I can't believe I haven't spoken to my dad in six months.

It has been longer than that, really, since it has been six months since he passed away. It feels like it happened years ago. I can barely remember how lost I was feeling even before the news ripped my life apart. I was drowning, certainly, despite the best efforts of my loved ones. I had one foot out the door of my west coast apartment, ready to catch a flight back to Ontario, back to unemployment, homelessness, and family.

Now, for the first time in.. years, probably.. I feel happy.


That's the most difficult part - not being able to phone and tell Dad that I'm happy. Next to that is the sly guilt that creeps in; I'm happy on this side of the country, away from my family.

Strangely, it also feels like I just talked to him last week, updating him on my promotion to  manager (in training) of a dog daycare. He doesn't feel very far away when I find a solution to a problem at work, or when I come across a new financial blog, or I watch a show about horses.

It's those things that I try to focus on - keeping his memory close, and that he would be happy that I've found a definition of success that feels authentic for me. I wish my vision wouldn't get fuzzy on long days, when I'm tired and sore, but.. I'll do my best, and I'll keep on trying, even when I feel like I'm drowning.

That's all Dad ever wanted, ..I think.

I'm taking some time for myself today.

I'm pampering myself and doing so guilt-free.

I've had a hard week (although it hasn't been any harder than most), and I need to recharge. I usually reserve Mondays for a break from the world. I wait for my body to realign itself and my faulty collagen to repair from 36h of work in three consecutive nights. More often than not, it ends up feeding my guilt and I feel as if I've wasted a day lounging about. When I feel physically better on Tuesday, I don't feel any better emotionally. I feel useless and get little done. Wednesday, I realize I only have one full day left before I start nights again, so I rush and get as much cleaning as I can done, as well as go to medical appointments.

It hasn't been working. So, I'll try something new this week - even if just for today, Sunday.

I've painted my nails and, while I wait for them to dry, I am reading blogs. I've showered and followed my all-too-rare skin care regimen. I've even scheduled three dates with friends this week. For a hermit like me, that's a big deal.

I'll be entertaining new friends and catching with some old ones. Hopefully, today will restore my confidence in those realms, too.

But for now, I'll just breathe, remember that I must help myself before I can help others, and enjoy feeling as if my sunny afternoon with new nail polish and a good book is well-earned.

Grief is the ultimate liminal state.

It’s a gap in time that can’t sufficiently be bridged by the love of friends, family, or lovers. 

It is unique; it can’t be shared the way love can, and I wouldn’t wish to burden anyone else with it.

I can do my best to delay it, out of denial or necessity, with chores and work and school, but only my body is temporarily removed from the process. My mind is still busy, always so busy, trying to convince my heart of the simple and logical fact: my father is dead.

My mind often stumbles, as my bendy body does when it automatically calls his house;

no, he won't answer the phone when you call.

no, he won't help you out of this mess.

no, he won't make you laugh about this.

no, you won't feel awful when he says that.

As I'm working through these negative spaces in my mind, my heart has no chance of catching up. One day, I'll move on to the positive spaces (a terrible misnomer);

yes, he would've loved to hear about this couch controversy.

yes, he would've given anything to see you perform again.

yes, he would loved that you're writing again.

But, as I fall into the future conditional tense, I'm reminded that no, you don't have a future with him - not like that. and 

 

I hold my breath.

I choke.

I sob.

I forget how to breathe. 

And I realize that my body has to relearn how to function before my mind has a hope in hell of convincing my heart that everything will all be okay again, someday.

Darning versus Damning

I'm spending the day crafting and watching BBC documentaries - Victorian Farm and Edwardian Farm, particularly.

Not really crafting, I suppose, so much as mending; attaching buttons, repairing split seams, darning socks. I'm not very good at it, but I'm enjoying the work. I like the precision required and the utility of the finished products. Feeling useful is important to me, and it is also a rare feeling.

Perhaps it's that I haven't finished my degree yet, or that I don't have a career in my field. Hell, I don't really have a career at all, but a job. There isn't really any room for advancement unless I go into business for myself. I wouldn't rule that out in the future, once my debts are paid off, but for right now, I have to be content that I'm doing a job that requires observational skills and quick-thinking. And I am content, mostly.

I get down on myself for something that is entirely out of my control: the way my faulty collagen affects my movement, strength, and pain levels. I push myself to ignore my body's warnings and to not make excuses - "Sure, I can pick up an extra twelve-hour night shift at work" - but, I fear that I'm rather awful at it and that I cop out when I should adapt or innovate.

It's difficult to remember that my mind is subjective rather than objective in situations like these, and that my depression-and-anxiety-riddled brain is especially subjective. At times, such as in November, it is dangerously so. But really, my family is right; I shouldn't be so hard on myself.

Sure, my sewing isn't perfect and my knitting is quite slow, but I enjoy the work. It keeps my hands busy, of course, and it keeps my mind too busy to confuse my subjective and harmful thoughts for facts. That's probably the most important part.

Well, that, or that I'll finally have some socks to wear that don't have holes in them.

I wish I had skipped November, too.

I didn't write at all in November.

Usually, I would apologize for my tardiness and promise future entries, perhaps even in a list with bullets. But really, I just want to forget that month entirely.

Pieces of it are missing from my memory. I suppose that's for the best. There are some things that are not worth holding on to. I mourn my lapses in time from depression and pain and disordered sleep - they make me trip and stumble until they're all one and the same. But, really, it's for the best that I can't remember much leading up to my need to go to the Emergency Room to plead for psychiatric help, please, help of any kind, please.

I wasn't admitted. Sure, they admitted that I need help and that I wasn't healthy, but they couldn't keep me unless I physically hurt myself or someone else. Or, if I told them the precise ways in which I would do these things. They can only help you if you have already planned your way out - planning to get healthy is not in their jurisdiction, it would seem.

I got some referrals. I took a few days off of work. I cried for a week in lieu of eating or sleeping. I saw some doctors. I got some medicine. 

And a friend visited. I showed her around this city of mine. This city that felt throttled between the Rockies and the Pacific. This city that felt like its going to slip off of the edge of the country. We explored it together, though, and she made me feel a little less lost.

And then I got some flowers from a friend.

Flowers! From a friend! Who lives on the other side of the country! I didn't know you could do that. I didn't know I could get that. Flowers! How do we have flowers at this time of year, even inside? I wish I had a proper vase for them, or a glass pitcher, even. They make me smile every day.

With help, I'm slowly picking up the pieces of my life again. The ones that are worth holding on to.

I've secured a full-time job. Huzzah! And it's with dogs, too.

The three 12-hour night shifts in a row are a problem, though.

My insomnia works in my favour, but the fatigue and pain from hyperextending and locking joints, sore muscles, and chronic mild tendinitis makes for a long recovery. I'm on my feet most of the shift, and I'm not able to sit or lie down for more than an hour at a time. It's really wearing on my body, and my mind. I had a rough couple of days after I finished that last shift, and today, four days after my last shift, I'm finally feeling human - and I've only taken two installments of pain meds today. The first few days after the shifts, I was taking the maximum five installments, using ice and heat, exercising lightly to keep my joints moving, and sleeping as much as I could, and still being in too much pain to concentrate on anything other than police procedural dramas. And I get to start it all over again tonight.

However, I am really enjoying it. It's great working with dogs, and I can take Elliepup to work with me. She has a few friends there, and I think getting her exposed to excitement is helping her to become more tolerant of busy situations. Plus, the transit back and forth has made her a pro in her carrier.

I'm pleased to have a regular paycheque coming in, and soon I'll be able to start paying down my debt and my student loans. I'll be paying rent and my bills on my own, and, aside from the class I'm taking online (which my father generously offered to pay for), I'll be making it on my own. Doing all of that - feeling like an adult, finally - while having a bunch of permanent disabilities makes me feel good about myself. And that feeling, unfortunately, isn't one that I feel very often. So, I shall do my best to hold on to it, especially on the rough days.

I'm still applying for jobs in library and information sciences, as well as in the writing and editing fields. I've got a few hits in those, and they could lead to exciting places. Even if I don't get any further in those, for now, I'm pleased to have some interest from potential employers. This job market is abysmal, and I'm thrilled to have recognition from employers that my skills and experience just might be useful to them.

And really, on the toughest days, I curl up with some warm tea, some hounds, and my cat, and I try to imagine all of you out in the world, doing what you have to to get by.

What is it that you do to get through the tough days, friends? I'd love to know.

Bunnies and Coyotes and Beagles, oh my!

I feel privileged to welcome a foster beagle into my tiny, tiny home.

I've wanted to foster dogs ever since I found my dog, Ellie, being fostered at a friend's house. Sure, she wasn't my dog then (in fact, she was adopted be another family temporarily before joining my family), but I fell in love with the idea of fostering rescued dogs.

My Elliepup started it all.

Rescuing dogs from inadequate, and sometimes even cruel, environments is a rather romantic notion. Not everyone loves dogs, of course, but I haven't met a person who has said that rescuing dogs from neglectful or abusive humans is ridiculous or a waste of time.  Strangers on the street have been known to hug me when they find out that Ellie is a rescued dog.

But fostering? Bringing a neglected or abused dog who has no training - or worse, behavioural issues - into your home?

That seems extreme to some people. Isn't the pound is a perfectly reasonable place for dogs to live until they're adopted?

Well, yes. Many kennels are alright places for dogs who are awaiting forever homes. However, animal shelters are filled to the brim and most simply don't have room for any more dogs. Dogs are social animals and animal shelters can be stressful environments - the dogs are often better off in home environments than waiting in a kennel.

Since my Elliepup was a puppymill breeder, she had absolutely no socialization skills and didn't know how to interact with other dogs or people. She needed a loving home as soon as she could get one -- even if it was a temporary home until her permanent home (mine!) could be found. I wanted to be a part of that experience for dogs in need.

I also want another dog, but as I'm unable to financially commit to another dog right now, fostering is the perfect option for me. The rescue organization takes care of the vet bills, while I get the excitement of a new dog without the long-term commitment. I get to use and improve my dog psychology and training skills while also helping to save a dog.

Sure, it'll be difficult to say goodbye to the dogs I foster, but it'll mean that they're going to good homes. Plus, every dog I foster instead of adopt is another dog saved.

Both of these red dappled mini dachshunds were rescued from puppy mills!

So, Ellie and I have welcomed a beagle into our lives, for now, and we're loving it. Ellie is a bit annoyed that she has to share her beds (poor pup - she has, like,three, plus the laundry pile) but she's thoroughly enjoying the hound company on walks and having a warm body to snuggle up to.

How could someone not care for these dogs?

Finally, someone else is around who understands Ellie's love for sniffing and tracking. Ellie and the beagle, Alex, found a wild bunny hopping out of the hedge this morning, and they ran into a pair of coyotes on the street last night! They've also found many-a dead rodents, bits of rotting food, and discarded underthings. They're having a ball.


The beagle is learning really quickly and by the time he's adopted, he not only going to be a fantastic dog, but a well-mannered one too!

Alex, a newfie beagle, loves the CBC and is looking for a forever home!

Also, my buddy Zoe from A Giraffe in a Scarf fosters cats. She's such a great kitty mama. She often writes about her fostering experiences, and she always includes adorable photos of her snuggly feline brood.

If you're thinking of adopting an animal, please check out your local rescue organizations as well as the shelters in your area. You can often find breed-specific rescues (like the Beagle rescue I volunteer for) if you're interested in a specific breed of dog, bunny,  horse, or other animal.

Would you consider adopting from a rescue, or fostering?

Are You Okay?

I've written about my depression and my panic attacks.

Hell, I've written about them numerous times.
 
I've also written about the importance of a supportive partner and about my low self-esteem. I've also written about the exhaustion of being mentally unwell.

So, I am damn proud of my friend, Zoe, for writing about RUOK? Day. It takes a hell of a lot of courage to open up about that shit, especially when your blog is adorable and the go-to place for cute kitten photos, crafting, and general Aussie awesomenes.

Here's Zoe's brave post: http://agiraffeinascarf.wordpress.com/2011/09/15/are-you-ok/

Please, take the time to check it out. Someone you love, or someone you've never met, could be at risk for all kinds of awfulness, including self-harm and suicide. All they might need is for you to ask if they're okay.

That's all I needed.

It's not very much to ask, and it does save lives.

I lucked out with my diagnosis.

Sure, a diagnosis of Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome isn’t particularly lucky, as it’s a chronic, progressive physical impairment marked by joint pain, dislocations, muscle spasms and neuropathy, and everything from swallowing difficulties to bladder problems. It also is often saddled with dysautonomia, which is modern doctor-speak for what used to be called “hysteria”; essentially, the autonomic system goes haywire. It can affect lots of other bodily systems that one might been thankful that their particular presentation of EDS had skipped over, resulting in low blood pressure, rapid or slow heart beat, dizziness, excessive thirst, and anxiety. Fun times, I know. (And I do know.)

No, having those rare diagnoses isn’t lucky. However, I came by them relatively easily, which is rather fortunate.

I have friends who have gone out of the country in order to be diagnosed and treated for their EDS and related ailments. I also have some friends who are currently fighting for the opportunities to be able to do so, since our Canadian health care system is great for many things, but treatment and funding for under-diagnosed rare genetic diseases are not some of them. I also have friends who came to their diagnoses after dealing with a hell of a lot more pain than I can even imagine, and I wish that their paths to diagnosis could have been easier for their bodies and their spirits.

I presented information on EDS to my General Practitioner. He, being a rather smart and compassionate obstetrician/gynecologist and family physician, understood that this was far beyond his knowledge base, so he offered to send me to a rheumatologist of my choosing. I chose one in the university town I was living in, despite knowing that my town needs at least another three family physicians, and that it certainly isn’t a hotspot for specialists either. I impatiently waited six months for the appointment. I went to the appointment, said very little;

“I’ve been experiencing joint and muscle pain that keeps me awake every night.”

“Yes, my brother is also known to be flexible. We call him Gumby.”

“Why yes, my mother does have arthritis. Yes, she did just have an MVP repaired. How did you guess?”

“Why yes, sleep apnea and swallowing difficulties do run in our family.”

And then was told that I have Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, and probably dysautonomia as well. The rheumatologist was very nice and tried to answer my questions. She suggested I attend the conference in Baltimore next fall, and, if funds allow, consider a pilgrimage, of sorts, to the United Kingdom, where there are lots of doctors who specialize in EDS. She said that I need to have genetic testing done before I consider having children. It will determine which type of EDS I have – mostly, though, it’s to rule out the super scary vascular type in which organs can rupture and awful things can suddenly threaten one’s life. I also need to have my heart monitored regularly to see if I have a mitral valve prolapse or blood  pressure problems. She ordered xrays of my neck, as she was curious about the lack of mobility in my shoulders and neck. Sure, it’s probably from my hypermobile shoulder blades jabbing into muscles and tendons in places where they shouldn’t, but I might also be missing a vertebrae or something, and it’ll be good to know. Just in case.  Or something.

So, all-in-all, a relatively easy road to a diagnosis that is more of a relief than anything else.

I hope all those of you out there that are searching for a diagnosis have a simple time of it as well. 

Good luck!

Packing it in

My father helped us ship some of our boxes today. We have also already taken a load of boxes to my mother's place for safe-keeping, since we can't afford to ship much. Upon returning to my house and saying goodbye just for now to my father, I promptly burst into tears. I broke my strict no crying! rule for moving. I curled up onto the bed with my partner and I allowed my dog on the bed just-this-once, and I sobbed. And when I was finished sobbing, I dried my eyes, and then I sobbed some more.

Peterborough, I really am going to miss you. All of you.

I will miss the people, first and foremost. I have made the greatest friends here. Seriously, the greatest. The sure, I just met you last week, but I'll go in late to work because you're having a panic attack and you can't get out of your house and I'm worried about you kinda friends.

I know the underemployed and underhoused by name. I also know the names of all of the dogs that visit the three closest dog parks. I still don't know why people come to Peterborough, aside from attending school here, but I do know why they stay - it feels like home. My partner has been affectionately nicknamed the mayor, since he seems to know everyone. He can't walk down one block without running into at least a half dozen people that he knows.

I know where to get the best deal on raw dog food and where to get awesome clothes for cheap. The servers at all of the downtown restaurants and at my favourite cafe know what I'm going to order before I do. I know which bookstores to go to for particular kinds of books. I know which grocery stores to go to for my favourite foods and for the cheapest prices. I know the operating hours of the fifteen closest convenience stores. I know 3km of walking trails, 8 parks, and more heritage buildings that I can count. I know the last four business attempts in a storefront before the local deli was successful.


In short, I know this town. And I love it. And I don't ever want to leave it.

I found the oldest part of Vancouver and a 100-year-old mansion to live in, in order to replicate my experience working and living in this old city of mine. I want to wake up, see an old radiator, and remember the awful year that the radiator in my third-floor attic room didn't work. I want to wash the original hardwood floors with cold water and gentle dish soap and remember lugging the mop and bucket up two flights of stairs at work and not feeling satisfied until the entire hardwood floor glistened, dust-free. I want to have tiny pieces of Peterborough with me, until I can come back.

 And I really hope that everyone I love will still be here.

On letting go.

I have been researching many things regarding my upcoming move to the other side of the country.

• apartments
• public transit
• air fare
• transporting the pets
• health coverage
• jobs
• furniture on the cheap
• hell, everything on the cheap

And, sure, we've packed up two large bins of stuff that we can get rid of (which we haven't actually removed from our apartment). I've been dragging my heels on selling a few extra items, though. I haven't been able to say goodbye to them yet, and, well, I don't want to say goodbye to anything or anyone. Selling a sewing machine, table and chairs, saddle, and typewriter, well.. that seems rather final.

I've only had 6 weeks to live in this apartment with my partner, and it feels too soon to say goodbye to this chapter of our life together. Yes, yes, we're moving together across the country, but, well, we're moving together across the country!

It's also looking like my partner is going to move back to BC before I do. He's going to look for an apartment for us, prepare for school, spend time with his sister, and, I don't know, whatever else he needs to do without me. I'm fine with flying alone - I've been doing it since I was a child - but saying goodbye to my family and not having him there to remind me of what I'm moving towards, rather than just what I'm moving away from? Uncool.

Sigh. I can't control everything. I've got to learn to let things go. I suppose it's easier to move when you're not loaded down with baggage.

I just wish I knew what great things await me.

Zebra Sleepover

I promised to write about the Zebra/bendy sleepover that I had with the Ontario group of friends with Ehlers Danlos Syndrome. My friend, Nakki, already wrote a fantastic recap of the evening, so please, please, check it out.

It didn't matter that I haven't been diagnosed with EDS, or that I might never be diagnosed with EDS. For them, understanding, support, and a willingness to learn was enough.

It didn't matter that I only knew one person before I arrived at Tiffany's house for the sleepover. Hell, it didn't even matter that I had never spoken to Tiffany before showing up to her house to sleepover. I felt closer to these women than I do to most of my friends -- I felt like they were family. Tiffany and Michele, especially, felt like the big sisters that I never had (although Michele is tinier than I am. Heh.).

It didn't matter that we don't all have the same symptoms. There were women there with Classical EDS, Hypermobile EDS, and Vascular EDS, and it didn't matter that I don't know what type I might have, or even if I do have it.

It didn't matter that I preferred to sit on the floor rather than in a chair or on the sofa. It didn't matter that someone preferred to lie down. It didn't matter that someone had to stay hydrated via a feeding tube. It didn't matter that we had to shift positions every few minutes or have our joints crack and pop when we moved.

It didn't matter that we're not doctors or that we can't diagnose anything. We  could share our experiences about the medical system - we shared info on which doctors are great and which ones make our lives harder. We could also share our experiences of interacting with friends and family - we shared our fears, our disappointments, our triumphs, our anger, and most of all, our laughter.

Laughter really is the best medicine. We spent most of the evening and the next morning laughing, and the wee hours in between, too. I even cried - twice - as I was so touched by the energy in the room. It was an incredible experience, and it is one of the few things (along with the upcoming arrival of a niece or nephew) that makes me really consider not moving across the country.

Since the sleepover, three of my zebra friends have had hospital stays. One, that I felt particularly close to, kicked ass at recovering from a life-threatening condition. It was extremely scary there, for a little while. Well, it still is scary.

But we keep moving.

We stretch our overly stretchy ligaments, pop our crackly joints, we deal with the pain, and we keep moving.

Or we keep swimming, as Nakki says.

Brace Yourself

I gathered up enough courage to see an orthotist.

No, no, not an orthotist for shoe inserts (although, that wouldn't be a bad idea). Shoe orthotics are actually only one type of orthotics. A trained orthotist addresses all sorts of support and bracing needs -- from compression socks designed especially for diabetics, to neck braces and foot braces.

I saw an orthotist to see if a shoulder brace would be helpful. I'm currently doing my physio exercises and being mindful of not hyperextending my left shoulder, but it's not helping enough - I'm still getting a fair amount of numbness and weakness in my left hand after a long day of doing nothing in particular with my arms. I currently tape up my shoulder to limit its range of motion when I know I'll be doing yardwork or carrying things, but it's cumbersome and I get weird skin rashes and blisters from the tape. Well, the almost-doc (he's in training, and consulted with the experience doc on staff) said that what I really need is an entirely new shoulder, but that they don't make those. Ha. Thanks. Also, that the braces they do have would only be helpful if I want to immobilize my shoulder completely. I may need that in the future, he said, but that it's probably not helpful right now.

I also asked about my left knee. I wanted to know if it really is as unstable as I perceive it to be, or if I can correct that with more physio and targetted exercises. The orthotist said it shouldn't be anywhere near as unstable as it is, and that my kneecap shouldn't float around. He lent me a knee brace to try out for a few weeksto see if it helps. If it does, then I can consider investing in one. So far, I definitely feel better with it when I'm bending and moving around. Moving chairs and tables at work, and going up and down stairs was much more comfortable and sturdier. It also helps me keep from bending my knee backwards when I walk, which seems to be helping my back pain at night. I can't be certain, though, and I still don't know if it'll be worth it.

While struggling to pull the knee brace on, I also asked the orthotist about my fingers. And I watched his jaw drop, before he asked me to stop what I was doing. Okay. Then I tried again to pull the knee brace on, and he watched my fingers, and then hurried out of the room to, I suppose, talk to the guy in charge. I waited a few minutes, bending my knee, and enjoying the stability. And I worried.

The orthotist (in training) returned, apologized, and asked to examine my fingers. He asked what I specifically had problems with. I showed him how my fingers bend too far, apparently, and make it really difficult to hold a pencil and write for more than a few minutes without pain. I showed him how I hold cutlery, and how it's difficult to cut things with a knife. He examined my fingers again, and then left the room, again. Upon his return, he smiled and said that he could most certainly make me a custom finger splint to help me keep my index finger from hyperextending. Huzzah! And that I most certainly need one. I asked about the other fingers, but as this custom brace will likely run about $75, I probably won't be able to get them for more than one finger. Yikes. He said I definitely need them for all of my fingers, though, and when I showed him my toes, he cringed and asked if I had any way of seeing my rhuematologist earlier than planned. Smooth, guy. Really smooth. Heh. He was nice, though, and I felt better after seeing him.

But, that's good news. A: That I wasn't crazy about the hyperextensions, and B: that I will likely be able to find a solution for my index finger. Woot.

I have another appointment next week. I'm going to bring some information on Oval-8 finger splints, as well as silver ring splints (which are waaaaaaaaay out of my price range) to give him an idea of what's available. I don't really want to be his engineering guinea pig if I don't have to.

So, that's the update. I have a chiro appointment tomorrow morning, which is overdue, after subluxing some ribs a few weeks back. All of the dog walking I've been doing though has been strengthening my legs and my core, and I've even built up my lower back muscles to straighten out the excessive curve in my lower back, so I haven't been having as many problems with that. Yay!

I'll be dog-sitting for the next week, which is exciting. It'll test out if I'm up for fostering dogs in the fall. I hope so! I better hide the knee brace so the loaner dog doesn't eat it. Heh.

I hope you're all doing well and conquering your fears too. Asking for help is certainly scary, but it also shows just how strong you are. Or, so I believe.

one step at a time

I've been missing you, blog. I have. In many ways, as the polysemy of the word missing could indicate.

I've not only been absent, which has become more usual than I'd like it to, but I've also been writing posts in my head. While dog walking, mostly, but it's tricky enough to calmly stay alert and in charge of a few canines while writing in my head, much less writing on a computer or a piece of paper.

So, I have posts, but I don't have them here. One step at a time, I suppose.

I've been taking many things one step at a time.

I'm getting stronger, one step at a time, by doing my physio exercises, being conscious of my posture, and listening to my body. I rest when I need to rest, but certainly not one second before. I have pain, sure, but it's nice to feel the pain from muscles as they develop and strengthen instead of just the pain from tendons and joints stretching farther than they should.

I'm setting up the apartment, one step at a time. I've acquired and painted a dresser for my partner to use. That'll give him the resources needed to unpack.. just in time for us to move again in August. Oh well. I've also acquired a great wingback armchar, hung a few pictures, and set up the record player. My partner has been setting up the study (also known as the second bedroom, minus a bed). It's mostly his domain, as he uses it as an office the mornings, working at the desk, while I sleep in. It also houses his collection of images of sacred spaces along with half of our large book collection. The apartment isn't ready for a housewarming party yet, but it's coming along.

And the moving thing.. I'm coming to terms with it. I researched family doctors and health cooperatives and found some that are accepting new patients. I still need to find a rheumatologist in the area, but I've found a geneticist. And I'm confident that we'll find an apartment and make do. Acquire more used furniture. Paint it. Put away our books. Walk the dog. Worry about the future. Life will continue.

I just wish I were a little steadier on my feet.

I got eggs today, as well as a job. Part II

Okay, well, I didn't get eggs this time, but I did use eggs to make bread. And I did get a job. Hurrah!

It's a summer posting at that lovely 114-year-old turreted building that I already know and love. I'll still be wardening, (cleaning, readying rooms for events, being a teeny tiny security guard) but I'll also be planning and implementing programs to get people to enjoy the space, especially the lawn. I have a few ideas that I'm pretty excited about. I'm absolutely thrilled that I'm able to spend all summer at a job that I am passionate about, and with coworkers who feel like family. Plus, I can continue to bring the pup to work, as long as she helps and isn't in the way. Silly dachshund. She's getting more confident, which is lovely, but it also means that I have to be sterner with her. Growing is fun.

Speaking of growing, I'll be planting my seedlings in a friend's garden tomorrow. We started them a few weeks ago, and most of them are doing well. The beans and squash are begging to be given more room, and the tomatoes definitely need some more space. The spinach sprouted early but has been touch-and-go since then. I'm not too sure about it. The peppers and basil are surprisingly coming into their own, as well. Yay!

My partner has moved in, and my (ex-)roomie has moved out. Our place is still pretty messy, as we don't have nearly enough bookcases or dressers. It'll be a good excuse for me to go through all of my clothes and other items to see what I can sell or give away before packing to move to Vancougar for September. Also, it'll be an interesting social experiment, of sorts, as I've never lived with a partner before. I've done some chores around the house - laundry, cleaning, baking - and have unpacked what I'm able to, and even moved the bed into the master bedroom. I hope it's enough to show that I care about our shared space, but that I don't want to dominate it. I know it's difficult enough moving into a space that someone already inhabits, without having to navigate heartstrings and such as well. Eep. I shall have my fingers crossed.

I hope you all are doing well, readers. I still feel like the good things that happen to me aren't real. Do you ever feel like that, like things are too good to be true?

Please let this month be over.

I haven't uploaded the Vancougar photos yet. Surprise, surprise.

I feel as if my whole life is filled with things I am failing to do. School. Employment. Dog stuff. Family stuff. Lover stuff. Friend stuff.

Despite that feeling, I am making progress.

I handed in some school stuff. On time. It's not anywhere near what I'd like it to look like, but it's in. And that's a huge step for me. I'd usually just not hand it in because I'm not satisfied with it.

I also am getting some clients for a dog walking and behaviour business that a close friend and I started. We haven't met any of the clients yet, but we're definitely booking up quickly. I pick up the flyers and brochures from the printer's on Friday, and we'll paint this town red. I don't know if we'll make enough to quit our day jobs (er.. or, in my case, what day job?), but I'm optimistic and feel like I've already accomplished more with it than I thought I could. I'm proud of what we've done so far, and I'm eager to meet people and help them with their dogs.

Roomie is moving out on Wednesday. Lover is moving in. I am terrified. I hope it will improve both relationships, but I'm worried that it'll ruin them. My worry is likely unwarranted, of course, but that doesn't make it any less present in my mind. I am eager to make a home with my partner, putting up our artwork, realizing we don't have any dishware, debating over purchasing things that we need but don't want to move across the country with us in a few months - it'll be interesting. I shall help him keep from accidentally giving us food poisoning, and he shall help me keep from eating that delicious food in bed at all hours of the night.

And, here's a short list of blog posts that I must remind myself to write soooon:
- Vancougar, with photos
- Zebra/EDS sleepover awesomeness
- my very green thumb
- physio, the sequel
- chiro update

Things we encountered on our afternoon walk:

• Two adorable cats. One of them played with Elliepup. Purr!
• Two adorable doxies. One of them was a piebald puppy. Ellie loved them.
• A chicken bone, which Ellie sniffed out amidst some tulips. She wanted to take it home.
• A blues guitarist. I danced a little.
• A blonde squirrel. Weeeird.
• A balmy 18C. I'd love summer if it wouldn't get any hotter than this. Glorious! 

Some piebald & longhaired doxie eyecandy: 

 Source

I'm baaaaack

There needs to be a serious vacation post, and there will be one.
With photos.
Of trees.
And mountains.
And marine life.
And general British Columbia awesomeness.

Just.. not today.

Also, I have a good secret, but that will also have to wait. A good one. I swear.
No, I'm not knocked up. That, friends, would be bad secret. Seriously.

Moving right along..

I've only been back in the province.. oh.. for five days now? Less than a week. And already it feels like it has been years since I was away. Eep. Luckily, the vacation also seemed to last for years, so perhaps it'll all even out.

Things I have done since returning:

• fed my sausage-dog sausage
• worked a shift at my beloved Queen Anne mansion
• given my mother orchids
• called my grandmother and my father
• submitted journal articles on time
• canoed!
• played guitar
• gone on a dog playdate
• dislocated my shoulder (but all is well!)

Most of those things are fantastic,  and I shall celebrate them as such.

I hope you're all celebrating things too.

Lotus Land

Well, internets, it's time to bid you adieu.

Just for a little while. Only for a little while.

I'm on vacation, you see. Hurrah! Vacation! And it's a true vacation - I'm going away! I haven't gone away on vacation in years - not for anything that wasn't centered around family events. So, I am quite excited. Even if I do feel that I haven't earned it. Oh well.

I'm heading to British Columbia for a week. I'll be leaving the pup with my brother and his gal in their new house. Oh, the nerves. I sent a much-too-long list of instructions to them, and I'm sure the pup will have more luggage than I will. She'll be fine, though, and I hope they have good weather for the dog park. Ellie and I even went on a dog date and went to an off-leash dog party this week. It was fantastic! I should've taken pictures. Next time, I promise.

We (my partner and I) will be visiting his parents on the Sunshine Coast for most of the trip, but we'll also be spending a day or so in Vancouver. We have to visit his family in Van, as well as hit up the aquarium, sea wall, the public library, and probably a tea shop and a typeset and stationery shop. Eep. Excitement.

I'll take far too many photos. I promise.

Which reminds me - I've gotta get packing!

Talk to you soon, folks. I hope you all have a lovely week.

And oh, the run-on sentences.

Errg. Everything is not okay. Work and the dog are doing well, but that's about it. I suppose that's a lot, though it doesn't feel like much, considering.

I feel like I've wasted another year and that I haven't learned anything - that I've let everything fall apart again, despite all of the great supports that are in place.

I didn't feel that my work on a paper was worth handing in, and I had difficulties even putting those thoughts in print, as I was so certain that I hadn't prepared myself properly or given myself enough time. For those reasons, I didn't hand in the final exam/paper and didn't feel that it was fair to ask for any more time. I felt awful about my work and myself, and as I'm unable to separate myself from my illness, I felt that there wasn't much to say..

I screwed up. I am a screw up. The semantic differences in those statements is lost on me, and that doesn't seem, to me, to be an adequate reason to give me more time or (yet) another chance.

As I survey the wreckage, it just seems like I should either learn to clean up after myself or stop making messes. I'm exhausted at the thought, but I know everyone else is too, and they're going about their days and handing in work, so I should be too.

I stupidly scheduled a therapy appointment and then picked up a work shift on the same day. I spent the day in the fresh air, which was lovely, save for worrying about the papers I haven't handed in because I think everything I write is awful, despite ample proof to the contrary, and the sleep that eludes me because of the worry and the joint dislocations and the concern that I won't do well anywhere if I can't behave like a normal human being for more than six months at a time or without expensive pharmaceuticals.

And oh, the run-on sentences.

So, that is how I am doing. And not doing.

I hope that all of you are doing infinitely better.