Love at first sight, or from a spark?

I watch a lot of romantic comedies, and lately, that has me thinking...

Do you believe in love at first sight? What about love from "a spark"?

Well, I don't believe in love at first sight. I think the best thing about getting to know someone is all their little quirks and "flaws". Especially finding out everything you do and don't have in common.

But I definitely believe in that whole "spark" thing. In fact, it's happened to me three times in my entire life.

Well, 2 and a half. (I'll explain.)

The first time it ever happened to me, it came out of nowhere. I was sitting in the restaurant with him, and he looked up at me while we were talking about what kinds of dreams we had for the future. I remember laughing, meeting his eyes, and turning bright red. The floor dropped from underneath me, my throat clenched up a bit, my stomach started to feel like I had just jumped off a swing, and my skin started buzzing all over.

It was like you're looking across a crowded room at a party where no one knows you, and someone lifts their head up at an opportune time just to see right down to your core of who you are, and likes what they see.

I froze. Complete deer in headlights look, no lie. Luckily, he had to use the washroom. I recovered by downing half my beer. (Go me.)

I pretended for a good year and a half that it didn't happen, before I finally said something and we started dating.

It was a lovely relationship, although it only lasted a short while, because of other demands.

The second time, I was on a coffee date with someone I had just met, and the same thing happened... We looked up, locked eyes, and-

I turned away.

I can't tell you why, but for some reason, I just didn't want to acknowledge that feeling. It died down quickly enough, and now we're nothing other than platonic.

That was the half part. Duh.

I met the eyes of someone recently, and all those feelings came rushing back, like they could see all the way deep into my core, and the things they could see weren't as scary as I made out. Stomach plummeted to my feet, fingertips numb, the whole shebang.

So yeah, I can totally believe the whole "spark" theory, but the "love at first sight" theory? Ehhh. Nope.

The best part about falling in love, is taking off those rose colored glasses and realizing that it doesn't change how much you care about them.

It's a nice feeling. Too bad rom coms aren't the best at portraying those feelings sometimes.

So what say you? Spark, or love at first sight?

Self Care Tuesday (?)

You know how everyone is always spouting on and on about self care? Well, today I made a huge decision. I decided to drop my second major of Criminology.

It wasn't an easy decision, but wow, do I ever feel amazing now.

I've been holding on to Criminology as a security blanket since roughly 2007. I love reading about case files, I love moot courts, I can be your adversarial everything bay-bee, but- writing is where it's at.

I've talked about how tired I am, but not about what else my workload has been doing to me. I can take the sleepless nights, the early morning wake ups, the long hours at work, the endless time spent at CBC... But you know what? When it comes down to it, it's all about writing for me.

I have been writing since grade 2, when I first learned how to read "Crocodile Pie" all by myself. I've been reading and writing in lengths and bounds. When I'm sad, when I'm angry, when I'm happy, when I'm emoting at all, reading and writing is what I turn to. No wonder it finally took me to Journalism.

It's hard for me to admit that I'm dropping Criminology. It feels a little like I'm giving up. I know I'm not. I'm just shifting focus onto my writing because that is monumentally everything for me. The fact of the matter is, I was trying to push myself through my Crim courses. It made me not want to do anything.

I was speaking to my mother abut this not even an hour ago. She basically said I was being ridiculous. She reminded me that I can't do everything, and it's okay to admit that. If Criminology didn't do it for me anymore, that was okay. At least I was aware of it, and I wanted to put more quality work into something else, instead of just being obsessed with the quantity of my work.

Maybe that was my problem? I was so worried about NOT doing something all the time that I started focusing on quantity instead of quality.

So, my self care moment of the week is deciding to drop my Crim courses that I really was not interested in at all, to focus more on my Journalism work and writing.

Sure, I'll take an academic ding for my halfway done Youth Justice class, but I think I'd prefer 3 lost credits over the loss of my real priorities.

To conclude this post, I wanted to share a picture of my new tattoo with you.

It  reminds me to not let my fears (whether they be inadequacy, helplessness, or a fear of falling) win out.

Located on the inside of my right arm, just like this. I can see it when I type or write. 

I'll do my best at what I can, and that's how it goes.

In the Gutter: Stop being judgy twats

Tonight's article should be an interesting one, (and not just because I'm dipping into the wine) that I will personally be surprised if it doesn't draw in debate.

Tonight, I want to discuss age differences in dating.

So, from most movies, we are given the example of young women, and older men. Recently, in the past decade, we've seen examples of older women with younger men, but in both of these examples of relationships, the interplay is flawed, and there is generally the common consensus that one or both of these individuals is using the other as a means to an end. Sometimes it's sex, or stability.

The epitome of smoldering hot older man. (YUM.)

Here's a mind-blowing proposition for you; maybe, just maybe, these two people are interested in each other.

This topic came up while one of my coworkers was describing the age difference between her parents. I mentioned that I didn't see the big deal, because it was only a few years. My coworkers were curious to know why I had this frame of mind, and I mentioned that I had dated someone who was 26 years older than me.

Well, that blew up quickly.

They wanted to know details, like, did he pay for me when we went out on dates, or, did I stay at his place, and what was dating him like, but really, why did it end?

Well, first of all, we dated. It wasn't really a relationship, since his divorce really did a number on him. Enough so that one night I was over at his place, and heard all of his "girls" on his voicemail. Other than that, we split the bill, I had my own apartment, and we talked about our day, our dreams, ambitions, wants, needs, and disappointments.

So yes, like a regular "relationship". I wasn't a golddigger, I just liked spending time with him. But, I was too young for him to want to be seen in public much with me. We would hear the usual things, like "dirty old man" or "silly little girl" and when you hear that often enough, sometimes it gets to those who aren't possessing of a great backbone. (The wimps.)

Long story short, he picked an "age appropriate" girlfriend out that he wasn't worried to be seen in public with. (His loss, really. My butt was the nicer one.)

That sucked. It hurt, and it did a number on me, too.

But here's the thing; another coworker had dated someone 30 years older, and she was also in it for reasons that worked for her. They went on vacations, they had a car, and a house.. It was what she wanted. But, he also wanted marriage and children but she was not ready for that.

So yes, there are different reasons to get into a relationship, but it applies to all relationships. When you date someone, be clear about what you're looking for, before you decide to make a commitment.

I know people say that major age differences in a relationship means it's likely to fail, but I disagree. I think any relationship can fail if you are going to be so silly as to not communicate appropriately.

Long story short, age differences only matter to those who let it matter. A relationship is a relationship, and it's up to both partners to make it work, and not let the dirty little things others say about them in.

Food for thought, neh?

In the Gutter: Dick pics

I'm back! Happy Thursday, everyone. I love you so much, I decided to stay up late (for me) and write you this weeks' sexuality column.

Today we're going to talk about... *drumroll* Dick pics.

Dick pics are part of everyday life now. The majority of my friends, male or female, have been sent one. I have been sent several. The last time I was sent one was back in, oh, I'd say April or May. But here's the thing...

I'm not a big fan of dick pics. And you know what? Most of the time, neither is the girl you're sending it to.

I've had some disagreements on this point. One of my friends says she's not attracted to it, but she likes getting a sneak peek of the package, before she actually does anything with it. It's her way of checking to make sure everything's all clear and ready to go. Plus she likes checking for girth.

TMI. Moving on...

Another one of my friends says she couldn't care less about the actual picture, but it does turn her on, knowing a guy is turned on enough to send her a picture like that. It's like a mutual pleasure thing. So she's happy with it.

(I'm betting the guy is too, if he's sending dick pics. I mean really, who would send limp pics? Actually, don't answer that.)

Limp... Or not...?

I do not like receiving dick pics. I especially hate receiving any kind of unsolicited sexy pics. I have two reasons for this. First, I'm a hands on type of person. Really, if anything is going to happen, it's not going to be over an internet or phone connection. Either I get to see IRL and touch, or I'm not interested. That's just how it is.

Secondly, the next part of the equation with dick pic is that I am always asked to send a pic in return. All right then, you asked for it. Continuous hourly pics of cute cats it is! Seriously. with all the leaks that seem to happen with celebrities alone why would I want to risk anything like that? I have a reputation, tattered as it may seem to others, and nekkid pictures of me online are no part of that. Either you get hands on too, buddy, or you're out of luck. I have had a mostly textual relationship before, and I am uninterested in returning to it.

Of course, the biggest problem with dick pics is that YOU ARE SENDING DICK PICS WITHOUT ASKING IF THEY WANT ONE FIRST. OMFG DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND WHAT SEXUAL HARASSMENT IS?!

*deep breath*

Okay, long story short, some people like them, some people do not, but you should always ask before clicking send. Otherwise you're setting yourself up for a possible rage induced rant, and a direct link right to straightwhiteboystexting and yes, it is as painful and shameful as it sounds.

Have a good weekend. And remember, Snapchat and iCloud was hacked for nudes.

Depression is a lot of work

Today wasn't too bad, but it could have been a lot worse. I should have had more sleep, more sunlight exposure, and more social support. Those would have improved the day somewhat. But lately, it's becoming harder and harder to fight off my low moods.

Depression is a lot of work.

I'm not sure when I could have become legally diagnosed with depression. There were jumps all over my life where I ended up miserable and unable to leave bed. If I were to try to put a time period on it, I would have to say grade five at the earliest. That year, I strongly remember attempting to call the Kids Help Phone.

Last year in March, I spent three days laying underneath my desk wrapped in a blanket, alternating between crying until it hurt, and staring blankly off into space. The next day, I went into the cafeteria, where there was a Peanuts' inspired therapy booth. I sat down, and something caught my eye; the information sheet on depression.

The volunteer helping with the booth asked me how I was, and I responded by handing her info sheet and telling her "I think I have this."

Turns out that I was right.

Now, I spend a lot of my days paying close attention to a checklist. I opted against taking antidepressants because I had been on some earlier in life, and all I remember is fog out of an entire 6 months. This checklist is made even more hardcore by my crazy schedule.

If there is anything on my daily checklist that has not been fulfilled or completed, I can pretty much expect to be in a low mood during the day. I refer to this as a downswing. Upswings and downswings meaning how low or high my mood is.

True story, if I had at least a half hour of cuddles every day, it would improve my mood drastically.

I know this is all a little bland and boring for you to read, but I need to explain the beginning. I need to somehow find a way to wrap around you all my terrors, hopes, broken promises and dreams so that you might understand for just a second what it feels like to suffer from depression.

I don't think there will ever be someone interested in me, because of how broken I feel. I'm never sure if I'm actually suceeding at my dreams or just talking myself up. Any little thing, like a comment said in the wrong tone, can easily make me low.

But I am not just my depression.

I am giggling on my bicycle as I go flying over a speedbump, racing dragonflies. I am there to encourage everyone I know in whatever endeavor they strive towards. I am calm and reflectful while drinking my morning coffee. I'm goofy and silly, telling dirty jokes at work. I'm smiling down at my phone because someone I like just texted me.

Please don't assume that if I'm not sad all the time, I don't truly have depression.

I am more than my depression. It's a part of me, but it is not me. 

Thank you for reading.

In the Gutter: The Return! (Or, how do you get a partner?)

Sex. I miss it.

Uh, writing about it, I mean. Yeah. >.>”

I've come across some people on my university campus who have said something along the lines of “I know you! You wrote the Sexuality column last year! I loved reading it!”

Thank you, thank you very much. /elvis

Honestly, I do kind of miss writing the column, and I find it was a great motivational tool to improve my writing overall, so I've decided I'm going to bring it back, but only on this personal blog of mine.

The tones this year will be a little different, because, as some of you know, I was in a committed long term relationship last year when I was writing this column. But I will happily bug the crap out of my happily (or not so happily) taken friends in order to bring you the best responses to your questions, queries, and problems.

Spoiler alert; yes, yes I will eventually write about buttsex.

But today, we'll start off slow, with the strangest query I expected to hear from some people; how do you get a partner?

*snorts* I am single. Holy crap, why are you asking me? Clearly I done fucked up somewhere along the road.

All right, all right. Listen, my personal opinion is you should be happy spending time with yourself. Think Gerard Butler in “The Ugly Truth” (you totally watched it, shut up) when he says to Katherine Heigl's character, “Because if you don't wanna have sex with you, why would Colin?”

"You just want to watch, dude."

True story. Except apply it to yourself in matters other than sexytimes. Confidence is really key for this kind of thing. Establish yourself, who you are, what you're interested in, and when a possible partner comes along, you'll know what you consider desirable in a relationship. And what gives you red flags, and sends you running for the hills.

I'm not going to lie and say this is an easy thing. I have terrible luck with dating. I'm normally the person who just straight up says shit like “Hey, I like you. Let's go out.” It's effective, but not really all that romantic, and let me tell you, the times I were rejected were not fun. But it tended to work. It was how I ended up dating my last boyfriend.

Now, the next problem in this scenario is you're interested in someone, they're interested in you, or at least seem to be, but you don't know how to take it to the next step. I'm going to admit straight up that I can't help you out here, because I am having this problem myself. I'm old fashioned in that I think you have to go through the bases in chronological order (you know, kiss, grope, under clothes grope, home run) but a few people have completely shot that idea down. One of my coworkers flat out told me that she tends to get to first base after second base. Not going to lie, I'm likely going to try this route next time I get the person alone. #noshame But really, most of the time, I find it just tends to happen.

As for the progressing into a relationship, I still can't offer any sound advice, other than to be clear with the person about whether you're looking for something casual or something more. If you don't spell it out for them, you're going to run into complications, and one or both of you are going to end up hurt and angry.

Phew. That was a tad painful. Next week, can y'all ask me easier questions? Pretty please?

See you all next Thursday!

A Recap of my Week

I have been more depressed than even I should be, for the stupidest of reasons that my subconcious could apparently think of.

Saturday, I had a really bad migraine. Bad enough that I laid down on my couch at night, with sunglasses on. I missed a friends' potluck, and was useless all day because of this migraine.

Sunday I finally kicked down and was able to get all kinds of household chores and homework done. Then I went to hang out with some coworkers, before my last destination; my best friends' going away party. She's currently driving out to Calgary to start a new life. I ate some appetizers with her, talked about random times, and her plans, then said goodbye and went home.

I woke up Monday morning with a temp well over suitable range. I dragged my icky self into work, and tried to tough it out, but I was sent home rather quickly.

Same thing happened on Tuesday. After both days, I just went straight to bed and hoped my good old method of sleeping and sweating it out worked.

See, I really don't like hospitals or doctors. I refuse to go in unless I absolutely need to, or I get dragged in.

More often than not, I'm dragged in.

So clearly, I had no intention of going to the ER, or an afterhours clinic just to sit around in an uncomfortable position for hours, just because my thermometer told me my temp was too high. How high?

I only share this now because no one can drag me to the hospital. My temp hovered around 99 to 104 for two days. I had no appetite, I was sick to my stomach, and I wasn't sleeping properly because my bones were aching so much.

Well, luckily I had Wednesday off. Even luckier, I finally managed to fall asleep. Really fall asleep. I woke on the couch to my cat Saga licking my big toe, and my coworker texting me, reminding me to sleep in.

I've been shaky and depressed all day. I'm so behind on my work, I didn't pass in a project for my human rights course, and I completely forgot to email my profs and let them know what was going down.

I forced myself to bike to Kings Place Mall today, so I could catch a bus up to CBC and work on some assignments. I was so weak, I could barely kick off.

When I got in, there were a few classmates around, asking me how I was doing. I replied "I feel like shit," because I do. Not just out of physical weakness, but out of guilt for feeling useless and unproductive.

Then there were a ton of sirens outside. We all looked at each other, and ran out to see how bad the crash was, what was going on, you know, typical Journo nosiness. Just like that, my depression started to melt away.

Yes, I'm aware we're kinda morbid people, for running towards a fender bender. But it's what we do, even if there's nothing there.

Maybe this is terrible to admit, but running towards that fender bender with my fellow journalists, made me feel like I was home. After a while, sometimes all depression feels like is a lack of mattering, a lack of belonging.

Journalism makes me feel like I serve a purpose, like I belong to this exclusive little club of overcaffeinated, twitchy, morbid folks who just want to observe what's going on, and tell others about it.

Sorry for the long and emotional post, y'all. But at least this clears up the answer to the question of whether or not I enjoy Journalism.

Class Crush

You just sat next to someone in one of your classes. They make a sarcastic response under their breath, and you look at them in surprise. Suddenly, that Intro to Gobbledy Gook doesn't seem as boring. They smile at you, you smile at them, and-

Gag me. Just f*cking ask each other out already.

Ah, the class crush. I see this every semester, every year. I'm even guilty of doing it myself every now and then.

The class crush is when you're attracted to someone in one of your classes, who shows interest in you as well. You both flirt, joke, and sit in sexual tension so thick the rest of us hapless mundanes around you choke on it. But, one or both of you has a fear of rejection, so you do the internal promise thing.

"I'll ask them out for a coffee tomorrow," you promise yourself.

You inevitably choke up, and postpone it.

Next time, Gadget.

All right, player, here's a thought; what are you so worried about? Rejection happens to us all, but you're less likely to get rejected by someone in a new class. They probably feel as lost or lonely as you do, and they will likely jump at the chance for some companionship.

One coffee later, and it gets fairly easy to determine if you're a good match. Next mission? Follow up with date #2.

So do us all a favor, stop playing all "Romeo and Juliet", and just ask already.

Seriously. Before I do it for you.

And yes, I totally would.

Downswing, downswing, downswing

I have a hard time crying.

Not because I don't feel safe, or sad ever, or not that my tear ducts do not work. I just cannot cry without feeling terrible about myself. I have been told so often throughout my years to suck it up, show no emotion, and move on, that blocking out my tears is common. This is a problem.

For those who were unaware (and apparently completely oblivious) I have depression. It is a lifelong depression. I will never grow out of or change out of or medicate out of this depression. All I can do is attempt to control the results of having this physical illness. For the rest of my life, I will be very aware that one wrong move could make me end up considering self harm or suicide.

I am not depression. Depression does not define my life, nor does it make me who I am. I am who I am in spite of my depression. I am a talented. motivated individual. I am a caring, empathetic person. I am a crazy and wild example of how depression does not define me. Depression is just an unfortunate reality of what I have to work with to do what I want to do in life.

Getting back to the crying thing, when I feel low, or am unable to watch my schedule as closely as I want to, I end up slowly shifting into a downswing.

I get it. I lost something important, it takes a while to leave that behind and move on to something different. However, every so often, things will hit me out of the corner of my eye that set me off tilt.

So now that I am in the downswing, how do I save myself? How do I make it okay for me to cry again?

Reading Lists

Happy Scribbles Saturday, people!

Someone asked me what was on my reading list for the summer. I laughed.

I should note that I am a crazy fast reader, so when people ask me what book I'm on, I normally tell them which book I finished that morning, which book I started in the afternoon, and what book I have in mind for the evening.

Well, I already got through a few series, but this is what I have left.

Yes, that entire shelf. I'm currently in the middle of "The Executioners' Song".

Someone also recommended pretty much all of Joe Abercrombie's stuff. I think I'll save that for the fall, during classes. You know, as a way to unwind. If I have time to unwind.

...if I have time to read. Or sleep.

*cackles and twitches*

Drool bad, relaxing good

Today, I did something I really didn't want to do, something I was scared to, and did it anyway.

I deserve a beer. *sips*

I suppose this post is just my way of checking in, letting you all know what's going on. I just had to mention something clickbait-like in the first line for you to continue reading.

But wait! There's more! (No seriously, stick around, I have plenty of funny stuff and things to tell you.)

So today I went in to cover a shift at work, and I was in a surprisingly good mood, especially for someone who was called in on their day off. Just another example of how awesome my job is now. I was at the bar, I asked my manager to grab me some club soda from downstairs. She races off, comes back juggling two bottles of the stuff (not literally juggling, just struggling to hold them in her arms) and hands them over. Silly fool that I am, I immediately begin to open one.

FIRST RULE OF SODA: DO NOT OPEN THE CONTAINER AFTER IT HAS DONE ANY AMOUNT OF MOVEMENT.

So yeah, it totally sprayed all over me. Standing there shocked. IN MY WHITE SHIRT THAT I HAD JUST WASHED YESTERDAY.

My manager attempted to withhold her smile and laughter. It looked painful. Then I surprised us both by laughing my ass off. She joined in. Enthusiastically.

I have discovered, in my first three weeks of full time work that when I get stressed, I don't eat properly, I barely ever sleep, and I was lying all those times I told people I gave myself time to relax.

Why do you people listen to me? Really.

I learned what real relaxation is, when I went in for a one hour relaxation massage. It blew my mind. I didn't want to move. I'm pretty sure I drooled. (I totally drooled.)

What this has taught me is that I need to stop pressuring myself if I'm going to leave the situation without a form of relaxation, or reward for doing so.

For example; I complete a day of work, and I absolutely can take the bus home to save my poor and tired feet!

Or, I buy groceries, prep them, and put them away: why yes I can have some of that BBQ chicken!

I'm going back to school full time in the fall. I'll also still be working full time. I am going to be stressed to the max. I'm just hoping I can keep my courage up long enough to get things done, and reap the rewards.

Because, (leading into that story I began with) when I complete something, and take care of myself, I relax a little. This makes it easier to laugh off the little things.

In fact, tomorrow after work, I may even take a book into the park at Officers' Square to read a little and chillax.

Because seriously, if I keep allowing myself to relax only once every six months continues, I'm almost positive the trend of me drooling more than a French Bulldog will keep pace with it.

Moral of the story? Drool bad, relaxing good.

Happy International Beer Day!

This is how I'm celebrating the holiday.

Vision Quest

There are three things I do not like discussing in any detail unless I am in a certain kind of mood.

In no particular order, those things are;

• my problems with depression
• my thoughts concerning misogyny
• my feelings concerning my past relationships

In the past week, I have been quizzed in detail about all three by my current roommate. It's no wonder I'm feeling off kilter and morbid.

I don't like discussing my depression, even though it has been a long running thing, and even though I'm taking steps to control the arcs of my up and down swings. The reasoning behind this is quite simple; the more I talk about my problems, the more I am reminded that yes, I do have problems. This leads to over thinking, which leads to rumination. You see, thinking about how low I've fallen puts me in the mindset again, where I know I *should* just be able to be happy, but I can't. It leaves me feeling helpless and frustrated and completely powerless.

So yes, ixnay on the talking about depression.

My thoughts concerning misogyny are vast and complicated, full of me checking myself to ensure that, yes, I have challenged this or that norm, and I am not just letting "that's just how it is" influence my thoughts. Boys will not just be boys, we should all be treating each other with respect, our reproductive rights should be our own (meaning men should be fully in control of whether or not they may get vasectomies, and women may choose when they want to have a child) and sometimes yes, women give out fake numbers because saying no can be met with hostile action.

I have been accused of being a misogynist twice in my entire life, for making observations, and I resent it. So I dislike feeling like I have to "prove" I'm someone's kind of feminist. I'm a feminist, plain and simple. If you don't agree with me, I don't care.

As for my feelings concerning my past relationships, the only people I would feel comfortable discussing said relationships in depth are the past partners that were in the relationship with me. It just so unfortunately happens that my tongue gets twisted, I have no idea what to say, and I have no sweet clue how to approach the discussion. So I'll settle for clamming up unless asked to describe past relationships in one reaction, sentence, or hey, even a music video.

I can answer direct questions easily enough, but ask an open ended question, and I flounder.

Why am I bringing all of this up out of nowhere? Because I have an excellent job, a good roommate, my life has settled into some sort of stability, and I'm having nightmares, cold sweats, and panic attacks concerning thoughts of my future. I am aware the future is bright. I have the shades. Yes, I've got that memo.

But it's just not right, and the only way I've been able to make myself function is by pretending it is.

There is a deep, unsettled feeling surrounding my life, and until I can let myself see what's going on, I am oblivious, just going through the motions.

A friend told me my recent projects for myself were some kind of vision quest, and he's not quite wrong. Maybe what I need is to find something that makes me feel alive. Maybe I'm unsettled because I'm not asking myself the right questions.

Maybe this blog entry is more for me than it is for the reader. But either way, maybe we all need to be figuring some things out during this summer, before time runs away again.

Cabin Fever

I never used to be someone who got cabin fever. I could spend hours, days, sometimes even weeks comfortably hidden in my room, leaving only to use the facilities, or grab food, or shower.

I don't know what happened to that not so inner hermit, but I most definitely am not like that anymore.

Now, if I stay inside for an entire day, I get moody, antsy, and am prone to periods of furious pacing, or sudden taekwondo kicks, punches, and forms.

Unfortunately, I am supposed to be on required bed rest accompanied by light exercise. For an entire month. No taekwondo, no running, no gym time, no physiotherapy.

So of course I go for an hour long walk.

Here I am sitting on a park bench in Officers' Square, engaging in exactly what my therapist, counsellor, and depression guide have advised me not to do; rumination.

I'm nothing if not troublesome, headstrong, and stubborn.

So back to the topic at hand; where did I get my work ethic and my energy from? Because it sure wasn't here in 2009, the second time I flunked out of University. (To be fair depression had a lot to do with that.) 

Nor was my work ethic kicking around in 2010, which I fondly refer to as the year I didn't exist. (Long story short, my coworkers at the time treated me like I was either invisible, or the worst person in the world.)

I'd say my work ethic came to be roughly around the time my engagement fell apart, and I became a single woman living alone in a 2 bedroom apartment with 3 cats. That was June 2012, in case you were wondering.

That was the year I began to do ridiculous amounts of volunteerwork. That was the year I fell for my best friend.

I can safely say that was around the time I began to develop my backbone, for realsies. Because around then I realized it wasn't all that terrible, being alone.

The next year had me look at my bitter, old coworker who was stuck in a rut, and decide I would never be like her.

I applied to return to University that day, with the support of my best friend, who was then also my partner.

I'm not a success story. I'm not a survivor, or a victim. I have my low points. I have my very low points, where I cannot even crawl out of bed. But I have my high points too.

Even when I'm feeling low, I get out of bed because I'm too damn stubborn not to work towards those high points.

I guess that's why I have such terrible cabin fever. I just want to get shit done.

Test Post

I'm trying out this new link sharing service so I don't have to run willy nilly all over the place to share new blog posts with you. I'm forgetful and brave enough to admit that I may forget to share links all the time.

So instead, I will thieve another idea from Tay (Yes, I am using a nickname) and share a picture post with you.

Ugh. Double Ugh.

I couldn't remember for the life of me why I started this blog, and why people blog to begin with, so I googled it.

First mistake!

All I got was nonsense. You know, that nonsense about "Get Famous Quick!" or "Make LOADS of money with this simple trick!"

Ugh.

I vaguely remember wanting to write being the main goal behind this blog, and I find now that I fight an ongoing battle with depression every day I lack the motivation to do so. I used to write every day multiple posts a day on this thing, and now, I'm sipping chicken noodle soup staring longily at the Doctor Who tab on Netflix, and alternating these with lustful glances at my bed.

Because onset insomnia, that's what.

Maybe half of my problem is that I feel obligated to write super long intellectual posts and wax optimistically about my current stand in life.

So I'm not going to.

Right now, I am broke, and thousands of dollars in debt. I am currently in possession of a rather sparse pantry, I have no job, I am lacking a few hundred dollars for rent this month, and I don't really have much to say to encourage you to think that I am doing well or okay by any means.

Ahh. That felt better.

That being said, I really would like to write more often than I have been. So I'm going to try updating this stupid thing more than once a week. I blame this. You got me motivated, UGH. DOUBLE UGH. NOT COOL. (Awesome blog, btdubbs.)

This is just my motivation blog post to let you all know I'm still alive. Kinda.

*slurps chicken noodle soup*

Word Vomit

"Hey, what story are you working on right now?"

I examine my glass like it holds the secrets to the universe, then take another sip before replying.

"It's summer. I'm on vacation."

I don't tell them how, seconds ago, an ambulance passed by and I switched to my Twitter to see where they were heading. I don't tell them how, when a cop car started honking at my friends' car to get out of the way and went to arrest two obviously drunk individuals, that I immediately went to unbuckle my seat belt in a half made attempt to get out of the car and take a video.

I don't tell them how, when I heard of the news from Moncton, I froze up, and considered a road trip.

Yes, I'd just be in the way, yes, it would make me cannon fodder, yes, there are dozens of journalists there right now who are most likely much more capable of covering the story and not being a liability. We all need people there who know how to do their jobs, not half seasoned student journalists who need to focus on their on camera work. Someone needs to inform the watching world about what's going on, and it's not me at this place in time.

But the worst part of this for me is the need to do something to help, and knowing I'm helping more by not interfering.

Journalism is why I scan media feeds almost hourly every day. Journalism is why I started to overcome my social anxiety enough to approach strangers.  Journalism is why when I read the story about the journalist who snapped the picture of the shooter in Moncton, I beamed with pride at his accomplishment, and knew he was thinking in the back of his head "I wonder if I couldn't have gotten a better picture?"

Journos are an interesting, tightly knit group. We might not all get along especially well, but there is a high degree of mutual respect there, and when one of us succeeds, we all want to give them a high five.

Journalism means a weekend reporter staying up all night to collect news on a shooting. Journalism means texting a friend to ensure that they know they should cancel that trip they were going to make today. Journalism means advising people where to go for updates and shelter.

I started going to taekwondo regularly when I was accepted to the Journalism programme at my university. This doesn't seem related, but please stay with me. I go walking quite a bit. I hike, attempt to eat healthy, and do an obnoxious amount of crunches and squats, because the stats for violence and abuse for reporters and journalists are quite high, especially for women, and I wanted a layer of self defense to rely on. This is a dangerous profession, and in high risk situations, journalists are required to be there, putting themselves at risk.

One of my professors mentioned some of the horror stories briefly. A reporter pulled into an alleyway and raped repeatedly by a crowd. A journalist having to leave the scene of an event because they were being targeted by the angry crowd. Recently, reporters were accosted while shooting clips for a story about a protest. Confronted by an angry group, they were forced to leave their equipment behind, and had to flee from the area. Death threats because of stories that went out to the public.

Don't delude yourself. This is not the safest of career choices.

I think people today get media and journalism and press confused quite a bit. I'm not blaming them. I do too. But maybe, in between the one person here or there, cursing at the news, you could remember that journalists are not soulless. That there are people we love in harm's way as well. That some of us are just doing a job, some of us are just following a passion, and some of us are trying to help in the best way we know how.

So I want to offer my support to all the professionals and volunteers helping out at the scenes. To the RCMP, the police, the news crews, the Red Cross, and anyone else involved, as well as residents staying inside out of the way of the shooter, we all hope this situation ends soon, with no further loss or hurt, because there has been too much already.

Someone Wrote a Blog About my Opinion

I have learned something new today. I just felt the need to share it with others.

Someone made a blog post specifically meant to disagree with my opinions.

Here, let me explain the backstory.

I follow a Facebook page called "Stuff Journalists Like" and one of the admins (I'm guessing there are multiple admins) posted up this question;

"Anyone wanna write “Things Print Journalists Will Never Understand about TV News?”

Did they ever! Suddenly there was a plethora of print/radio/tv journalists having it out in the comments section. I sat down, and for the fun of it weighed in on the discussion in a Buzzfeed style 10 point list.

 Speaking as someone who has a range of experience in print/radio/tv journalism, I made up this list. Print journalists will never understand; 1) how hard it is to adapt a story to tv 2) the struggle of finding articulate interviews willing to go in front of a camera 3) the struggle of finding a good set of shots for a story that will keep the viewer interested 4) getting shots in winter 5) the tight deadlines for each story 6) how heavy all that camera equipment is that you have to lug everywhere 7) discovering fact errors after deadline and your story is about to air 8) the amount of attitude it takes to do an on camera intro 9) the constant fight with your video editors 10) when something amazing happens that is perfect for the story but you didn't get it recorded.

I figured someone could find some great gifs for a post like that. Then I went about my day.

To my surprise, a man from Georgia named Ben Baker had made a blog post in response to my chicken scratch list, in which he then invited my response.

I thought it was great! I even told him so on the facebook page!

His blog link is here, by the way, if you'd like to read it. I did not include it here, as it is of an extended length.

Thanks for responding back to my comments, Mr Baker!

My only comments I wish to make in response are the ones I left on the facebook page, as pictured below.

So what's the bottom line? Who cares about the format. Just tell the damn story. That's what we're here for.

***UPDATE***

Mr Baker has responded to my comments.

I enjoy it when there is no trolling on Facebook, but simple sharing of ideas and opinions in a healthy environment.

NB needs more entry level positions if they want to keep their youth around

I have just come back from a job fair that was held at the Delta Fredericton. I walked around all the booths, spoke to a good amount of greeters, and even ventured into the "Career Resources" room. (Actually, all the Career Resources room contained was different universities, colleges, and programs to facilitate more students.) I only have one piece of advice for those students that are considering going to the NB Job and Career Fair.

Don't bother.

Normally, students all leave high school encouraged to pursue some form of secondary training. This lands almost all of students into an average debt of $40,000. So graduates scramble to find jobs in an economy that quite frankly, appears to be going nowhere. This leads to obtaining fast food jobs as a way to pay the bills. But guess who else is scrambling to find entry level jobs? The students still in the province.

I have been online. I have been all over Fredericton. I have sent my resume in to any place hiring in the past week that I could think of, including positions I was almost positive I wouldn't even be looked at twice for, just in case. So far, I have only had one job interview, and I was turned down for the job shortly afterwards.

Now, I am a hard worker. I have an amazing work ethic, and I don't normally let obstacles trouble me. But I have been looking for a job since the beginning of March and as of yet I have had no luck. I'm not alone, either. The unemployment rate in NB rose to 10.5% in April. 

This only makes me think how my fellow students are doing searching for jobs.

I saw 7 current Journalism students at the job fair today. The Journalism program, at STU, in case you're wondering, only accepts a maximum of 30 students a year, and has in recent years, included almost a 50% dropout rate. It's a tough program, requiring motivated and excellent individuals. I wouldn't hesitate to agree that all of the individuals I saw at the job fair today are the epitome of what the program strives for.

So why isn't anyone hiring us?

There was only one entry level booth available, and that was Costco, which had dozens of people milling around it, filling out forms. The other obvious booth was the Canadian Forces booth, which requires you to go online.

Guess where I am right now?

I'm angry, and disappointed, and frustrated with living in New Brunswick right now. If the government really wants to keep their youth in the province, maybe they should think about working to keep us here.

10 things I have learned since returning to University

1. It doesn't matter how early I wake up, it doesn't actually mean I'll be more productive.

It just means I'll have less time to sleep and less quiet time at night to think, reflect on the day, and unwind. I don't care about how many blogs tell me I'll be so much more productive if I wake up at 5 am. I still wind up taking a three hour long nap around 6 pm and end up staying awake too late anyways.

2. I've said it before and I'll say it again; I dislike 99% of people that I get to know more.

I'm serious. You think you know someone, until you peel back a layer, and then you think, "oh wow, this person is terrible". Or, maybe I just know too many terrible people who annoy the hell out of me. Or, I'm just easily annoyed.

3. I take a little while to warm up to people.

I only really just now started talking to my classmates and picking out which ones I think are cool, and which I'd love to deep six into cement. I know, I know, I have a hard time opening up.

4. I've discovered that hot drinks really do make me calmer.

Which explains why I'm running low on chamomile, and I have to run to the bathroom every hour on the dot. I've been pretty stressed out lately.

5. I really am too hard on myself.

Granted, my counselor also told me this today. I expect so much of myself that I'm constantly pushing, and getting upset when I don't do as well as I want. I'm starting to finally realize that while it's good to take pride in my work, it's great to give myself a little leeway every so often.

6. A big part of me believes that we are always alone, no matter what.

Apologies for that depressing statement. But, it's just how I feel.

7. I really miss comfort reading. Like, a lot.

Academia is interesting, and I love learning. But I do miss the days where I could just lay in bed and pour over one of my favorite books, or discover a new one.

8. Writing is still me.

Even now, when I'm feeling alone and lost and unsure of myself, I turn to writing. It is probably the only part of my soul that will never change. Even when I was sinking into depression, writing was what pulled me out. Granted, I couldn't write, but the thought that I might not write again was what started pulling me out. Which leads me to my next thought...

9. Journalistic writing is actually something that does appeal to me.

When I first went to university, I thought the last thing I wanted to do was be a journalist. I thought the news was boring, I didn't like being told to swallow my opinion, and honestly, I was too lazy to want a high pressure life like that. That was in 2007. It's 7 years and some change later, and I practically live and breathe journalism. It's disturbing. All my friends tell me so. Now, writing an article gives me a thrill, getting that interview is an adrenaline rush, and the thought that I might have gotten an angle before the local paper thought of it? Exhilarating. Although I still don't like the idea of swallowing my opinion sometimes. I have a big mouth.

10. Romantic comedies are full of shit.

It doesn't matter which one you see. Sometimes, even awesome relationships don't work out. Maybe you're both so busy, that spending time together damages your progress. Maybe you start to drift apart. In a rom com, there's some amazing Big Gesture that makes it all right, and they live happily ever after. Well, in real life, you have to be a functional adult, sit down and ask yourself what your needs and wants are and if they're getting met. And if they're not, you have to let the other person know. If nothing changes, the relationship ends. If you aren't realistic about the future, and what you might want in it, or what you might be able to handle, then you'll bring yourself a lot of grief. You know why? Because asking people to change is unacceptable, and you should never date someone you want to change. The fact of the matter is, you just end up alone again. So romantic comedies are bullshit, and it will be a long while before I'll watch one again.

Depression is...

Depression feels like laying on the floor in the corner of a darkened room, wrapping yourself in a blanket. Your tears soak into the blanket, your shirt, and your floor, and you know you're in trouble, but you can't move. You can't bring yourself to call for help, because you'd just be a burden to any you ask.

In depression, you go through the motions of every day life. You wake up, feed your pets, have a shower, and get ready for the day, You make breakfast, get your lunch ready, and go to school. You participate in classes, do your homework, and laugh or make jokes with people. No one can quite tell you're depressed. If you've been depressed for a long time, you know how to mask it, because you're tired of telling people who See you, that you're just 'fine'.

You're fine, because you know there isn't anything they can do to help you.

If you're fine like me, then you're too stubborn to let them try to help you.

In depression, you struggle to get out of bed, and struggle to go to sleep. You struggle not to burst into tears at random moments of the day. At other times, you struggle to care about anything other than laying in bed, looking up at the ceiling, or out the window.

When you're depressed, you see others smile at you, and they hug you, or laugh with you, and you struggle to feel it. When you're depressed, your emotions, the true ones, the empathy and the passion is locked away behind a sheet of transparent plastic. When you reach for your emotions, your fingers hit the plastic.

When your partner kisses you, or holds you, you clutch at them, to better try to feel the love you know is there, but it doesn't feel the way it should. The way you know you feel about them.

In depression, there comes a moment when you can no longer see the sheet covering you. You no longer know the emotions are there. The good emotions, the happy ones, they don't come anymore. You forget how they feel.

It becomes harder and harder to believe others like you or love you or care for you at all. 

You begin to drop things. You're late to meet friends, you can't remember why it's so important to go to work or class. Work is left undone, or sloppily done. You stare into the distance a lot. Your appetite has either diminished or escalated. You no longer remember what makes you happy, because you can't quite remember how it feels to be happy.

When you know you're in trouble, even the rising panic feels muted, not there. Even the adrenaline rush from terror is numbed. You know you should tell someone, anyone. Look for someone to talk to, your partner,  even a therapist, or your roommates or parent, or even that person you don't really know.

Trying to think of someone to talk to is disorienting, until all you can do is cry, and think only of how you're dropping everything, but you can't remember why it's important.

The worst part about depression is when someone tells you to get over it, or to just stop moping or sulking. The worst part is if you finally reach out for help, you are downplayed. What you are going through is downplayed.

Depression is laying on the floor in the corner of the room, wrapped in a blanket, no longer able to cry.

For Fredericton student counselling call: 506-453-4820
For Fredericton community members counselling call: 506-458-8211