOP MAKING THIS ABOUT YOU. I’m the one that got hit by the bus.

but real talks, His mom probably still hates me..

Whatevs. She needed a haircut.

—

I was basically your model child.

 

Oh, btws, I also host children’s birthday parties. Call me?