Jennnq

On Singing

I used to harmonize to the vacuum cleaner and the dishwasher as a child. I was a devoted hairbrush singer. If only I hadn’t been quite so shy!

I have always been deeply in love with music in general and singing in particular. I remember being young and harmonizing to the noises around me. For fun, I would sing a third over the vacuum cleaner, or a fifth over the dishwasher. My mother tells me that I was often humming away to myself as a child.

As I got a little older, I happily explored everything in my parents’ music collection. I played every one of their CD’s. I listened to all of their records. From Mariah Carey to Frank Zappa to Tchaikovsky to the Grease soundtrack, I ate it up. I also went through all of my mother’s cassette tapes, and basically took possession of the one Motown cassette she owned. It was this amazing sampling of 60’s hits. I had no idea what an education I was giving myself at the time. All I knew was that the tape was amazing. So much so that I wore it out! I played it over and over. I especially focussed on “Baby Love” and “Please Mister Postman,” rewinding again and again so that I could practice singing them (complete with choreography, of course) into my hairbrush.

When I was around age 10, I pushed my parents to let me audition for a fancy local children’s choir. Thinking back now, I was in such a beautiful, innocent stage in my relationship with singing. I wanted to sing because I wanted to sing. There was no baggage and no other agenda. Singing was just a super-fun thing to do.

That said, I had seen the ad for the choir in the paper, and I was absolutely insistent. Honestly, I don’t remember the audition itself. What I do recall is later receiving a letter at our house, indicating that yes, I had made it into the choir. I was thrilled! My mother, as she later admitted, was breathing a sigh of relief. She’d had no idea how this audition was going to go (I had no training), and she was nervous about having to console me when I didn’t make it.

I joined the fancy choir, which is the first time I learned the basics of what I’ll call “proper” singing. I call it that because this was absolutely the traditional “stand-up-straight-and-sing” approach to singing. We did all kinds of warmups and breathing exercises. We sang in four part harmony. We were expected to sit up very straight at the edge of our seats and to open our mouths wide when we sang. It was honestly a very rigorous and work-focussed choir. I learned about reading music, I learned how to hold my own in a group, I learned how to focus on a conductor, breath support, enunciation and much more. It was an amazingly good foundational experience.

Which is not to say that it was fun. I honestly don’t recall making a single friend in that choir. My mom dropped me off, we worked our little asses off for a couple of hours, she picked me up, and once in a while we held impeccable concerts. There was no social aspect to this weekly gathering. None. There were no games. There were no icebreakers, and very few breaks. I barely knew the kids around me. Since I was pretty shy and there were so few chances to interact, that didn’t change!

In retrospect, I do wish that the choir hadn’t been quite so strict. (Singing, after all, doesn’t have to be a mere mechanical act. It tends to sound better with a little emotion!) Still, I am grateful. That choir gave me the basics and taught me to work hard. Can’t fault ‘em for that!

While I was singing with that group, I convinced my parents to sign me up for voice lessons.

By fancy children’s choir standards, I was way-late. I began at 13, while a lot of those kids had started music lessons while they were still in OshKosh. Still, I was hungry to learn. My parents found me a teacher within walking distance, and every Saturday I would make the short trek to her house.

My teacher was this striking woman with a dramatic appearance and a full, operatic voice. Initially, I was in awe. This fabulous lady, with dark hair and flashing eyes, both intimidated and amazed me. She was honestly the type of woman you might picture when you think of the word “diva,” in the traditional sense. When she sang, she was powerful. Her entire presence commanded a room. I was nearly silent during our first lessons. She’d play piano, and I would mumble out some notes. This is partly because I was nervous, and partly because I had a fairly small voice.

My teacher was at least more fun than the choir! She had a sense of humour, and I have to say that she was always encouraging, even though at the beginning she had to coax the notes out of me. We also sang in a really similar range, which made it pretty easy for her to help me pick songs. I believe that her encouragement was key to my vocal development and to me eventually “finding” my voice. (I remember her having me sing while lying down to work on proper breath support. Try it! It’s challenging.) She also got me competing in a local music festival, which was good for giving my singing an overall goal.

When I say I “found” my voice, that’s pretty much how it went. I was warming up with my voice teacher during our Saturday lesson one day, and something strange happened. Out of seemingly nowhere, a much bigger voice erupted from me while I was singing. For a second, my voice was big, clear and strong. After a moment, my teacher stopped playing piano. I stopped singing, and we both stared at each other, stunned. She was actually wide-eyed as she asked “What was that?”

My voice was never the same after that. I don’t know what shifted, but after that day, it was huge. A monster. A thing that I could barely control and sometimes didn’t. My singing would often leave me shaking. It felt like a tap sometimes. I now had to spend my time learning how to control it. Not every song should be belted, as it turns out, and that’s what seemed to happen when I didn’t rein it in. It felt like a force that was bigger than I was. (Which makes perfect sense to me these days, as I now see that singing has always been spiritual for me!) it was a thing that left me feeling raw and a little embarrassed afterward. It came right from my boots.

Maybe it was because of my teacher, but I was also taking on an operatic sound.

The thing is, I was an insecure teenager, and I was mortified. Of course I wanted what I didn’t have. I wished to have a high, delicate voice. I wanted the type of voice that would make you think “ethereal” when you heard it. That wasn’t what I had! I had this over-the-top, loud voice. It commanded attention whether I wanted it to or not. It was anything but “ethereal.”

I felt very self-conscious about my singing sometimes. I also had a hard time pushing myself forward for things, and asserting myself in general. (Making auditions and important conversations with the right people very hard!) I wanted to be known for my singing, but I was pretty incapable of speaking up. I loved singing so much, but it still left me feeling seen and vulnerable. Teenage me had a hard time with the push and pull of simultaneously wanting to be noticed and wanting to hide.

The children’s choir I was in wouldn’t let you stay past a certain age. Once you got to be 13 or so (or if you were a boy, once your voice broke) you were out. But, not to worry! They had another choir for older teens. All I had to do was audition.

Audition. Now there’s a word that makes my palms sweat! For me, every audition (yes, even now) is a complete crapshoot. I find that I either wow ‘em (love when that happens!), or I wind up feeling like I want to slink out of there on my belly. I swear, I’ve never in my life had a mediocre audition. It’s either beaming smiles or gritted teeth and “no thanks. I think we’ve seen enough.”

Even though I had been with the super-strict fancy children’s choir for THREE WHOLE YEARS, and even though I had learned so much, (and I sat up super-straight, and I always listened, and I sang my part week after week) I still had to audition. I was scared!

I really wish anxiety hadn’t gotten the better of me that day, but this audition I DO remember, and not for the right reasons. It was awful. I was awful. I wouldn’t have been able to sing “row row row your boat” if they’d asked me. I froze. I was horrible. To make matters worse, for some reason they had me audition alongside another girl. She was great. I wished for a pit to open up beneath my feet. The worst part? No second chances! I wouldn’t be moving on. Thanks for playing. Damn.

That one hurt. You’d better believe I kicked myself afterwards. Within 5 minutes of getting out of that room, I swear I could have turned around and nailed the audition, but it was too late.

The sting was lessened by the fact that at that point I was doing school choir anyway, and I still had voice lessons. I still got to compete in the music festival.

Ok, I am gonna spill a little tea (ha ha, am I doing this right?) on this local music festival I keep referencing. I used to sing in this yearly festival as a kid, and I am telling you, it was so flippin’ predictable, it was practically rigged. You see, as these competitions are age-based, year after year I would find myself competing against a lot of the same soloists, and year after year I would watch the same girls win.

I know this sounds like sour grapes, but hear me out…a lot of these girls came from well-off and well-known families. I’m not going to say that certain people always held sway over the adjudication, but I won’t believe that it never happened, either.

Yes, I saw some well-deserved wins, but I also saw girls win with mumbled-through performances, or win when they were so sick they could barely squeak out the notes, or win, as in one particularly egregious example, while chewing gum and looking bored throughout the entire performance.

I began to get the idea that even if I worked like crazy, I wasn’t exactly a favourite to win. The effect of this was that it really helped to solidify the idea that I had that I was some kind of underdog. I already knew that I wasn’t a cookie-cutter pretty soprano. Now it was becoming clear that I didn’t have the “right” family background either. In addition to that, because I would get so nervous, I came into those competitions as a bit of a wild card; sometimes impressive, but often kinda awkward!

I wasn’t nearly as confident as I should have been. The other girls weren’t always super friendly with me either, and that definitely reinforced the whole “underdog” feeling.

Anyway, I kept it up. By the end of high school, I was in love with two things; singing and writing. I wanted to make my life about either or both those things. (As you can imagine, my parents were thrilled. Not!)

I eventually went away to University, and I did not choose music. To gloss over the rest of the story, (as this is getting to be quite long) I had a very unpleasant series of experiences with a voice teacher at the age of 18 and I quit. I never really went back to voice lessons.

Since then, I have had plenty of other things to occupy my time! I’m not sad about it now, and I have never totally abandoned music. I’ve auditioned for things of course. I’ve jammed with bands, joined choirs, and sung a frightful amount of karaoke since that time. (I’m actually part of an amazing local women’s choir here, and they are both work-focused AND fun…imagine that!)

Yes, I wish I had done more with it, but at least I always still have it as an outlet and hobby. It’s nice to have as a life skill. (A friend of mine once said: “being able to sing is like being secretly good-looking.” I think that’s pretty spot-on!)

Anyway, if you’re still reading this, I thank you for allowing me to indulge in such reflective navel-gazing. (Whoa, it’d be weird if your navel was reflective! 🙂 )

A Suddenly Quiet Extrovert

Header Image: created by Rizon Parein for United Nations

Lately, trying to write anything at all has been nothing but a series of starts and stops. I’ve revisited this piece off and on for the past week. I write a little. I rearrange it. I delete it. I get tired of it and shut off the computer. I come back the next day and try it all again.

Ironically, despite the “extra” time that I now have in my schedule, my creative output has dwindled down to nearly nothing. It has not meant more words on the page. In fact, I’ve been feeling like writing has become this insurmountably hard thing.

I hardly know what to say. I’ve never gotten deep into thought over what would actually happen during a pandemic. I think I might still feel shocked. It’s weird for me to not be able to write, but lately it’s like I can’t find any words. It’s shut me right up. Anyone who knows me knows that this is atypical. In fact, I feel like I am half-forcing myself just to write these words.

Half-forcing, while the other half remains desperate to communicate.

Hey everyone! How are you? I hope you’re doing alright considering the state of things! Did I mention that I miss seeing you? Did I mention that I love you?? Do you even KNOW how much I LIKE you?!??? *Explodes into a rainbow of emotions*

I’m done putting this thing off, though. I’m going to post on this stupid blog tonight, come hell or high water. Even if I can’t muster up any sense of flow. Even if I can’t manage to polish this post up to some kind of ideal standard.

Ugh. I don’t even care if it’s pretty anymore.

Look, I’m half-afraid to post because I feel like my privilege is showing with every word. I feel like a total moron complaining about my “lack of productivity” while the world is in turmoil. It’s like…

No one cares about your damn blog, Jennnq.

Fair enough. But then again, I guess I care. I don’t have much to offer beyond words on a page, but they matter to me. Even if they serve no more purpose than my own brief entertainment, that’s ok. That’s something.

When this whole thing started, and I began working from home, I’ll admit that I thought of the silver linings. There’d be no more commute. I’d have more time with my family. (Well, immediate family, anyway.) There’d be more time to write and for creative projects. Less time spent on trying to look nicer. Less time spent packing lunches.

I never counted on how I would feel. I never counted on becoming reacquainted with insomnia and my sleep schedule upending itself. I never counted on how emotionally frozen I would feel. I’ve lost motivation and focus.

But like, it’s a pandemic, not a fun little experiment in telework. Therefore, I am reminded that I must cut myself some slack. The news and reality of what is happening in the world weighs on my soul, just like I’m sure it does for everyone else. I was wrong to assume that I could corral my life into a tightly orchestrated routine.

Maybe it’s affecting you in weird ways too. Maybe you haven’t had much of an appetite, or maybe you want to eat everything. Maybe you’re a little more emotional over things. Maybe you are feeling more surreal and detached. Maybe you are having trouble sleeping. Maybe you are sleeping too much. Maybe you’re channeling your energies into something constructive. Maybe you just can’t handle that right now.

However you feel, this is a reminder that that is ok. If you are still having some big crazy feelings about the pandemic (and also of course the current US situation), then that is normal. Your unique response to the pandemic is ok. If you haven’t been your best self, that’s alright too.

I also want to say hello. (Desperate to communicate, remember?) I’m still here, although I’ve been quiet. I really miss being around groups of people. (Right now I actually have this crazy craving…I really want to go to an all-night sweaty dance party. I want to be 25 and dance forever to techno music. It’s totally impossible!)

I have a feeling you’ll be hearing from me more often now. I am hereby forcing myself to write. I’m so done with being frozen into nothingness. I’d like to return to being my fiery self.

Time to Refocus on Fitness

I miss the gym.

I’m one of those nerdy kids who discovered fitness late, and then became addicted. I started running, and I got so into it that I eventually ran a marathon. I love weight lifting so much that I once did a bikini competition. I’ve worked at two different (very different) gyms. I’ve read countless books and articles about fitness, and have even written a couple of articles myself! Even now, while I’m not attending any gym, or working toward a particular event, those past fitness experiences inform who I am. They have taught me a tremendous amount about what I’m capable of, and who I want to be.

Fitness changed my life. It’s kinda funny, because for years and years I just wanted to be a skinny girl. (I was also a teenager in the 90’s, when ultra-skinny models were being shown just about everywhere.) My desire was partly fueled by society, and partly by my own warped little mind…don’t we all want what we can’t have? The women in my family are built short and curvy. We’re more inclined to big bums and thick muscles than to having long, lean limbs. So of course I wanted to be long and lean. Imagine having the grace of a ballet dancer! Imagine having the height to be a model! This was frustrating to me as a short, kinda chunky teenager.

I’m not going to tell you a sob story, because Lord knows I’ve already done that plenty of times here. 😉 I’ll just say that my young experiences with dieting were not great. It was always a fight to make my body lose any weight at all. It always left me feeling grumpy and unsatisfied. Worse, even if I barely ate (NOT RECOMMENDED) I still didn’t come close to looking like my ideal. I was always disappointed with the results. I never gained any length in my bones obviously, and if I actually managed to lose weight, it was always off of my top half and not the bottom. Weight loss didn’t make me look long and lean. Instead, it turned me into something like a short, sad triangle. Bony shoulders and a big bum. Not a great look.

As I became more involved with fitness, my confidence grew (HIGHLY RECOMMENDED). I gained a deeper understanding of what my body could accomplish. I began the long, slow process of changing my feelings and ideas toward my “ideal” body. I had never become “skinny” anyway, and the self-abuse wasn’t worth it. (Also “weight loss” without a focus on overall fitness is a horrible idea.) Even if I ran mile after mile I never magically got long slim legs. However, my short, muscular legs could still take me mile after mile, and that was something! I never woke up with a teeny, tiny, tight butt, but I did discover my own natural capacity for strength. These things did a lot to change my mind about what I wanted from my body. I became less fixated on the number on the scale, and more interested in what kind of athlete I could be.

Because we’re all athletes. We just vary in skill, and some of us aren’t currently in training. 😉

Thankfully, logic and some semblance of confidence have taken over. I know now that I’d much rather look like a woman in a fitness magazine, with six-pack abs and killer shoulder definition than just “weigh less.” I’d rather use my thick thighs to help me lift things and lend to my overall physical power than hate on them. (This has been a long time coming, believe me!) I don’t have to force myself into some kind of impossible mold. I can strive for self-improvement, while still appreciating what I have.

So yeah, fitness has helped me heal a lot, and now I feel like I have to ask it to help me again.

Because…I’ve gained a little weight through this whole crazy Covid thing. This is neither surprising nor uncommon. I also know that this is honestly less about the number on the scale, and more about how I feel in my own body. The weight is maybe 6 pounds. Not at all a big deal in the overall scheme of things (in fact it’s embarrassingly minor), but this weight is NOT helping me feel good day-to-day.

Here’s the thing though…. no matter what, I absolutely refuse to go into some kind of self-punishment mode. I’m not doing that anymore. Instead, I am committed to operating from a place of self-love and honesty.

Honestly, feeling this way does not make me happy. My fitness rituals do make me happy, so it’s time to get back to making them non-negotiable. It’s back to 6x a week workouts. It’s back to logging my food on My Fitness Pal. It’s back to making time daily to do the things my physiotherapist tells me I need to do to heal my back. (Because I really really want to be able to run again!)

I matter. My happiness matters. In short, it’s time to give stress the finger, and continue working to be the person I want to be.

Even if I sometimes feel like stress-eating.

Even if I can’t run anymore and have to hike instead.

Even if getting up early to make “me time” is inconvenient.

I need to be my healthy, hard-working self. I need to feel strong. I need to do the things that build my confidence. I need fitness.

Also, shout-out to all of my iron sisters. I know right now it’s hard if you’re used to working out a certain way and you can’t anymore. Let’s keep doing our best to figure it out. You motivated powerful women totally inspire me! 🙂

Let’s come out of this thing stronger than when we went in!

Stay Fabulous

Today I put on a real outfit and makeup, as if I was going somewhere. I even added dark lipstick and a fancy scarf. No use in going halfway.

I did it for myself. Jason certainly isn’t someone who is hung up on whether or not I wear makeup, and I don’t think my teenage son could be convinced into caring.

But I care, and I guess that’s the point. Bothering with lipstick and straightening my hair is kinda stupid right now, even I know that. But it’s NOT stupid really, if it makes me feel better. These actions play tricks on the mind. I feel better and more productive if I’ve bothered to “pull myself together.”

I have other friends who don’t seem to need this. They have fully embraced being at home. They have dispensed with rigid schedules. Some have even taken to drinking at odd hours, and/or rolling out of bed in the afternoon.

I don’t judge these friends, but I know I can’t do it. In fact, a part of me might envy them just a little. I can’t handle the guilt. Not for me. Maybe some people are better able to relax. Maybe my definition of “relax” has changed over the years. All I know is, I’d rather feel good.

It’s so poetic and counterintuitive that there is freedom to be found in structure. Weird to say, but I guess I like structure. I like having a morning routine to set me to rights, and a night routine to put myself to bed. These things can become indispensable companions in a world that’s topsy turvy.

But that’s just how I am. I have to take myself in hand as if I were a toddler. I have to almost forcefully apply direction to my life. There must be a schedule. I must get dressed. I must attempt to log my food and keep up with my water drinking. I must have a list of things to do, and I must keep working on it.

I KNOW that right now feels like the perfect time to indulge, but ultimately, eating and drinking too much in my PJ’s is not going to make me feel like my best self. Instead, it will make me feel depressed and out of shape. I cannot just hang around and watch movies, unless I want to experience an unrelenting guilt spiral about how I’m wasting my time and squandering my talent.

We’re clearly not all built to cope the same way. Some of us are a little more high-strung in general, and you know who you are…

My anxiety-prone friends, I am talking to you! You are NOT like that person you know who has adopted a “no rules” approach to life during these trying times. You can’t do that and feel right in your own head. YOU need to feel like you’re doing something. (Trust me, I know you!)

If I could pass along one piece of advice, it would be this: make a dang schedule. Even if you are the only one forcing yourself to adhere to it, treat that schedule as sacred and follow it to the best of your ability. Get more done. Feel more accomplished. Give your day defined tasks and significance.

Oh yeah, and exercise about twice as much as you think you should! (Especially if you’re working from home.) I’m finding lately that even though I have to force myself to go for walks, they are truly a miracle for my mood, and I always need to go for about twice as long as I initially want to. Getting outdoors makes a person feel more free, which we all need right now!

Oh! And lipstick. Never underestimate the pick-me-up power of a great lipstick.

Yours in light, life, love and isolated fabulousness,

Jennnq

An Unexpected Peace

I surprised myself this morning by waking up feeling dead calm. Not stressed at all. Not even the slightest hint of anxiety. I felt healthy and centered. Wow, this was unexpected. What a gift!

Nearly my first thought upon waking was, what have I done lately to deserve this? Have I kept a perfect diet? No. Has my sleep been optimal? No. Have I been meditating lots and lots? Nope! Honestly, I haven’t done anything really out of the ordinary. Nothing special. Nothing that I can put my finger on that’s distinctly repeatable. In the end, I have to sigh and accept it; I have no way to bottle this feeling and save it for another time!

Oh, well. In my current state, this doesn’t bother me much. All things are transient. I will feel stress again. I will feel even more fantastic than this again someday, too. I can only be here. Now.

(Whoa, who am I, and what have I done to the real Jennnq??)

Another, slightly more disturbing thought also came into my mind. This must be a bad sign. I am high energy by nature. It’s not generally a good omen when I get quiet, focused and serious. It usually means that something bad is happening. A small part of me fears this strangely “balanced” feeling, because I tend to get really out-of-character levels of focus when things are about to get REALLY bad. Like, personal tragedy levels of bad. Like life-changing and scary levels of bad.

I’ve only met her a few times, but there is a very different side of me who takes over when things are dire. She’s a version of me who sidesteps self-doubt because she simply no longer has time for it. She knows that shit is happening RIGHT NOW, and therefore, she must act RIGHT NOW. She looks people dead in the eye and tells them what to do, if that’s what is required. She’s not a bitch, but she will assume a leadership role if no one else is stepping up.

That’s not me. Not the normal me, anyway. Although I’m a little bit proud to know that she’s hiding in there. Strong and resilient, beneath this nervous, colourful outer layer.

But why now? Why am I like this now? Is my brain just sick of anxiety? Has all of my past meditation paid off all at once? Perhaps it is best just to enjoy this feeling for what it is. This is much better than freaking out. (I suppose that I will have to stop thinking of this side of myself as a harbinger of doom!)

I wish I could tell you how this came together for me today. Since I can’t, all I will say is that I genuinely hope the same for you. I hope that you are also finding some moments of peace and tranquility. What a mess out there.

The Upside of Jealousy

No one is proud of being jealous.

It never makes you look any better. It’s not exactly endearing or cute. Because it’s such a negative feeling, it is often assumed that jealousy is to be fully avoided. After all, being jealous does nothing to improve your life, right?

Worse, since it is seen as a “bad” feeling, most of us will do our damndest to pretend it’s not there at all. We’ll shove it aside, ignore it or try to out-think it. I’m not jealous! Of course I applaud my friend’s successes! We assure ourselves that we’re happy for that coworker who just went on her dream vacation. We can’t stop smiling about so-and-so’s fabulous wedding. We’re genuinely excited to see that acquaintance’s impressively-ripped fitness selfies!

Except of course that we’re all human, and watching other people succeed can make you feel like your own life is lacking. That’s ok. Experiencing jealousy is completely normal. Wait, let me say it again, just in case you missed it…

Getting jealous is normal.

It doesn’t make you bad, or immoral. It is not proof that you are a terrible person or a terrible friend. It doesn’t mean that you are weak, or that you have failed. It only means that you’re jealous, which is a thing that happens sometimes, and when it does happen it’s worth exploring.

Why? Because far from being something we should shove aside and deny, jealousy is actually useful. Jealousy shows us what we’re missing and where we can improve. It can illuminate your path for you. What if your jealousy is really a compass, trying to show you which way to go in life?

You may notice that you never get jealous of people doing things you have no interest in. Instead, people tend to develop envy around others with similar backgrounds, experiences and life goals. You’re more likely to be jealous of someone who is a lot like you, but who has accomplished something that you haven’t. .

For instance, there is a much greater chance of my experiencing jealousy over someone’s successful writing career than over how well they play football. I may be able to admire a player’s physical strength, ability and speed, but I can’t imagine watching a football game and feeling envy! But then, it’s not as if I ever dreamed of becoming a football player. It’s not something I have any emotional connection to.

Jealousy, on the other hand, is deeply emotional. It awakens a dissonance within us. It reminds us of the distance between our actual achievements and our dreams. This internal dissonance between reality and our goals is a wonderful clue as to where we should focus our efforts. You don’t need to internally reprimand yourself for being jealous. The important thing is how you deal with it.

Because, yes, there’s definitely a wrong way! There’s a reason why jealousy has a bad reputation. Shoving down your jealousy until you can’t take it anymore, denying it or letting it fester will almost certainly produce disastrous results. Instead, we must strive to hold jealousy up to the light for further examination.

Notice that I am not talking about blaming yourself, I am only saying that you should acknowledge those feelings. Observe them without judgement. Ok, this person has inspired this uncomfortable feeling. Why? What’s this person got that you ain’t got? (Be as specific and detailed with yourself as possible!) What do you feel is lacking in that area of your life? What can you start doing to change that? This type of analysis is insanely valuable. Your jealousy is really motivation in disguise. Use that jealousy to help you uncover what is making these successful people so successful, and then channel that fire into your own efforts.

A funny thing happens when you analyse jealousy, too. It tends to fall apart. Seriously! Typically, once you’ve teased apart your jealousy enough to understand your own motivations, you’ve taken all of the vitriol out of the feeling. After all, YOU got jealous because something is unfulfilled in YOUR life. Now that you’ve acknowledged this (instead of burying it), it’s easy to see that the target of your jealousy is not the problem. If anything, they were just the messenger.

Once we take on the jealousy and work through it, it will lose its power. Then the jealousy becomes a little friendlier. Softer. Much more socially acceptable. Boil jealousy down into its component parts, and I believe that you’ll ultimately be left with inspiration. And feeling inspired to work toward the life of your dreams is something you can be proud of!

Reasons to Be Cheerful

I’ve been doing quite a bit of writing lately, but I’m not sure it’s a great idea to put it up here. Some of it is has been more therapeutic than anything else. It’s been more like ranting than anything I’d want to post publicly. It’s revealing, but it’s not necessarily what one would consider to be “good content.”

Plus, it’s a bit of a bummer. Who wants to hear about all of the worst stuff in my past and how hard it’s been to get over? What a fun trip that’ll be!

I thought that maybe instead of an airing of grievances/ inner demons, I would keep today’s post a bit more light. Today, let’s focus on the good stuff. Today, let’s talk gratitude.

It’s best to skip the “airing of grievances.”
We’re past the time for Festivus, anyway.

It takes a little effort for someone like me to remain cheerful. One thing that works is to consciously acknowledge the things for which I am grateful. Yes, sometimes this feels about as appealing to me as eating a big ol’ pile of brussel sprouts, but it’s worth it. Lately I’ve been forcing myself to take the time to list a minimum of three gratitudes per day.

Usually, by the time I have made myself come up with the 3 things for my gratitude list, I have also managed to force my brain to cheer up, at least a little. It’s weird. It’s like this act tricks your brain into switching gears. Something magical happens when you make a point of remembering to think of things you’re grateful for, even when you don’t feel like it.

With apologies to Ian Dury, here is a very incomplete list of “reasons to be cheerful” I’ve found lately:

Cats when they are excited and playing
Fireplaces ablaze in winter
Jason having to drive me to work and being totally awesome about it
Neil Gaiman’s writing
Amethyst crystals
Pretty notebooks
Chats with Micah (my son)
Waffles’ cold green eyes (my cat)
Really amazing highlighters
How pretty it looks when it’s snowing
Earmuffs (so cute!)
That so many of my co-workers are nice
Working with my physiotherapist
Pay day
The entire fact that cats exist
Weird dreams that make you question things
Raspberries
Black tea
The fact that Jason still loves me
Fancy coffee from Toslow (tiny coffee shop here)
The Ridiculous History podcast
Warm showers
Truly smooth jazz
Amy Landino videos (she’s a little too perfect, but she’s so inspirational!)
Things that are lime green
How good it feels to hold a mug of warm coffee
Shiny lipgloss
Suddenly finding an object you lost
Curry
Wearing cat ears at work (I do this alllll the time!)
How truly kind and thoughtful Jason is
Sesame snaps
People who smile at you and hold doors

It’s not earth-shattering stuff, but it’s so valuable to remember these little things. Even the act of writing out this list (taken from my daily gratitude lists this past while) has put me in a better mood.

Not to get all “productivity guru” on you, but I encourage you to make a habit of writing down a few gratitudes a day. I never used to do it either, but it’s so uplifting Gratitude is worth it! It pretty much always improves your mental state and perspective.

Oh, and here’s the Ian Dury song I stole for my title. Gotta love The Blockheads!

That Awkward Time I Lost a Marketing Job Because of THIS BLOG

Back before I got started in my current position, I had applied for a job with an exciting local marketing firm. It seemed like a really cool place to work. I could easily imagine myself as a part of their creative team. My days would be spent collaborating with my brilliant colleagues, sipping coffee, having great ideas, and putting together snappy writing for high-paying clients.

I had dropped a few applications at marketing/PR firms around the city, but I really liked this place. I loved their crisp, colourful website. I loved the good things I had heard about their reputation and work. I also loved how they seemed to treat their employees.

Creatives are a special bunch. We tend to wither in grey cubicles. This place didn’t have any. It had open rooms for discussion and one hell of a break room. (Apparently their employees also have video game tournaments sometimes? Not really my thing, but it’s evidence that they seemed to encourage fun at work.)

Their firm definitely appealed to me…the opportunity to write for a living while also actually enjoying my time at work? YES, PLEASE! I applied to this company and I included a portfolio of my work.

My stuff is pretty varied. Sure, I can write an ad for a truck, but I might also write an essay about something that matters deeply to me. Or a poem about an interesting experience. Some of my work is philosophical. Some of it is a bit more frivolous. Some of it, quite honestly, is centered on fitness-related topics. I like to write, and whether it’s about a political injustice, or the proper way to supplement with creatine monohydrate, I’ll try my damndest to produce something meaningful.

Right. So they got my rather varied portfolio, a little time went by, and I actually got called for an interview! Huzzah!

The big day came, and I was nervous. I dressed nicely and did my best to maintain composure. I made a valiant attempt not to appear shaky or to sweat through my clothes. I arrived on time, checked in at the front desk and was asked to wait. No problem…except it was at this point that I noticed a bit of a red flag. I had to stand and wait, because there was no chair.

Huh. Why would you have this ultra-modern firm, with this spacious reception area and with all of these beautiful décor items, and no freaking chair? In a reception area?

I couldn’t help thinking that this was a huge oversight. What if not everyone is able-bodied? What if people visiting this office are sometimes tired? Pregnant? What if they just want to be able to sit comfortably? Nope. Too bad. Shit out of luck. Once you’re in this waiting area, you’d better be prepared to stand around, awkward as heck, waiting to finally be ushered in to your big meeting.

Whatever. I paced around a bit, and shifted my weight from foot to foot (all the while continuing to sweat, obviously) until I was finally called in.

I was shown to a brightly lit boardroom, which was about 90% occupied by a giant, white, plastic-y office table. There, I sat (ahhh, finally!) across from a manager and the creative director.

It was a really decent interview. They liked my stuff. I said a lot of the right things. My nerves had wrapped themselves around my excitable personality and I was doing that whole “silver tongue” thing I sometimes do. (It doesn’t always happen, but when it does, everything comes out of my mouth sounding just a little smarter than I anticipate it will. It’s a weird, unpredictable superpower! ) So yeah, everything just kinda came together. This interview was easily one of my better professional interactions.

Afterward, I left the “no-chair” marketing firm practically bouncing. I was so convinced that I had crushed it! Now I just had to wait.

Nearly two full weeks went by before I got called back for another interview. It was enough for my excitement to have cooled a bit, but at least I was still in the running!

So, I went back for interview number two. Once more I waited in their insufficient reception area. I resisted the urge to mention the chair situation.

THIS time when I finally got to the plastic-table boardroom, they were even more open and honest with me. The interview proceeded in a relaxed and jovial fashion. I successfully made them laugh. They told me more details about the actual position. They really seemed to like me.

Turns out they wanted someone to write online copy. Ok! I can do that! They wanted it to be very tourism-oriented. No problem! Hand me a sou’wester! They were looking for celebration-of-Newfoundland-type stuff. Sure! I’ll write about puffins, white caps, and craggy cliff faces to beat the band!

Unfortunately, it is at this point that I made a mistake.

THEY were telling me about how they wanted this tourism-style blog thing, and I got excited and wanted to be impressive, so I was all like, “blogs? I love blogs! I have a blog! YOU SHOULD READ MY BLOG!.” (Ugh. Why? WHY???)

As a real, live, working human being, when I take to my online blog, I am not usually looking to create interest in the many products, services and experiences available in this fine province. I’d rather rant, journal, play with words and use this space to just…think about stuff.

I’m also not much of a photographer. These facts taken together mean that my blog does not look much like a tourism ad!

I don’t know if there was a communication issue, but apparently that was somehow what they expected.

Within a day and a half of having access to my blog site, I received an extremely curt email. Two lines to tell me they were “going in a different direction.” (No video game tournament for me.)

Bummer. After 2 AMAZING interviews. After I had become genuinely excited about this prospect.

This sucks so much, because there is not a doubt in mind that I could have written all that kitschy stuff. If I had my time back, I would have clarified exactly what they wanted an example of and offered to produce it. (Especially since I know that they had liked at least some of the things in my portfolio.)

Lesson: Not every style of writing will work in all situations. (My deeply personal blog was not a boon here, but a turnoff.) Also, I still need to work on being ASSERTIVE. I could have helped myself out a couple of years ago by communicating better. I also should have taken control of the situation by getting the details and going ahead and producing a sample. (And I should have been VERY CLEAR that my blog was filled with personal reflections, thereby modifying their expectations.)

Upside to console myself with: I at least saved myself from working with a bunch of heels who can’t be arsed to get a couple of chairs and a decent coffee table for their waiting area.

I don’t care how sleek your design is, there’s just no excuse for that!

The Hard Truth of Managing Your Own Happiness

(How to Avoid Feeling Like a Smooshed Grape)

I’ve gotten to this slightly jaded place, where if you start talking to me about vision boards, or even mention the “law of attraction,” I start to feel a sense of cringe. A small part of me wants to roll my eyes. I guess I’m feeling more sceptical about all of that fluffy-bunny woo-woo stuff these days.

I don’t fully mean that of course. In fact, I’m making fun of myself just a little here. I’m pretty fluffy-bunny woo-woo. I’m no stranger to crystals and pendulums, herbs, essential oils, tarot cards or healing energy. I love all of that stuff. I just don’t think it’s wise to make the mistake of thinking that anything can replace hard work, motivation or perseverance.

I’ve mentioned this before, but I’m still a little resentful of some of the new age philosophy I bought into as a teenager (and stuck with throughout my early twenties). I’ve got a little baggage going on, because I now believe that I was only getting half of the answer. Somehow, I had absorbed the message that if you just visualized hard enough, things would fall into place.

This is perfectly encapsulated with the whole idea of “the cursed how’s.” I remember reading things that were literally telling me that I didn’t need to worry about the steps to accomplishing my dreams, aka “the cursed how’s.” I only needed to focus on the end result. The Universe would take care of that pesky bit in the middle.

Utter malarkey, of course.

Yes, visualizing is good. Yes, I think you should practice it. Heck, you should get SO GOOD at visualizing that you are able to practically smell your dreams manifesting. You should get as involved in your visualization as possible. You should try 100% to make it real for yourself.

And THEN, and see, this is the bit I was missing, you have to come back down to earth and make a plan as to how to get there. You MUST consider the “cursed how’s,” because your day only has so many hours in it. You have to turn your goals into step-by-step actions. Houses don’t buy or clean themselves. Abs don’t magically arrive just because you visualized the perfect body. Getting caught up in a daydream of end results is not the same as rolling up your sleeves and putting in the effort. You cannot wait for the Universe to pluck you out of obscurity and say, This one. I pick this one. This one’s special. Trust me. Tried it. It doesn’t work.

Please bare in mind that all of this is coming from a self-confirmed New Age hippie. I believe we can do a lot with our energy. I think there’s more to the world than meets the eye. Yes, I even believe that you can attract a better life by improving your energy. However, you also have to accept your role in the transformation. As Hunter S. Thompson once said, “Pray to God, but row away from the rocks.”

All of this doesn’t just apply to big life stuff, like dream houses, finding true love, or losing 50lbs. I think it also applies to your daily emotional wellbeing. Like, you have to take charge of your own happiness. You have to build it yourself, and protect it, and work on it, or it may not stick around.

I don’t know… maybe other people have a more robust, durable sort of happiness, but mine is not. Mine needs tending to like some kind of fussy, exotic flower garden.

I journal to deal with my “flower garden” of feelings, and the other day I wrote this:

I feel like I am being smooshed like grapes for wine. Like someone is dancing on my soul. Like they are gleefully crushing it beneath their disgusting bare feet. (Ha. These days, I’m not even so hung up on the wine, just the smooshing.)

Ok, so my soul is being smooshed. What now? Do other writer-types feel this way? Do they feel like their 9-5 is sucking away their creative potential? Their time? Their energy?

Ha ha. I’m writing this while sitting in the waiting room at the doctor’s office and Sheryl Crow’s “If it Makes You Happy” just started playing. Personally, I think that was a little heavy-handed of the radio.

Yeah, my personal journal rants and a little dramatic, but the bad feeling of being “crushed” was, I think, due to my lack of organization/motivation in keeping up my own happiness-inducing habits. For me, those habits, those “cursed how’s” are so important. My fussy, exotic flower garden requires: adequate and regular sleep, cardio and strength training contained in 4-6 workouts a week, time for writing, time for reading, time for singing, healthy well-balanced plant-based meals, time for meditation and time spent with friends and family. If I start lacking in any one area, I am off. Life is bad. My emotions get…well, you saw the journal entry!

The only way to get it all done, and to avoid the “my soul is being smooshed” feeling, seems to be to schedule my life, and then maintain the motivation to actually carry through with my plans.

I’m drawing attention to that last bit because I feel like that’s where I tend to fall down. I can come up with a great schedule/plan and then get distracted, or get busy with something else, and all of a sudden it’s 10:30PM, and my real goals for the day are yet to be accomplished.

And I wind up feeling like a smooshed grape.

Vision board away. Feel free to send your hopes and prayers. (You can even send ‘em my way!) Maintain a rule of “good vibes only.” Just remember, it’s still you who has to put in the grind and the effort. You are the only one capable of rowing away from the rocks.

My Storm Story

Everyone’s storm story is different, and hell, I’m home now on the EIGHTH DAY, so I may as well tell you ours. Oh, and I’ll try to throw in a few pictures along the way!

Last Thursday, January 16th, I actually went to work. (God, it feels like it’s been so long now!) Almost as soon as I got there, I could hear my coworkers around the office buzzing about the storm. There was much chatter about the projected snowfall, about how heavy the winds would be, and about when and if schools and businesses would be closing. I overheard calls to loved ones at home discussing what provisions were needed. I heard one lady say to another, “Geez, if we wind up coming to work tomorrow, we won’t be fit!”

True enough, but the comment made me smirk a little, as I felt it was safe to assume that we would be off work the following day. “Even if we get the low end of the estimate; 40cms, it’s still more than enough to shut everything down,” I mentioned to my workmate Alex. He agreed, and I think we both figured we were getting a four-day weekend out of this. Honestly, the anticipation made for a bit of a fun day. (An extra day off here and there does wonders for office morale!)

The only thing dragging me down was this nagging headache I had going on in the front of my face. It wasn’t debilitating, but it was there. pound. pound. pound. I had often wondered if I was one of those people who got headaches because of barometric pressure changes. This seemed like evidence to support that hypothesis. There was nothing else wrong with me, so I got an ibuprofen from someone in the office and I moved on. The pill seemed to help quite a bit.

That was good, because I was also instructed to change my desk that day. Kind of annoying, but there have been a lot of changes at work lately, so this wasn’t a surprise. I took most of my possessions to my new cubicle assignment on my break. The new spot was two floors below me, and I like my workspace to feel like home, so it was a bit of an undertaking. I moved the rest of my things down at the end of my shift. I took my time cleaning up the old desk for the next person, but left a bit of a mess at the new desk downstairs. No big deal. I could get fully up to speed before work on Monday. I’d probably have the new digs in order by 9AM on the 20th. Perfect.

I went home, and we generally made sure things were as prepared as possible. Shovels inside and at the ready. A bucket of salt in the basement as well. Nothing left outside that that could blow around. Electronics charging. My stash of candles accounted for (I make ‘em, so there’s always a box somewhere!) plus a couple of flashlights, of course.

As for food and basic supplies, we are fortunate enough that I knew we had at least enough for a few days. Plus, we’re both pretty dang creative with food when times get tough; him through training, me through cheapness and previous moments of desperation. All good, as far as we knew.

We heard that schools as well as the Metrobus service were preemptively cancelled for the next day. “You know it’s going to be bad if they’re cancelling the buses now,” Jason said. He had a point. I couldn’t remember the last time they’d done that.

Day 1: FRIDAY

No school and no work and it’s no surprise! We awake to a storm, and it keeps up all day. In fact, it gets worse in the evening, when the winds pick up. The gusts are well in excess of 100km/h, and all the while the snow continues coming down. It really is something to watch. I feel worried for anyone who needs to travel. I think about all of the essential services people. I also think about my friends in radio. Those guys are amazing. (Mad respect to everyone who made it in to work, and who wound up staying there for a few days!)

By evening, the windows have acquired an intricate pattern of snow spray, preventing us from getting much of a view. Not that you’d see much if they’d been clear. The storm is intense. White-out conditions all over the place.

I’m not feeling great My headache hasn’t really gone away from the day before, but now I also feel a little queasy and very cold. I eventually quit watching the storm and head for the bath. (Jason gives me a flashlight, just in case!)

The lights flicker, but they never go out for more than a few seconds. Each time they go, I think, Oh, this is it! But no, we manage to keep our power throughout the storm..

I stay in the bath for a good long time, with Jason periodically knocking on the door and telling me, in disbelief, how high the snow is. “It’s nearly to the top of the patio railing!” “It’s just at the top of the patio railing! You should see it Jennnq, it’s crazy!” By the time I come out, the snow has filled the patio, it is now drifting over the sides of the railing, and it is indeed “crazy.”

We watch the storm in wonder and listen to records late into the night. The drifts get to be taller than me and then taller than Jason. Crazy indeed. This is a serious amount of snow. We also slowly realize that we have fewer and fewer options for exiting our home. The front door has a storm door that opens out. That is now blocked by a huge drift of snow. The side door is the same. The basement door was a possibility until snow finally filled that stairwell in too. That leaves the windows. One of us is headed out the window tomorrow.

Well, that’s something to look forward to. I do so relish the opportunity to use the word “defenestration” in a sentence.

Day 2: SATURDAY

I wake up feeling like I’ve been run over, and I haven’t even lifted a shovel yet. Not good.

At least there’s no rush. We’re under a State of Emergency, so everything is shut down. It’s easy to see why. The snow is piled in great, unbelievably high drifts. Some places don’t look too bad. Some places are 8 feet high. Sweet merciful. The work we’re going to have to do to get out is nearly unfathomable.

We’re very much shut inside, and the window in our living room is the best option out. I had thought I would be out first, but I just feel so awful. Jason is the hero who goes out through the window. (He isn’t thrown out the window, so technically, there is no “defenestration.” The word rolls around in my head all the same.) Jason digs his way toward our front door while I stay inside and try to remember how to human.

I get a shower and some tea, but after half a bagel, I feel queasy and like I’ve eaten too much. Strange. I feel as if I have a brutal hangover, and I have had precisely nothing to drink. Ugh. Unfair.

Within about a half hour I’m outside with him. I take out a waterproof speaker, and we listen to everything from Anthrax to Caravan Palace while we tackle clearing the deck and regaining access to the house.

It would have been impossible without him!

We shovel the deck for a few hours. It is very tiring, and sometimes I stop and take breaks. By the afternoon, I notice that my breaks are coming with a side of hopelessness. I just keep getting this feeling every time I stop…a feeling of deep despair. It’s like something inside my body is giving the activity of shoveling a great big “NOPE.” I do my absolute best, but at a certain point I have to call it quits.

At the end of the day, the driveway still needs to get done, but our deck/patio is 80% clear and you can get in and out through all the doors. (Accomplishing this was much easier with two!)

That evening, even under many layers I cannot get warm. The power stays on, which I am thankful for. I wear a toque as I sit on the sofa under blankets. Every time I lift my arm, a shiver courses through my body. My throat is scratchy, and the headache…It’s more like POUND. POUND. POUND now. It occurs to me that this may not be because of the barometric pressure.

I take my temperature. 101.8 degrees. Oh. I see. I’m actually sick. I realize this explains why my body just wanted to give up earlier. Awesome. Jason seems worried he may catch something too. He hugs me close anyway. Good man.

I barely eat and go to bed, hopeful that I will be of more use tomorrow.

Day 3: SUNDAY

I still feel gross. I shovel for a short period of time, but Jason takes care of the lion’s share of the driveway snow with the snowblower. I am thankful.

Inside the house I read for a while, but when my queasy stomach seems less-than content with that, I listen to Neil Gaiman’s American Gods on Audible. I love it. All of the different voices make me feel like a child hearing a bedtime story. (Ok, it’s a pretty racy bedtime story, but Alan Rickman is one of the voices! How cool is that??)

I have no desire for my beloved espresso. I still barely eat. The only food that appeals to me right now is oranges. All that I want is an orange. I fantasize about cutting into one, and the sweet juice running out, and I imagine biting into the fresh cold flesh. Yes. All I want is an orange. I imagine the taste on my tongue, and imagining is all that I can do, because guess what we don’t have???

The state of emergency is lifted in St. Philip’s so that during the day people can run out and get essentials. Jason is still outside struggling in the driveway, so when Mom calls here to check on us, she gets me. “You sound so stuffed up! I’m heading out to get a couple of things. Need anything?”

“ORANGES,” I blurt, as they are currently the only thing on my mind.

Sure enough, a short time later Jason comes back inside with two oranges in his hands. “Your mom dropped these off.” He says.

I cut into one almost immediately and am surprised to find a blood orange. It’s colour is unexpected and striking. It is almost ombré inside. I wish I had the skill to paint it, but instead I eat it quickly and enjoy it immensely. It’s funny how the body must know what it needs. I don’t recall ever wanting an orange this badly.

Tonight, for some flipping reason, the weather stirs up again. 15 fresh centimeters fall overnight. More work to do tomorrow.

I am somewhat relieved to learn that the State of Emergency continues. I would not take my nasty fever to work anyway, and this way there is no sick day required. A little silver lining.

I sleep fairly early hoping that I will be back to myself tomorrow.

Day 4: MONDAY

I still seem to have a slight cold, but I feel a lot better. I have some energy, which is good, because we now have yet more snow to shovel, and the driveway (did I mention that our driveway is one long hill??) could still use some work.

We work on the driveway and Jason and I bicker about nothing. I think being cooped up is getting to us.

Jason is also bummed because we had tickets to see Jim Gaffigan, and the show (scheduled for Sunday, aka “Day 3”) was cancelled.

The slightly-disappointed Jason works on widening the driveway with the snowblower. I go inside and eat my second orange. It still tastes like everything I want it to be. (Oranges, man.)

Espresso still isn’t tasting good to me. Must be a residual thing from the cold. This seems like a good time to actually go with it though. Hadn’t I been meaning to break the addiction? If I can drink less coffee, that’s great. I’ve been sipping black tea instead. For some reason, it continues to taste much better to me right now.

Nothing much else happens. We spend time with the cats. I spend a bunch of time on Facebook and start to feel like I’m not doing enough with my life. It’s not exactly time well-spent. Not too kind to the ol’ ego. Social media really is poison sometimes. Also so distracting. I resolve not to let is take up too much of my precious time in the future.

Cats! Way more rewarding than social media!

Day 5: TUESDAY

Yay, I’m better! No more temperature, and I actually feel alive!

This is great for me, but I’m probably driving Jason nuts. More energy means more talking, singing and dancing. Especially since we’re largely cooped up together.

We have all of the shoveling done except for this one area of our deck. It is a giant leftover drift from Friday’s storm. It’s not impeding our ability to come and go, it’s just this giant snow mountain on the patio. And now it’s really compacted and heavy. We had put it off, but it’s not great to leave snow on your deck. It can freeze, get really heavy with rain and damage the wood.

Today we both get out there and tackle it. We hack at the snow mountain with our shovels. It takes a while, since it has a hard crust on the outside, and the snow inside it is anything but light and fluffy. We get the tunes going again and it’s a damn good workout. The best part? In the end we can say that everything is finally clear! Woohooo!!

We’re still under the state of emergency, but today in St. John’s the supermarkets are allowed to reopen from 10-6. People go a little crazy. The lineups snaking across the parking lots are so long that they make the news. Hundreds of people turn up to wait for the stores to open. They’re anxious to stock up!

Jason and I don’t go, as we have no interest in battling the crowds, and other than the orange drama, we’re not really that desperate.

Jason had made a bunch of pizza Saturday, and since I was sick and couldn’t eat much of it, it’s lasted us for a while. (I was SO sad I couldn’t really enjoy fresh pizza!)

I use some of this extra time today to dye my hair. I clearly can’t be left in the house with hair dye for this long and not touch it! Nothing too crazy, I just take what’s already there up a notch. A little yellow. A little green. Some hot pink. (Ok, so maybe it is a little crazy!) I was really wishing I had some blue, but somehow I don’t think blue hair dye counts as an “essential” right now.

Tonight, Jason and I bust out Mario 3 and play it via the Wii. I love it, but I still kinda suck at video games. We play for a while, and then I switch it over to Dragrace. I haven’t felt very fabulous during the SOE, but hey, I can dream!

Day 6: WEDNESDAY

Day 6 of the State of Emergency dawns with an unstoppable blue sky, and a winter sun that my skin would have to be mercilessly coated in SPF to withstand. It is, in a word, beautiful. It makes the absolutely insane amount of snow surrounding us sparkle like so many diamonds.

We both need to get out of the house so we head to the grocery store. I’m damned excited to go. Thankfully, yesterday’s lineups are nowhere in evidence. We get what we need (more citrus, yay!) and we head back home. There. We can at least feel like we’ve accomplished something today.

I am still reading a lot. This is good. Since I’ve been a little more depressed and anxious the past couple of years, I haven’t read nearly so much, and I have always loved books. I’m going to try to keep a list of what I read for 2020. I can always try to beat my number next year!

I’ve just finished one called The Unexpected Joy of Being Sober. It was ok. Good encouragement at least. I’ve been sober for 11 days now. It’s a start.

Later, I go see my Mom. We talk about nothing for a couple of hours and watch the “Baroness Von Sketch Show.” I can do this visit because she also lives outside of St. John’s, and St. Philip’s actually isn’t under a state of emergency anymore. It’s just St. John’s. Just like how people can go to work now if they work in Mount Pearl. It’s kinda weird.

I get official word that my work building will be closed tomorrow and Friday. Wow. This kinda sucks, because that big mess I left last week at my new cubicle will remain exactly as is for the next three weeks. I’m scheduled to go elsewhere for training starting Monday. My new desk must remain a cacophonous explosion of quotes, origami figures, books, notes and lipgloss for the next while. Nice first impression on my new work neighbours. Also, a bit annoying if you’re like me and can be just a little fussy about your stuff.

This snow has now derailed the city for an entire week!

Day 7: THURSDAY

I coughed all dang night last night. (Just when you think you’re done with it, ugh!) I still don’t feel like myself, and it’s such a bummer. I’m still heavy on the tea and water. (Haven’t gone back to espresso.)

Huh. No wine and no espresso or coffee. I’m pretty cheap, lately!

I try to leave today (car needs gas) and succeed only in getting my car stuck in the driveway. It takes me an hour and a half to free it. Even after all of that shoveling, it’s still iffy in that driveway. I blame the incline.

Afterward, I still feel energetic, so I do an at-home workout. (If I don’t stay active, I may crack up in here!) I walk on the treadmill, do some squats, planks and bridges. I don’t cough, even a little bit. Jason smirks a little, as there is more Lizzo involved in this workout than one might initially expect. (She’s so fun though!)

Later I decide that I need to finish writing about this, so I can finally post it! Things are almost back to normal.

The latest word is that the city will be fully operational as of 6AM Saturday. Hooray! It would appear that there’s light at the end of the tunnel. We’re nearly done with this State of Emergency business.

I get a couple of edits into this thing, and somehow I wind up watching Doctor Who instead.

Day 8: FRIDAY

The SOE is basically over, as far as I know. Everything should be lifted early tomorrow, as I mentioned yesterday.

I have read more, not had anything to drink and I’ve even given up coffee in my time off. I feel as though I’m coming back to reality as a slightly improved version of myself. 🙂

Now, can we please hurry up and get everything back to normal?

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