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@nothingbythebook
Menopause Diaries: But we don't even eat that...
1 My love and I are planning a one-day road trip for our five-year anniversary (thank you, it’s been amazing) and I’m at the grocery store. Mission: Road Trip Snacks. It’s not going well. I’m paralized. I can’t remember what we like to eat. What works well as car/picnic food. Basically, I can’t remember how to think. There’s a big hole where my brain used to be. I’m not actually a living human…
Off-grid and on fire
1 The fire crackles. It’s loud. So loud. And smokey, because the wood delivered by the campground guardian angel is a bit damp. But that’s ok, the smoke is keeping the mosquitoes away. It’s just 8 pm and really bright out—bright enough that I’m reading my giant Haruki Murakami book. Which is getting a little sooty. The campground has no facilities so I haven’t washed my hands all day, although…
Soccer fan, once every four years
1 Real fans hate people like me. It’s ok. I become a soccer — sorry, the real football — fan once every four years, when World Cup. (Not a grammatical error. Do I really need to say more?) It’s not hard to explain the why. I quite like soccer. It’s beautiful. The running. The kicking. The perfect geometric lines. The drama. I just don’t love it enough to either play it or follow any team…
The magic of the “Ta-da!” list
1 I’m really not sure how I’m going to get through the day. I don’t want to wake up, I don’t want to get out of bed, I don’t want to do any of the things. None of them. I’m prophylactically exhausted, and I have a nice long lists of reasons validating my exhaustion. I could call in sick. I could just spend the day not existing. I don’t. I open my eyes. Try to force my mouth into a smile. The…
Life hack: Counting blessings, continued
1 One kid is in Vancouver, one is sick and contagious and in bed at his dad’s, but the third comes over for Sunday supper with his partner — and my partner — and I make mashed potatoes, Polish salad (my culture only has one salad), and Brussels sprouts with bacon, and reheat the lazy kotlety (aka meatloaf) my mom dropped off earlier in the day. After supper, we play two rounds of bullshit. I am…
How can I be so tired, explained
1 It’s 8:15 pm on a dreary, cold February evening and I’m beat, in bed with Murder in the City, a one-season BBC murder mystery, but it has Kris Marshall in it, so of course I watch. I feel a little guilty. I don’t particularly want to watch the show. I want to, dare I tell you, turn off the light, close my eyes and sleep. I’m exhausted and tomorrow’s another full day and OMG, it’s just 8:15 pm,…
But should you let the light in?
1 You know the song, right? If you don’t, here it is. You’re welcome. You can play it in the background while you read the rest. 2 I’m cracked open. This can be a good feeling. It’s not a good one today. I feel — well, I already named it. Cracked open. No, I don’t like it. But I’ll probably do it again. At least occasionally. I have done so, intermittently, for years. Leonard Cohen would…
Why do we feel guilty over resting?
1 It’s a lazy sunny Sunday and I’m resting. But expanding some energy feeling guilty about it. I could — should — clean. The floors are hairy and I haven’t given the bathrooms a proper clean for weeks. Or I could go out. It’s a sunny, relatively warm winter day. I could spend it in the mountains or stroll along the river in the city. Or I could call a friend I haven’t seen in a while, catch up…
Valuing the creative in the ordinary
1 I met someone the other day (it doesn’t matter which one) whose career it is to study creativity. I asked him if he thought of himself as a creative person. A creative, because we’ve started to use the adjective as a noun sometime in the 21st century. He paused. I wish I knew what he had thought during that pause. It would have been informative. “Of course,” he said. I’m not so sure. 2 I…
Counting blessings
1 The couch is furry. It’s also purple and velvet, but today, the dominant theme is furry. The fur is evidence of Bumblebee’s disobedience. The giant furball is laying demurely on the bare parquet floor, eschewing the small (real) sheepskin rug on which she’s permitted to lounge. Her eyes are guileless. “Hair?” they whisper. “What hair? I know not of what you speak, I’ve been lying here on the…
But what if I don't want to be a brand?
1 I’m a human, a mother and a writer. Roughly in that order, I think, because one must be human first, right? If we all agreed on that, we’d have world peace and all that. But whatever. Maybe you’re not a human first. Maybe your first label is narrower — you’re an American or a yoga instructor. Maybe it’s broader — you’re a primate, a vertebrate, an animal. I don’t want to pick a fight about…
It's the most difficult time of the year
1 Many years ago, I lost a baby at Christmas. What a stupid euphemism — like I misplaced him. I didn’t. I know exactly where he is, exactly where he isn’t. It’s been more than 20 years. I don’t think of him often, not really. Every once in a while. Always with pain. And always, always at Christmas. It doesn’t start as thoughts, you know. My body, it just remembers. And I wish it wouldn’t,…
On regulation, desire and discipline
1 I’m in Toronto for the third time in two weeks. Living out of a suitcase. Disregulated. Frantic, overfull days. I counter by creating mini-rituals. I leave the hotel room dressed to the nines — my version of, anyway — but not bundled up. I carry my winter coat down the creepy generic hallway, down the elevator, all the way to the lobby doors. Put it on just as I exit. Walk first on this side…
Think-not-think: A tip for burnt out creatives
1 I hit Friday fried. By my last two meetings on Thursday, I can’t language. You know? I open my mouth and my tongue struggles to form the syllables that need to become the words that will give voice to the thoughts I want to express. I’m crossing into the zone where I’m about to start making stupid mistakes because I have no bandwidth left for thought. The cure, for me, is pretty simple. I…
Anatomy of a week
Monday I move between bed, bath and couch, book, audiobook and my show on Amazon Prime, occasionally eat leftovers, nap often. In the evening, I’m picking up my lover and his lover but not my son and his father — one set of travellers is due to arrive nine’ishs and the other after midnight. I’m supposed to pick up the earlier arrivals and not the later ones. But stuff happens, and I end up…
Donut delivery
1 I’m driving back to my house in the rain to pick up a donut I forgot to deliver to my eldest baby — wait, I’m telling the story wrong, because now it’s Monday, and the story starts on Saturday, when I drove 150 km to get what are supposed to be the best donuts in Alberta. This, by the way, is an Alberta thing. I may live in a 1.3 million-person city, one of the largest in Canada, but let’s be…
Permission to be
1 It’s a low energy day — I have a lot of those these days* — and I’m in bed at 8 pm feeling I’ve done nothing, nothing. I sleep for 10, almost 11 hours. I crawl out of bed feeling rested but also very aware my well is about a quarter full, maybe less, and that quarter is quickly depleting, in no small part because I’m feeling I pissed away yesterday and I’m going to piss away today and so, why…