Forever Tainted

I almost threw up last night… After work we did this:



Or at least that’s the ride we started at. By the time we were done at the fair, we had been vibrated, spun and thrown around so much both of us were on the verge of vomiting. I’d given my bubbles (that we brought along from home just for the sake of blowing off the top of the ferris-wheel) to a little girl who loved them, and Lars gave away our last ride ticket to a young man who looked like he just wasn’t done yet! We ended the evening with a Greek salad, great steak (like seriously, one of the best steaks I’ve ever had), lasagne (none for me as the crappy carb food I’ve been eating lately is making me feel yucky and cranky) and escargots, before heading home and cuddling up to sleep.

We were both plagued with disturbing dreams last night. His included me traveling to Snow Lake with him and then leaving him for a cop that pulled him over for speeding. Mine was bad, but a little more sinister and I don’t care to think about it, let alone repeat the details. Suffice it to say I was glad to wake up in his arms this morning where all was right in the world. We had our first coffee’s in bed where we cuddled up and read the OMG book for a few giggles before work.

I adore that my life is suddenly so full of giggles. Even-more-so that I’m giggling with someone I love so very much.

What do you think of the new design?

I just don't. But I'm scared I'm already there.

I’m getting restless. In the past little while I’ve picked up knitting, fabric printing and a paint brush again. I’ve read an entire book that I found lying around my office during the course of 3 shifts. But even with a new hobby each week, and a new boy in the picture I’m not satisfied. It’s like I’ve always got to be going somewhere or doing something.

Yesterday I drove to Vancouver. For a minute or two in the morning, Squamish just felt too small for me. All I could think while on the way was, ’the US border is just an hour or so that way’. I had my 18-year-old niece with me. Maybe, if I have time for it and this urge to move doesn’t up and leave me, I’ll visit Flur next month. I want to go to Seattle. It’d be a nice change, being the odd Canadian driver on American streets, rather than the odd asshole with Washington plates on our roads, forgetting their high-beams on, blocking traffic, failing to give way, and driving slow in the fast lane of our Canadian highways. Sometimes, it feels like a curse living between the boarder and one of the world’s best ski resorts and usually, that’s when I’m either blocked or blinded by an American driver making their way up to the resorts.

The sun is coming out and the snow is melting. I’m starting to wake up early again, as if all the winter sleeping is done with and life can begin again. I wonder if it’s just the seasonal transition that makes me feel so restless? Maybe I should get a second job?

I didn’t need it. I wanted it. I could have come home and gone to bed. Instead, as soon as I was dropped home, I jumped into my car and to the store to buy a pack. I then drove to Whistler, because I live so fucking close and hadn’t bothered to do it yet. From Whistler, I drove back into town, to Shoppers where I bought the lightest, brightest blonde hair dye I could find. I now sit waiting for it to take to my somewhat brown hair. I dyed it dark at the start of winter. It’s still fucking cold, but it’s time to be blonde again.

I met a boy. He confuses me. I confuse me. I don’t need a boy. But I think I may want one. And even worse, I think I may want him. But he’s so wrong for me in so many ways... and so right in so many others. I have no fucking clue what I’m doing with him. But I know next time I see him, I’ll be blonde.

Boys are bad. Girls are worse. And I smoked a cigarette.

Yesterday, the road report said the temperature was 2 degrees, at noon. I find that hard to believe because the chill of the breeze seemed to slice though my clothing and into my skin. I was almost sure I’d wake up this morning to find a coat of white snow covering everything in sight. The mountains surrounding this little town have been capped in snow for a couple of weeks now. It’s creeping in.

I hate the cold. And it doesn’t help that the sun seems to start setting around 4pm. By 5 you feel as though it’s about 11pm – time for bed; when really, you haven’t even had dinner yet. Winter is depressing for me. The next few months will not be easy.

I was woken last night just after 1am to the sound a train thundering through my yard. The tracks are just a few feet beyond my fence, and every time the train goes by my whole house shakes, like a mini earthquake interrupted only by the sound of the trains whistle blowing. It sucks. My first few nights here the last train on the day seemed to go by at 9.40pm – which totally isn’t a problem. But for two days now they have been creeping up into the wee hours of the morning. The night before last, it was 11.30, and last night quarter past 1. If a train goes by at 3am tonight, I think I’m going to wake up crying.

But seeing how the time of the train is my only real stress around here so far, I really shouldn’t complain. I’ve moved into my own place. It’s a dollhouse. Actually, as the landlord explained, she initially built it for her children as a playhouse but accidently built it too big for that. She then decided to add a bathroom and half kitchen and rent it out. It’s a tiny little cabin with a loft upstairs. It’s perfect for the little girl that I am, and will be even better when I get my python back and keep him as the guard-pet!

Life is treating me real well. I haven’t had a lot of time for the net lately, thus the lack of posts or entertaining stories shared. I would like to wish all a Happy Ramadhan, forgive me for being late.

Exactly one month from today, it will be a year since I left the United Arab Emirates and returned home. Even though I said it, I don’t know that when I left I believed I’d be gone this long. I’ve probably done more growing up in the 11 short months I’ve been home, than I did in 12 years I spent in the UAE. Things are real here. The good is true, not plastic; the bad is graphic and cold, rather than sugarcoated and lied about.

Five months ago, I found myself a good job, in a good accounting firm that ironically is run by women, and women alone. Approximately ten months ago, my mother started to lose her mind. Things have been just as dramatic here as they had in the UAE. Just two days ago, I talked to my 5 year old son, who is still in the UAE with his father - where I hope to have the strength, the means, and the stability here with my mom, to return eventually.

The gripes are different here. The storyline & characters have altered a little. But the tone has not changed all that much. And since this is my life we’re talking about, I doubt the tone will ever change beyond recognition.

I have decided to start writing again. But I’ve decided this book is going to be more about me, and what I’m experiencing, what I’ve experienced, what I aspire for, and what I want to write (as always). I’ve decided this book will be a real journal, and not just one conceived to inflame, infuriate and entertain; that by no means, means I will not get inflamed or enraged, and I will not entertain... Who the hell can predict such things?

The point is, this is going to be my journal. My real journal. You’re welcome along for the ride, but keep in mind that just because the door is open, doesn’t mean I invited you in. Respect the fact that what I share here are pieces of me. You don’t have to like me. I ask only that you respect me and my little place here.