Swept off my Feet - Christmas Miracle 2011

My best friend put this together. All those people who sent in videos and showed me love, I wish I could show it back in anyway. Especially you Rochelle. I wish I could make up half of what you've done for me in the past two days. Alongside the chocolate and fuzzy socks and hat and everything else, you really really really made my Christmas wonderful.

Wishing everyone a very very very happy Christmas filled with as much cheer and love as mine as been, halfway across the continent from my home.

Also, yes, I know. I've changed :P And yes, I'm slurring at the end.

Love,

Shani

25 Things 2011 Style

In February 2009, I jumped on the facebook bandwagon to write 25 things about myself and post it as a note. To put things into context, I was in the middle of second semester of third year, one of the better years of my life.

Think about it: 2011 is COMING to an END! I'm still stuck in 2010, this year feels unreal. I didn't know how else to do a self-reflection so I thought it'd be interesting to see what 25 things I could come up with this year. I hope you enjoy this if you care to read through it :)

The link to the 2009 version is here and should be accessible by the public:
https://www.facebook.com/note.php?note_id=51158924291



1. All of the points in the 2009 version still remain true to this day. Something to be said about consistency in personality, which is quite interesting to me as consistency in personality is one of the attributes that I value highest in people.

2. Over the past four months, the most action I've gotten is from Gandhi. Might be because of my boy fast, but still...

3. The 20th year of my life (4th year of university, 2009 - 2010) was one of the best years of my life thus far. I met and got to know/got to spend time with some of the greatest people I'll ever get to know. You know who you are.

4. I have lived completely on my own halfway across the country for 1.5 years now, spending 1 month of that time in total at home. The last time I saw my parents was 6 months ago and the next time I'll see them, it will have been at least a year.

5. Some of the people I've gotten to know and love have been people I've never met, and I'm not embarrassed to admit that anymore.

6. I have watched the LOTR trilogy at least 9 times since then and read the books once.

7. Last time I wanted to have stories to tell people. Now I have crazy stories of random adventures, but want to have my own story.

8. The 21st year of  my life was one of the worst years to date. I never ever want to revisit it, but I survived and am now thriving. I do not feel as if I am better for it, just more resilient.

9. My next adventure hope is to tour the United Kingdom: to explore Britain and smell the ocean air atop the cliffs in Ireland, to dead horse curl in Wales and to not die in Scotland.

10. I started seriously writing poetry 2 years ago. I met the writer's group that I now realize has changed my life about a year and a half ago. And now I may be published.

11. This 25 things is seemingly all about meetings and leavings. Maybe that's been the theme of my life since the last. Everyone's a short story.

12. I'm still growing into my face and my body.

13. I have laughed so hard that I've fallen down on the sidewalk, incapacitated.

14. I still haven't said those three little words to my parents.

15. I have had my heart broken twice. I think I fell in love twice too, perhaps, no way to be sure.

16. Melancholy. Tunes.

17. I find it really hard to back down from challenges and not always for my own good.

18. I'm still hungry for the truth. Truth is absolute. Beer keeps me honest.

19. I realize that I've become the person I always wanted to be, but am still looking for more. Self-actualization, I'm starting to realise, is never a complete process, and to be honest, that frustrates me and excites me.

20. I have no idea what I'm doing in grad school. I have no idea what I want to be when I grow up, but I know who I want to be. I've always known who I want to be but I don't know who I need to be.

21. I'm possessive, not jealous. I'm fiercely loyal and do little things with the gusto I should be doing my thesis with.

22. Jesus has ruined boys for me.

23. Baby, we'll be fine. All we gotta do is be brave and be kind. Life motto. I don't like the word "baby".

24. I'm in a love/fight relationship with God.

25. When I was a child, I thought like a child, reasoned like a child. I haven't grown up yet so I don't know how to leave these foolish things behind. Love believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things, sacrifices all things. There is only one key but many doors, and not all of them are locked. I keep entering the wrong one but am not afraid that I'll never find my way.



Happy Christmas!

Home is Wherever there is...Me?

Can't go home for Christmas. I'm not whining; lovely friends of mine have invited me over on the 23rd and 25th.

I've had so many dreams about my little sister (she's not so little anymore, apparently, but I'm a stranger) and how she felt curled up against me sleeping. I can almost feel her, smell her in those dreams, but alas I wake up and it's back to the grind.

I dream of my orange room. I dream of my grandmother.

My uncle who tends to be long lost a lot of the time is coming to visit apparently. Growing up and even now, he's always been more of an older/younger brother to me, and those of you who know me know how much I value that kind of sibling relationship with him. But I'm not going to see him even though I definitely feel I love him most (most likely not true, but a valid point). If you ever read this Wilson, I love you. You will always be my big brother, the one I never had and always wanted, even if you are the suckiest example of one.

I've had to learn some harsh lessons moving so far away from home even though I'm within the same country. I can't say I've learned them all or learned them well or don't backtrack often, but sometimes I wonder if I fucked it all up, if something went wrong along the way and now I'm just wasting my time and wasting away in this time. I'm happy, I've grown, I've changed, I laugh, I play, I work. Yet so often, I miss my family even though I can't stand them. I miss the comfort? of their nagging and the familiarity of their disappointment with who I am. Does that make me a masochist? Yeah, because I don't miss it, per se, I miss the comfort of their presence and the times they'd be nice to me. I miss eating food that was made by hands that cared and having a reason to step out of your room. I don't miss all the yelling and nagging and whatever else that was bound to follow me (and if my mom ever reads this, which is very unlikely, no I haven't lost any weight). I use the same sheets she bought me when I first started living away from home 4 years ago. The same blanket too. There is no point to this.

I think I'm at the end of my seemingly endless rambling. My house at home is always way too cold anyway. It's a day/week/month/year. There is no difference. I have wonderful friends which is way more than I did last year, but then again,  I went home last year. Maybe tonight I'll dream of my sister again, and wake up and make sure she has half the pillow. I always seemed to be a stickler about that.

:) Have a wonderful Christmas if I don't post before then. May God truly bless each and every one of your homes.

Shani

Christmas Surprise Special

Because sometimes people just surprise you with awesome presents. Thanks Tom!

Go Read my Stuff

http://www.netherwoodbooks.com/writers.html

My short story is featured there this month.

Cheers!

I was Reading about Hair Follicles...

Somehow reading about hair follicles

isn’t as interesting as thinking about you;

the words are black on this white page

and the inverse of you and me blocks the progression

of paper to eye to brain,

and all I see is what you would feel like against me

curled up in a bed that belongs to neither of us.

It makes sense I suppose,

I’m reading about terminal differentiation,

isn’t that what you and I had?

An influx of hormones that led to some permanent changes

in the texture of my soul,

so that no matter how many times I uprooted you,

plucked you, waxed you,

burned you, electrocuted you,

you grew back,

sometimes fast, sometimes a bit delayed,

sometimes thicker, sometimes soft and unnoticeable,

still always there, always present.

They say you’re born with all the hair follicles you could possibly have,

does this mean I was born for you?

I was born to complete the cycle of birth and reincarnation,

breaking through skin only to be cut down again,

while you nourished my roots with your sweet sweet words,

making sure that I remained healthy and alive,

rooted in you, but not so much intact.

I wonder how I would score your growth on women;

hirsute, her suit, your suit on her floor.

Somehow reading about hair follicles

isn’t as interesting as thinking about you,

but it doesn’t make my heart hurt nearly as much

as thoughts of you are wont to do. 

Glibs Episode II - Attack of the Drones

And they're back in full force.

Once again, the creator of the idea must be acknowledged of course (here you go Nick). Hope you enjoyed them.

Cheers!
ps. http://thatshaniperson.blogspot.com/2011/03/glibs.html
Those were the first ones.

Me vs. The Future

Where am I headed?

Is winging life a good tactic?

You say I'm a Creature of Habit ...

It's all Hallow's Eve and I'm attempting to study for an acoustic physics exam. I keep staring at the pages and nothing's going in and it absolutely must because there is no more time. Wednesday will be judgement day I suppose.

A year ago today, as far as I remember, I realized that I was on a downhill spiral. No friends, no family, and well on my way to gaining 20 pounds. The next 6 months or so were a dark period in my life - and I don't think I've gotten over it still. I'm still in shock how far Shani, strong positive resilient Shani, had/has fallen. Pride goeth before the fall they say, and I fell hard.

Life has always been good to me, not necessarily kind, but good. I know you guys are sick of "hearing" about this phase in my life, but I don't think I've come to terms with it. I think I'm still in shock - it almost feels unreal. This entire past year feels unreal. I feel jilted as if I'm half super involved in my life and half watching it - yet I don't know how to wake myself up. Don't get me wrong, in a lot of things I do I give beyond what I can. I try to embrace all the aspects of my life with as much vigor as is possibly and necessary. However, I feel almost as if this is a calm before a storm, and I'm not talking about a sprinkly rainstorms, but the full force of air, water, fire, and earth against me. 

Am I in transition? Am I even in the right universe?

Love, Looks, and Hair Loss - How iPods are really mePods

We are a shallow society. Remember the first iPod and how clunky and unwieldy it was? 

Oh look at me! I liked myself before it was cool!

I mean, they were the fat ladies that were considered beautiful in the Renaissance period because of their girth and pale, pasty skin symbolizing wealth, status, and general coolness level. I had the original iPod, way before I knew what to do with it, and let me tell you, all I wanted was an mp3 - something small, portable, and where I could stick music from 4 CDs on. I didn't know what to do with 500 gbs -  I was 15!

Anyway, looking at the iPods (and we all know iPods are just a metaphor), they're thinner, sleeker, more portable, more connected, more intuitive, easier to talk to, higher quality, etc. They're the perfect companion! Feeling lonely? Oh an app to talk to strangers. Feeling hungry? Oh an app to find the best closest restaurant. 

So what do you do when an original iPod, so to say, walks into a bar? It's obviously different, bigger, thicker, slower, no colour display, limited functions. We tend to scoff at the history of the evolution, especially when compared to what's available nowadays, and here is where the metaphor breaks down.

Humans are not just stepping stones for other humans to look better - not a single one of us should be a historical artifact. Yet people who aren't skinny, aren't a certain amount of tan, who've got hair where they shouldn't have and don't have it where they should, people who aren't the right kind of funny or have the right kind of talent, or anything, really, don't they often get overlooked?

I work with women with Polycystic Ovary Syndrome (PCOS). Hell, I probably have it. PCOS isn't a fun thing to deal with as you have to deal with something that hits you right in your femininity balls. PCOS is a complex endocrine disorder which basically, in the end, increases your risk for developing type 2 diabetes and cardiovascular risk. Most importantly (per se), women with PCOS produce extra male hormone resulting in male pattern hair growth/loss, acne, weight gain/difficulty in weight loss, and making it harder to get pregnant.

So how does a hairy, pimpled, fat girl fit into society? Of course, I realize I'm being reductive, but the point is society is reductive. You have an image in your mind now - how are you reacting to it? Funny, isn't it, the biases we carry, and I carry a wackload of them myself. It's hard to realize that she's a complete person too - that she has wants, desires, ideas, loves all the same. That it's not HER fault that she was born this way, and the fact that I even had to put down "fault" in that sentence speaks volumes. If humans are not stepping stones, then they are an end to themselves - value is intrinsic, this at least we should learn.

I'm not saying you need to fall in love with everybody, but at least give them the chance to prove their worth, whether they are the original iPod or the iPhone 4GS as everything has their use, some more efficient and suited than others. While some of you may scoff at the single function use of the original, wondering why somebody would choose that over the iPhone, well, it's kind of funny but I still refuse to get a smartphone, preferring to lug around my archaic caveman rockphone.

One person's smartphone is another person's headache.

Cheers!

What to Write Aboot?

Man, it's so hard to blog when I'm at an emotional impasse - neither happy nor sad, just regular.

I mean, I guess I could discuss serious issues but I don't really feel like it, which is the mark of any amateur writer/blogger/whatever. I know I shouldn't write only based on emotion, but who's counting really?

Sometimes, I wish I could make money by being an entertainer/party starter. I guess officially that sort of a job could be an "event manager" but the entertainment business is all about connections, and I don't have any.

I wonder if it would have all been different had I been blessed with different talents - say, a good voice, for example. Would I have pursued a completely different career, being the frontman of a band? Or maybe I'd have been an engineer.....and already be working in some sort of company by now.

Who knows, really?

I need to sleep earlier and eat less. I want to hunt for some cheesecake brownies - who's in?

Cheers!

How Long Does it Take to Mend a Broken Heart?

According to Death Cab, the blood should run red down the needle and thread.

That's unfair, I only sew on buttons and re-patch my holey jeans. Put that in your cake and eat it.

I'm in a love/hate relationship with music. Such a foolish thing. Such an honest girl.






Lovin's not for fools, Sarah Siskind and Bon Iver, lovin's for McDonald's.


Cheers.

One Drunken Spark ...

cake, glorious cake,

icing which covered my lips and mind with sugary sweet diabetes,

made my mind morbidly obese

yet it tasted like you smelled the last night before you disappeared

scared of monsters, I run, my mother is not there                            

words are mere mortals, falling out from my mouth 

as your tears glint on the edge of the sword

melancholia, you caused,

I'm here, and you're there - for what?

bitter melon my mouth and I will mourn in silence

that's all you see, from far away, but up close the scars in my eyes would turn you blind

soul? what soul? 

all that's left is some rotten meat torn apart by ravens

unwanted even by the birds of death

that's what she said, as he baked her a cake,

he didn't add enough butter

beauty through a webcam isn't beauty, it's an image;

a homage to false gods of self righteous idolatry,

pixels on screen lie and fill a void full of hope

a void full of hope is a void nonetheless

I look for escapism in imagination, 

yet imagination never fulfills the desire to feel

the breath of another on my hair

words come and go, taunt me, tease me - 

but they fly away from me when I need them most,

a lot like people

simplicity is honesty

and we are afraid of truth,

I am afraid of truth.

are you not afraid of finding out that despite everything 

you may be completely and utterly contrived?

Give me a Rosary and a dreamless sleep...

Give me a Rosary and a dreamless sleep

and I will be happy for the rest of my life,

counting the beads for world peace

I will sacrifice the time I used to spend thinking of you

and the way I wanted you to hold me,

and instead spend it on wishing the night terrors away,

keep the sleep paralysis at bay.

I can hardly think in the darkness for all I see are shadows

threatening to rip me apart

and possess me,

make me kill my mother and eat my sister,

caused by the weight of my sin and indecision,

not in one camp or another,

driving my brain to steer in angles unexplained in the light.

Give me a Rosary and a dreamless sleep,

and as my eyes close on the Hail Mary,

everything will be alright with the world,

for there are no shadows in Silence,

only in the absence of light. 

A Happy Anniversary Blog

I tend to not blog when I'm happy. To be fair, I have way more to say in my angry rants/angst than I have when I'm happy. The sun is shining. The weather is gorgeous. I have a book to read.

I don't know what to consider as the anniversary of my arrival/settling in at Saskatoon, but apparently this weekend is the fireworks festival, which is my first strong memory after my parents left me and I had moved into my house, anticipating the upcoming school year. What a year it was, filled with such lows but also such highs.

I can't complain about my 21st year, but at the same time, I don't know if it was good or bad to me. It just was. A year has passed, another year awaits.

It seems I got 99 problems but a bitch ain't one.

Cheers!

Oh God.

So. Yeah. A little mistake and everything you've tried to work for has gone to shit and it's all a little bit confusing because it's not like you didn't want it but it's not like you wanted it and it's not like it was bad but it wasn't good and it wasn't supposed to be like this. It sure as hell wasn't supposed to be like this. It was supposed to different and nice and sweet and you're not supposed to end up with burns, both metaphorical and physical. It wasn't just a thing that just happened and now it's done and you're like....oh.

I know what you guys are thinking it sounds like, and it wasn't *that*. It really wasn't.

I just want McDonald's and to re-watch Game of Thrones.

Butter chicken pizza is awesome.

Cheers.

"22, 22: The Year of the Lady"

I turned 22 on Tuesday. I always felt 22 was the year of the lady. It's such a weird transition:

a) at 20, you're still a kid.
b) at 21, are you a kid or are you an adult? It doesn't matter because you can be both if you want to be. People still consider you "young".
c) at 22, now you're magically an adult? A "young lady"? Words like "kid" don't get thrown at you as often anymore and you're not viewed as little anymore. Any mistakes you make are on your head and the pressure to find a career just continues to mount. Strange, isn't it, how arbitrary numbers are guideposts into looking back at your life and measuring how much you've succeeded or failed.

I started this birth year with a fever, kind of like Zuko when he chose to abandon the search for the avatar in BaSing-Se. I need a General Iroh in my life, although I hardly think I'm at the crossroads of my destiny, though I am/was at a crossroads.

I have learned this. I'm Shan fucking i and I will not be an obligation or a standby.

If 22 is the year of the lady, then I will be a lady in my own right. I will stop grovelling for approval from people who really don't deserve any sort of place in my life, let alone a pedestal. You'll need me before the world ends.

Cheers.

The Real M Word

I'm brown. I'm also the oldest girl, the daughter of the oldest girl (my mother), who is the daughter of the oldest girl (my grandmother). Now I know my family is not super Indiany (read: watch Bollywood, eat chapatis all the time) but we are pretty cultural. I can speak Konkani quite fluently, I respect my elders and refer to them as my elders, I can cook a pretty decent South Indian meal, and am often scared when I come home at 2 am wondering whether my parents will yell at me. 

I'm going to be 22 on Tuesday and in my heart I'm 19. My life right now revolves around me, my fun, my drinking, my parties, my books, my broken heart, mine mine mine. I have no responsibilities, no ties in this place, no one to hold me accountable (so to speak, the Jing Bangers hold me quite accountable to say the least). So of course it amuses me when my parents dare mention the big M word - matrimony. I suppose the only big B word that my mom would know how to say would be referring to my big butt (not boyfriend), which incidentally is a tried and true nickname of mine at home. I asked her what would happen if I went on a date and she half freaked out thinking I had one.

Sitting at Applebee's, which is apparently the place for heavy discussions, my parents informed me that I should be married by the time I'm 25, for my own good, and I believe they really think so. In response, I chortled and told my mom that was in 3 years, which meant that I would have to met someone by now (not necessarily, but it is a logical assumption). My dad then said that 2 -3 months was enough whereas my mom veered toward a year, and my dad rounded it off with a "Let us know when to start looking." Now, I don't know if they were serious or not because I don't know how they can possibly assume that they could find a boy for me from among the masses. What sort of masses? Brown masses? Definitely not anything other than the Christian mass (no pun intended). I mean, my parents marriage wasn't arranged, per se, but basically my mom got to pick from a bunch of people my grandfather had pre-approved of. 

Got me thinking about this whole M word business. I know I would need parental approval - all that Romeo and Juliet sort of passionate business doesn't last, it's but a butterfly memory once real life sets in, and I know more than anything else that real life is going to bite you hard in the ass, and "for better or worse" will become "far better in my hearse" because people are essentially aggravating. They smell, they aren't clean, they do weird things like throw socks around or leave shampoo bottles half open or eat the last piece of pizza in the fridge. You need something that lasts beyond and apart from your partner, something stable, something concrete, some people to hold you accountable to lifelong vows that you made. Parents do that. Parents are also crazy. There is no winning in life, maybe that's why people drink or get diabetes.

Maybe I should put an ad out. Join some foreveralone dating sites.

Age: 21
Sex: Female (to be verified - possibly before marriage)

Usefulness as a partner: can cook, can clean, can discipline children, repressed sexuality, relatively clean, friendly, funny, great drinking partner, likes music, family oriented, effective communicator, technologically competent, relatively flexible and adaptable.

Would you rather lose a tongue or a hand?

Things that might piss you off: sings loud and off tune to every song, has a dish pile in the room, doesn't keep honey mustard in the fridge, likes to eat out, gets really obnoxious and loud, reproductive functionality up in the air, dances randomly, has weird sleeping patterns, talks to people on the Internet, writes emo angsty poetry and waxes intimate about heartbreak.

Life goals: to sit around, write poetry all day and banter constantly.

Emotional baggage: 60 pounds

Looking for: .....................................

On second thought, I like having my own room and being able to come home at 5 am and sleep in my bed by myself and order pizza with beer mouth/hair, shaving whenever I want, wearing fuzzy socks at all hours of the day, and eating secret bottles of Nutella when no one's looking.

Screw the real M word, I'll settle for the real L word right now.

Awkward boner.

Cheers!

Where did it go now, all that you thought was worth a fight?

It's all but become just a passing thought in spite (E Minor - Other Lives).

The only part of me I left behind with you

was a hamburger with a bite taken out of it,

I wasn’t hungry the night we had met,

And you took it,

Wrapped delicately in its plastic container,

And placed it in your fridge for me to pick up tomorrow

Or later that night,

But I knew that I would never be back for it.

It makes me sad that I don’t remember how it tasted,

And that you probably threw it out the next day,

Fries and all.

Just know that if you had left your hamburger behind in my fridge,

With a bite mark around the edge of the patty in the shape of a moon crater,

I would have made sure you would have gotten it back the next day,

And if all else failed and you were halfway across the universe before I could see you again,

I would have eaten it in your memory,

Trying to recall if this is how you tasted that night I kissed you.

I'm hungry.

I'm Horrible at Being a Horrible Person

I AM HORRIBLE AT CUTTING PEOPLE OFF.

I've never done it before and now that I have to, well, in the words of a very Wise-au, "YOU ARE TEARING ME APART, LISA!" Not a literal Lisa.

When I become close with someone, I do not expect it to remain forever, but I expect that the parting will be organic and something both parties come to the (unsaid) conclusion to naturally.

But what if you need someone(s) gone from your life? Someone you thought would always be there? Someone you WANT to always be there but...but it's toxic because they treat you like shit! And the more you think about it, the more you realize, "Man, this person reallllllllllllllllllllly didn't care about me at all. Like this person/people treated me worse than they would treat a person who sold crack to their unborn baby." But being a typical girl, or by being a typical masochist, or a nice person I just keep on giving chances because I can't bear the thought of them not being involved in my life.

How? How can I go through life without sending them one more song? One more thought? Share one more poem? Lucky I have friends keeping me strong, but I feel so ridiculously pathetic that I often sit there and laugh at myself WITH myself about how pathetic I am. PATHETIC. I am such a sociopath.

Oh well, guess I have beef jerky. Oh wait no, I ate it. Meat <3

Cheers!

Thinking too much...

There was supposed to be a fight, a victory, a rejuvenation. Not silence.

But God was in the silence.


Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon him, and may he rest in peace. Eternal peace.

Cheers.

The "What I am Not" Rant Cliche

I shouldn't browse facebook in a sleep-deprived state. All I see are people who piss me off, who used to call me friends but really don't give two shits about me, who talk about all the good things of this world, and I'm glad that the world for them is sunshine and lollipops, I really really am.

My world isn't like that.

I have money, comfort, family, and for that I am grateful.

I have food, I have friends, I have entertainment.

I have books, cars, comics, jackets.

For these I am grateful.

I have God. I never doubt that. But sometimes I doubt our relationship, not on His end, on my end.

I am selfish and needy, sleep-deprived and angry.

I am horny and hormonal and lonely.

I am full of hurt, things that you don't know about, and sure, go ahead and judge me. I know we're all hurt, I know that. There are a lot of things that have seared my heart. And it makes me full of rage.

I cannot call everything beautiful even though everything is beautiful. There is beauty in symmetry but I see in fragments.

All you who speak about modesty in clothing, what do you know about modesty? You Catholic hypocrites. You pray and pray and I know you WILL go to heaven, you are wonderful people. But, please, I beg you, open your eyes to the words you use. Words like modesty and humility, words like gratefulness and beauty, what do you know? What is modest about insensitivity? What is modest about refusing to acknowledge the basest of human natures and drives? You are sheltered in a cocoon of ignorance and bliss, you are loved and protected by so many, and maybe that is your call in life but I live in the real world, where there is bitterness and gnashing of teeth.

You hypocrites. When you mutter all that is female is supposed to be tiny and feminine and delicate and boys are the men of this world, and at the end all we become is cliche. Maybe at the end, that is the right way, I do not know. Maybe I will be that cliche, maybe I am that cliche. But not now. So enough! Pray for your eyes to be opened. Put an end to your syrupy hypocrisy.

In a world where you're supposed to be "ALL THAT YOU CAN BE", we're awfully miserable. Individualism has blinded us to the true nature of compassion and of selflessness. Not just you, me.

And I swear that I don't have a gun.

Cheers.

When does a Friendship Stop being a Friendship?

I was called "toxic" once. Of course the company who called my friendship "toxic" hadn't been a friend of mine for a couple of years and was looking for an excuse to get rid of me.

But, honestly speaking, when can you look at a person and all they are to you and all they've meant to you, and stop fighting for them? When can you look at them and say, "ENOUGH! Enough of this self-righteous insolent bullshit, I can't care for you anymore because I can't live with my heart broken every day because of what we used to be and what we are no more!" I want to. I tried to. But every time, forgiveness comes and bites me in the ass. Forgiveness and integrity. A pox on integrity. A pox on all the times you talk to them now, and each conversation is so painful you'd much rather go have your legs waxed because it will take you away from the long silences filled in with rambling the once or twice a week you guys speak, if that, anymore.

I hope they read this, although they don't read a lot of stuff I write anymore, when they started out promising that they would always follow it. Silly, I know, but it instilled in me courage and inspiration that people could still be devoted. I hope they know it's them I'm talking about if by chance they happen upon this, so then I can tell them that my heart can't handle it anymore, that I want them gone, that I'd much rather suffer the pain of separation than the pain of false conversation and faked pleasantries. I'm an all or nothing kind of girl and for me, this is an all or nothing kind of situation. Maybe in time we can go back to puff pastries and a little bit of bubbly, but as of now, I want to sign off.

Go ahead. Judge me. Talk about my lack of resilience, my lack of patience, my lack of trust. All I know is that sometimes, oh just sometimes, I want to come first in my life. Sometimes, I need to come first in my life, as selfish as that sounds. So I'm sorry if I let you down. You let me down first, by making me believe that words weren't just words, but then showing me that yeah, words are just words.

Cheers.

Are You My Trouble?

Do not crave the so called freedom
of mindlessness and love for no such freedom
exists - it is but a myth created by the gods of chains
to tie us unceasingly and make a mockery of all that
is good, of all that is holy, of all that is sane. But as for me,
I lie here in full knowledge of the vast expanse that is my
dark soul, yet still I crave for that sliver of light that I glimpsed
once when you looked at me and promised that one day
you would lean in and cover my mouth with yours.

All that exists is hurt, and if there is hurt there must be healing. If there are lies, there must be truth.

Bless me Father for I have sinned, it has been a month and a half since my last blog post....

AHHHHHH! I'm back. I hope. I never left, really. June was a whirlwind of ultrasounds and blood-draws and Comic Con and then home.

Ah home, home is wherever I'm with you. Actually, I came home to Ontario for three weeks (a weekend of which was spent in Chicago). Today I fly back to Saskatoon and I don't know if i want to. I think it's just the "I really don't want to go back to work" jitters. I miss my Sask people. I truly do. And I realized I can't move back home without going, and you'll pardon my Italian, absolutely batshit insane. But home never changes, and that's a good thing. I could do without the fat jokes though.

Another thing I realized is that I might be batshit insane. That or a free spirit. I would love to backpack through countries, maybe with a car, stay in the seediest hostels and experience life first hand. Probably meet a couple more internet friends here and there, share a few laughs over beer or Jagger, which I'm immune to. And yes, we can test that theory out if you're buying.

Overall I'm caught between nostalgia and excitement, and it just makes me feel sick. It's a gorgeous day and I'm going to get some sun, because we all know I need more sun.

Cheers!

Bon Iver, Bon Iver

Layering. That's the first thing I think of when I listen to this album. The senseless phrases that don't have to mean something necessarily, just sound nice, with the french horns and pedalsteels and trombones and saxophones and his smooth as silk falsetto.

This is the kind of album that romance is made to dance with.

To have a listen through:

http://pitchfork.com/features/interviews/7989-bon-iver/

Cheers!

Missed Abortions and The Pursuit of Happiness

I never ever thought I'd be the emotional type, although clearly, I am. I mean, at least somewhat, on the inside. Most of you know me as happy happy Shani. And I am, really. I think I'm just at a loss at how to describe the experience of just being in a room, a dark room, that smells of goop and intimate parts.

I was supposed to be observing a pregnancy scan: 10 weeks, 5 days. My heart stopped when I didn't see a baby kicking and moving on screen, although I hope to God the mother didn't see it on my face. I tend to remain stoic, neutral and I tried to be that way for the entire duration of the scan, while the doctor poked and prodded. It was my first experience with a miscarriage, and to be honest, all I want to do is burst into tears. Maybe I might, and I don't know when it will hit me. I don't even know why I feel this way. 

I thought about me being on that chair, receiving that news. Would I have someone with me to hold my hand? Would that someone be holding my hand? Or would I be there alone, holding my own hand, like I always am? Would I feel like I had lost a part of myself, would I feel as if some part of me would now forever be missing? Would I cry or would I just maintain that stoic, neutral face, accepting circumstances with a grim determination?

Would I face God with the same sort of gritty realistic demeanour I put on every time I get some bad news? "Oh yes, throw another one at me why don't you. I'll be strong for You, in You."

Makes you question what is meant to be, what is isn't. This isn't the time or the place, when is the time or place? When will my miracle come for me? Questions of self-pity and anger all bubble together and empty out of your uterus, possible hope and futures bubbling out in little streams of consciousness that have changed the reaches of your universe.

This is more than school, this is life. I don't think I'm ready for it at all.

HALP MY CAMPUTR WAZ BROKEDED!1!1!!!!!!

So for those of you who don't know, this past week my computer basically got systematically destroyed with a most malicious virus. It truly isn't a tale for the faint hearted, especially because now I'm running Ubuntu. Me. Shani. It actually isn't that scary. At all. So far.

It all started a few weeks ago with facebook telling me on occasion that spammy links were posted, except the only facebook links I would click were youtube videos, so that was seemingly impossible. I just kind of ignored it, everything else seemed fine. But then, Monday morning, everything went black and then it told me I had errors on my hard disk or something and that I didn't have enough RAM, but to fix the errors I had to purchase the advanced module. Ummmm....what? Shit. Virus. What do I do? What do I do? I called my friend Berin up, who advised me to go to IT services. Except here, all tech stuff to do with viruses is done through the campus computer store. Long story short, they took my laptop for 2 days and I was out $130 or so by the end of it. Oh yeah, I didn't have this much money so I had to call my dad in the middle of the day close to tears for it. Stage 1 complete.

So then I kept on getting calls from the tech guy, let's call him Laul, saying that my laptop was being quirky and he wanted to reformat. By this time, MULTIPLE people had told me I was an idiot for paying someone and that they'd help out. Only one pulled through. I still owe Ken a lot of beer :P.

So, anyway, Laul kept on insisting that he wanted to reformat it and I kept on saying no. So I got it back from him and started gingerly playing around with it, seemed fine....kinda. But it wasn't. Every time I would search for something in google, it would redirect me. Freaking useless tech guys for the win. Started scanning with several different softwares, scans which take like 6 hours to run, maybe less, maybe more. All found stuff and got rid of it, but that virus STILL hadn't gone.

Frustrated, after a couple days, I started googling "viruses that redirect", and if you have some spare time, do it too. Turn out the google redirect virus is a bitch and a half, with a bastard on the side. Very malicious, impossible to detect. Hell, even programs that target it specifically weren't allowed to run in the same computer. So then the IT guy in my lab (not Laul) and I decided to do a system recovery, however, it would only allow me to go back to the 7th (the day the virus first exploded on my computer). And when we tried to do a system restore to the factory settings, well, long story short, we found out the virus had corrupted our backup recovery drive, but allowed a PARTIAL reformatting, so basically now I had no OS. That was the final "up yours" the virus gave me. What to do, what to do. No recovery discs in this province, and no computer. WHAT WAS I GOING TO DO ALL WEEKEND?

Two hours of stress later, Ken suggested Ubuntu. I had no idea what it was. Now I do. I went from not having a computer to have a computer and it was pretty awesome to have a computer, to be honest.  What a week, what a week, what a week. I survived with a smile and a swift kick in the ass.

What I learned? That people without computers go to bed at 9 pm because there isn't anything to do that isn't expensive. Trust me, 2 movies, 3 books, 4 beers later, it gets pretty up there.

Cheers!

Day 21: What Chaos in all its Structure Sounds Like....