The Things We Don't Say

Confession time; I had a cigarette tonight for the first time in almost 6 months. When I quit, I kept the half pack that I had left next to my bed and tonight I got out of bed, found a lighter in an old coat and smoked one. Its a stupid thing to do and it tasted awful, but in a strange way the smell and the taste is comforting. And tonight, I needed a little comfort.

I was talking to a coworker today and telling a story about something that happened in the office last year. This is nothing strange, nothing out of the ordinary, just plain old office talk. Except one part of the story is that I had to leave work for almost 5 weeks because my dad got sick. And then he died. I mentioned this so casually that I barely noticed and this didn't even occur to me until tonight.

Its been 10 months since he died and 9 months since we found out he was sick. Sometimes, mostly at night, it feels like the grief is going to explode out of me and theres nothing I can do except sob. Everyone I know that has lost a parent has said the same thing; it gets easier, but it never goes away. There's always an empty space, a phone call missing on your birthday, a missing seat at the Christmas dinner table. It always feels like something is not quite right and this is how I've felt for the last 10 months. It is as if a part of me has dislodged and nothing feels quite comfortable.

Mostly on nights like this I think about all the things I didn't say. I think about the time I missed being angry, resentful and distant. I think about the things that kept my dad and I apart. We had a complicated relationship and in the end I'm so glad I pushed it all away and showed up at the hospital every day. I'm glad I knew the names of his doctors, I pushed the wheelchair, I brought coffees and talked with my dad about when he was younger and before I was born. But we missed so much time and this is what I think about when the sorrow takes over.

Sometimes I talk to him. I tell him that I've met someone and I've fallen in love, that I wish he could meet him. I tell him that I'm sorry, I tell him that I still don't know what I want to do with my life but that I have a better idea than I did a year ago. I can almost hear him say "You'll find it someday".

One thing that my dad told me in the hospital was; "Please quit smoking and live a long, long good life ok, meg. Please." He had tears in his eyes and he was clutching my hand. I said I would. So 6 months ago I stopped smoking because I wanted to keep my promise to him. Tonight, I broke and had one. I don't know about tomorrow. Right now I'm just hoping that the tears can turn in to sleep and that maybe tomorrow missing my dad won't hurt so much.

I love you dad. I miss you.

In The Dead of Winter

It's happened. I've written a new poem! It has been almost a year and a half since I wrote anything, so this is exciting for me.

Without further ado, here it is.

In the Dead of Winter

I found you in the dead of winter

In your warm city

Covered by sunshine and ocean breeze

You peeled off the layers

Of my jaded coat of armor

Slowly, like you were tasting my return to naivete

You sipped my opening heart

Like a warm coffee after a sleepless night

Made less bitter by the rising day

You found me in the deadest winter

Ready to strip off the silence that had taken hold

I grabbed your hand to lead it where your eyes couldn't go

And found it sweating in optimism

Like a river coursing through a long drought

We found ourselves treading water

In unfamiliar territory

Grasping at each other like buoys

Ecstatically drowning in each other's happiness

We found each other at a distance

In the lifelessness of that winter

With only the hope and promises we'd laid out on a strangers' bedspread

As the map to our waiting

For the times when our patience would become thin and ragged with want

For those days when counting down the hours took our breaths away

Somehow, we still managed believed in sunshine,  warm coffee

And that three hundred miles

Could never bleed us of each other. 

Poetry Is Not For Poets

Hello my dears,

I use the words "my dears" because I'm feeling quite like a grandma today, bundled up in my kitchen with my hair in a bun waiting for the coffee to percolate. It's a Thursday morning and its also American Thanksgiving (barf- but that's another rant about assimilation and genocide) which means I get the day off. Before you go thinking that I'm American or that I've moved to the States let me clarify- I work at a company that mostly has American clients. I'm still in Montreal and I haven't succumbed to the lure of cheap cell phone service and better Netflix. Speaking of copious amounts of Netflix, the first snow fell yesterday. There's a thin blanket of white over everything this morning and it feels a little surreal because it's already almost December. With a mixture of horror and relief I had almost begun to think it wouldn't come this year, that winter would skip us or something. How naive I can be sometimes. I still see pictures of my friends in Victoria in jean jackets at this time of year and seethe with jealousy. I can't seem to adjust to the freeze so I mostly choose to hibernate. But I'm here to talk about something else, so let's get moving shall we?

The company I work for held a talent show this month fundraising for a youth association called the Bathsaw Foundation (http://www.batshaw.qc.ca/en). It was a great night and there was so much work put into it by all the staff, and we raised a lot of money. I've been with the company for a couple of years and pretty much everyone knows that I'm a poet. I mean, I took a month off last May to go on tour- so it's pretty common knowledge that I'm a performer. Originally I said I didn't want to perform due to my recent poetry hiatus. This year for the first time in about 4 years I missed Nationals completely even though it was in Montreal. I just decided I didn't want to be a part of it. It broke my heart a little bit to know that dozens of awesome people from all over the country that I love were ten minutes away from me and I didn't go see them. At the same time, I felt relieved when it was over and everyone went home. Maybe this sounds awful, and I wouldn't be surprised if there are some that are angry with me. But I had my reasons for doing this, and at the talent show I realized what they were.

I finally did get talked into performing when a few other people dropped out of the show. I wasn't exactly enthusiastic but it was a favor to my good friend Leann who was organizing it. I did two poems; Shifty Kids and Sex (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WXd-R7jPcxQ). It felt great and natural and effortless to be on stage on again. I knew I was performing to a room full of people who didn't listen to spoken word, who didn't go to slams and who maybe had never heard stuff like this before. That's always a little intimidating because they could either love it or hate it and even though most of these people know me, they could easily be underwhelmed by my heartfelt poetry. It's not like I talk about my feelings at work a lot and let's be honest- my poetry is a wee bit on the personal side. In the end the response was overwhelming good. I even made a few people cry which as some of you know is my specialty. And this reminded me of why I love performing poetry and also clarified why I didn't want to go to Nationals this year.

I'm tired of performing for other poets. We all love the same thing, we all grow together and learn and get better at our craft. I certainly appreciate that community more than words can say. But if we always stay in our little cafes and rooms performing for each other then what is the point? At festivals like Nationals we try to outdo each other in the spirit of competition and we try to do crazier things than last year. Do we even consider our audience outside of what they might score us? Are we aware of how they feel, what they are hearing and the impact we can have on someone who has never heard poetry like this before? Because most of the time it feels like we are just showing off for each other. Fresh ears, fresh eyes and a new perspective came to me the night of the Talent Show. I don't want to create art for other artists. The more I do that the more I miss the point, especially if I am creating art in order to score points and outdo other artists. I want to create art to connect to people - not just people who already love poetry or other poets. I have to take my art to my other communities also and bridge that gap. Have the difficult/ annoying conversations about what spoken word is and why I do it. Once I separated myself from an insular community which seems to look down on anyone who doesn't know about it, I am starting to figure out what I want out of this art.

Please do not think that I am bashing the spoken word community right now- because that is not my intent. I love that community because it is so loving, so kind and filled with so much incredible talent. I am simply saying it is time to spread out a little wider, beyond the slams, to something more inclusive and open. The competition is not helping the community grow the way it once did, but I fear it is keeping people away.

That's my rant on this snowy November morning. I'm off to enjoy my freedom for the next four days and maybe even start a snowball fight with some little kids in the park. Because I'm a rebel like that (not).

Dear Poetry- It's Been Awhile, I Know.

First of all, I know its been too long. I hadn't realized that this blog has become so neglected until I opened it and saw that my last post was in May at the end of the tour. I could come up with a lot of bullshit reasons as to why I haven't written here, but let's just skip that part. I think we are close enough that I can be honest.

I haven't written anything, anywhere for a good long while.

Not a poem, not working on my novel, not an article or a journal entry. Nothing. Zilp, zilch, nada.

So don't take it personally, its not about you. I think I've grown distant from the writer in me, I don't feel connected to this right now. I have absolutely no ambition to take pen to paper. I'm not even depressed, it's not a crazy time in my life and I'm not busier than usual. I just don't want to write.

This started long before the tour and I've been too embarrassed to admit it to my poet friends. I have no interested in slam right now or poetry shows in general. Last year at Nationals I think I realized that I didn't even like it that much anymore.

Which is not to say that I don't love poetry or spoken word. I do, sometimes. But it all seems a little played out to me right now. I think I need to find another art form to fall in love with for awhile so I can really appreciate what spoken word is again. I'd like to make something other than poems and sentences for awhile, use my hands and stop opening my heart so wide all the time. I've been closing in and there doesn't seem to be enough room in here for all your pain too or to stare in the face of all the horrors that exist in our world. I'm simplifying my little life. I'm not striving for fame, or even the kind of success I used to think would make me happy. My ideals are changing and I have no idea what that even means.

Except that its not you poetry, its me. Maybe I'll come back to you, maybe I won't. Nothing is forever anyway.

Frequently Asked Questions

So the tour is pretty much over! I did my last show last night and I'm currently in my mother's apartment in Okotoks, AB. 

I can't say enough about this experience. It's been filled with many friends whose faces and spirits have filled me with gratitude. Having a community is so important, and I'm blessed to have a community that spans hundreds of miles across the country. Without their support and encouragement I would not be where I am or have accomplished anything. I've learned alot in the last month, and I've realized that as much as I love touring and travelling, I also love my home. Montreal has become my place, the city that fits me and I'm longing to go back there right now. 

First, I want to take this opportunity to answer some of the most commonly asked questions about my art. Because many people I know are not a part of the spoken word community I answer the same 5 questions alot. Even in interviews with people who do know this world there is always a theme in the questions. So I'm going to answer some of them here.

1. Q: What is "Slam Poetry"?
    A: There is no such thing as "Slam Poetry". Slam is a competition, it is a game that we play with poetry. As much as there may seem to be a style or a framework for these types of poems, they are framed that way most of the time because there is a 3 minute time limit. But the artform is not called slam poetry, it is spoken word or performance poetry, or just plain poetry. Slam has made spoken word more popular because it is exciting, there are scores and competition, and there is a winner. This has made poetry into a game. But it is not an artform in itself. Example; There are story slams where storytellers compete in the same fashion. But noone calls that "slam stories", they are simply stories that are being used in a competition. The same goes for spoken word. 

2. Q: What's the difference between spoken word and "regular" poetry? 
     A: The only difference is that spoken word focuses more on the oral tradition of relaying stories and poetry. It is written less for the page and more to be heard. This does not mean that spoken word is always memorized by the performer and many do read off the page. It is however more focused on how you use your voice and body on the stage in order to convey your poem. This means it is more theatrical than a poet sitting in a chair reading from their book. We attempt to engage audiences imaginations through stage presence and the presentation of our work. 

3. Q: (Generally from members of the community in interviews) Why are there less women in Slam? 
    A: I get this question alot and I can only assume it is because I am a woman who has competed in Slam. The truth is that I don't know, and I cannot/ will not speak for all women. I do know that slam spaces are not always the safest spaces and that this is something that needs to change. Each slam community across the country is different, and each has to have their own discussion of what 'safe space' means for them. There are a ton of amazing women in spoken word and slam and if you are not seeing them then you are not looking hard enough.

4. Q: What do spoken word poets write about? 
    A: This question is always a little baffling. I mean, what do playwrights write about? What do songwriter's write about? There is such a huge variety of voices, subject matter, styles and stories that it is impossible to tell you. We write about everything, from personal stories to fantasy to comedy to political rants. We write about historical figures, video games, love, the environment and everything in between. There is no answer to this question except for me to tell you to go to a show or YouTube some spoken word. For any subject matter you are interested in, there is a poem about it. 

5. Q: Can you make a living doing spoken word? Is there an audience? 
    A: This is tricky. Firstly, yes there is an audience. Spoken word has gained in popularity even though it is still considered by many as a fringe art. There are poets who make their entire living by performing and teaching spoken word. It`s alot like music in that touring is where the money is. Not many people head to the poetry section of their local bookstore anymore, but people will pay to see a show and they will buy your merchandise. Teaching workshops can also bring you income. It`s certainly not an easy path to take, but you can do it if you are motivated enough. It`s like making a living doing any artform, it takes drive and sometimes struggle, but it can be possible.

These are just some of the questions I get on a regular basis. If any of you have any more that you would like answered or other poets have other questions you get all the time please let me know and I will post answers! These are just my opinions, my answers. Just like the massive range of humanity and creativity we see in poetry so do we see in opinions to these types of questions. If you are interested in spoken word but have never been to a show, do a Google search for poetry slam in your community or spoken word events. There is sure to be something.

As for me, I`m headed home on Saturday and am very excited to see my cat and my friends. To spend some time in my apartment and to see a special person who shall not be named. My life is so very very good. 

Little Things About A Life

I'm currently sitting in a friend's apartment in Vancouver, listening to a Bandcamp playlist and leaning out a 4th story window to smoke. I'm listening to the sounds of the trains outside the window, smelling the meat processing plant on the other side of the tracks and sipping on a perfect cup of coffee. I'm thinking about Montreal, all the cities I've been in over the last two weeks and what today's anniversary really means to me.

All I keep circling back to is that this day would mean alot less if I didn't have the strenght of my loved ones, friends and aquaintances in my corner. If I didn't have a history of knowing incredible, loving folks who have at times opened their homes, their cupboards and their hearts to me. Over 7 years of my sobriety I have lived in 3 cities. In each of them I have met and have been blessed with mindblowing communities who hold me up when I can't hold myself, who have encouraged me to continue my artistic endeavours and never give up. These are not little things, these are huge things that I sometimes take for granted.

But there are other things I take for granted nowadays. Like the ability to wake up in the morning without shaking. The physical ability to walk down the street, take the metro, travel freely and access these communities I speak of. I have the mental capacity to share, to speak, to make coffee and the cognitive ability to do all of these things with (relative) ease. Obviously, this is not the case for everyone. This is a part of my privilege, that I am an able bodied person who can move in this world. I have access to medical resources, a doctor, and the ability to take medication which significantly improves and strengthens my ability to function. Even simple things like the ability to turn on my computer, access online communities, write a blog, email, and listen to music are gifts that I don't always consider. If I actively think about it, my gratitude extends far beyond being sober and into the simple things. Like owning a toothbrush, access to a warm shower and clean socks. Eating an ice cream cone in a park on a warm day. Sitting for 12 hours on a Greyhound bus and performing poetry at night. While on the Greyhound I am cranky, I am thinking about why the driver is going to slowly, why the person next to me chose to eat 100 pounds of garlic before their trip and then sweat it out in a crowded bus. I am thinking about how late I am going to be, how badly I would like to shower, how tired I am.

But what about the miracle of being able to walk onto a bus, sit down, be relatively comfortable and know that when I arrive in the next city or place there will be friends waiting. There will be a place to sleep and strangers to meet, a meal and an art that I love. Again, these are not little things. These are huge.

My hope for my life is that I am able to become a source of support and love for those I meet. If I am able to repay even a tiny fraction of what I have been given over the years, it will be a miracle. I try to actively dedicate my days to opening my home, my life, and my heart to those around me. I am getting better at this with practice, I am becoming more able to show affection and gratitude to those around me. This is all a learning process, and I have a long way to go.

One thing I know for sure is that it is not enough to say I am grateful. It has to be evident in the way I live and interact with others. It has to be something that I am, that I exhale with each breath. I imagine a warm wind covering everyone I meet on the road and at home. I want to be a warm wind that hugs you. I want my hand to be out when someone needs it, wants it, or is unsure of what they need. I like the saying 'Faith without works is dead'. It is a call to action to hug your community, to be present mentally, emotionally and physically and to ask what needs to be done. To put your hand up and say "I will" in everyday life.

I will care.
I will be present.
I will be available.
I will be human.
Vulnerable.
Compassionate.
Caring.
I will be here.
I will be.

This is what has been given to me. It is the reason I am alive today. Let's eat some ice cream. 

Notes from the road

Hey ya'll,

So I've in Edmonton for the past few days and its been an eye opening experience in some ways. I've always heard about how people in the West are oh so friendly and I've always just nodded my head and thought 'yeah yeah right'. The truth is that I lived in Calgary and I didn't see much of a difference. People still scowl at each other on the train and avoid eye contact in the street. To me, every city is kind of the same. You have nice people, and then you have asshats, and you have those in between that want to be left alone. It's all good, I mean one of the perks of living in a big city is relative anonymity.

But oh man, have I been at the receiving end of western hospitatily on this trip. Example: Yesterday a bus driver (public transit) whom I asked for directions to my destination gave me two extra hours on my tranfer in case I got lost. Thats basically three free bus trips ($3.20 x 3 = $9.60 = A WEEKS WORTH OF LUNCH MONEY FOR TOURING POET). I had multiple conversations with elderly women, one of whom tried to help me find an earring on the ground for 10 minutes (we found it!). I chatted with a man in a wheelchair with no legs who had a super awesome beagle puppy. A girl in a vintage store basically helped me try on a million dresses and became my personal shopper/ much needed opiniated friend helper and she didn't even work at the store. So yeah, now I buy into all that 'damn, people here are nice.' They really are so much friendlier than in Montreal or Toronto.

And tonight I get on a Greyhound bus at 6pm headed to Nelson, which I am set to arrive in at 9am tomorrow morning. I have spent the day frantically getting supplies for this journey. Right now I am stocked with the following for the dreadfully long bus ride: Pyjama pants, travel blanket and pillow, a gazilion snacks including trail mix, fruit, chips and candy, juice boxes and water, and of course Gravol. The last item on this list may be the most important. Although I generally dislike taking medication of any kind (other than the kind that keeps me from going disastrously mental), Gravol is the exception during road trips of any kind. Because as the years have passed I have found myself getting car sick more often than not. And car sickness + 16hr Greyhound in the rockies is a horrible combination. Basically I take the pills so as to not throw up on other cranky travellers and spend the rest of the ride roasting in my own vomit (such lovely imagery, no?). I am doing everyone else a public service, trust me.

Today I was thinking about some of the traveller type people I know, specifically the women I know, who always seem to arrive looking fresh and happy. Let me make one thing clear: I am not one of them. I generally arrive looking like a freshly revived zombie: eyes swollen, glassy and half asleep, mangled hair splayed all over the place and a thin aroma of putrid body odour rising from my 5'2 frame. I do not understand why everyone else does not experience this. Also, after a long day of travelling I generally am not super social. I would rather hide underneath some blankets with a movie than talk to people. I need a shower, a nap and some substantial food in order to feel human again.

In case you hadn't noticed, I really am dreading the next couple long Greyhound bus rides. After Nelson I head to Vancouver on Sunday, which is only about a 10hr trip. Still, I am looking forward to not seeing another bus for awhile once I go home in June.

I'll keep you guys posted on how the journey goes. Enjoy your eating, your running, your parks and all your long legged freedom, I'll be thinking of you when I'm curled into a ball all night in travel limbo.

Busy Season

Hey all,

I'm just popping in here quickly to let you all know I might not be writing much here in the next month.

Because I'm leaving for tour! 

First stop Saskatoon, then Edmonton, Nelson, Vancouver, Victoria and Calgary. This is very exciting (as well as financially terrifying) so I am getting amped up to leave. At this exact moment, my biggest stress is how much my cat will suffer without my presence. She's such a grumpy old thing and she hates everyone but me and yes that makes me feel incredibly special thankyouverymuch). My friend is staying here while I'm gone to look after my flat and she is not going to be happy about living with a boy for a month. I can already feel the cold icy stare I'm going to get when I get back. It's not going to be pretty.

Aaaaanyway, enough rambling about my cat. I have other exciting news!

If you've been chomping at the bit to buy my new book (which- ahem- I know you all have been) you can now purchase an online PDF version. You know, so you can Kindle it up or read it on your IPad for all you fancy pants out there. Just follow this link:

Eulogies For Fireflies by Megan Ann Ward

And now I will use all of the hippie mind control tricks I learned while living in BC to get you go there.

And done. Yippee! Enjoy the spring sunshine. Oh, and I know its mating season but please ya'll- be safe out there!

Welcoming the Sunshine

Dear friends, family and strangers;

I have a huge announcement to make. It feels like I've been waiting for this moment for so long that I don't know how to contain my excitement. This is a big deal and affects my entire life. So here it is:

ITS SPRING!

You thought it was going to be a pregnancy announcement or engagement didn't you? Sucker. But seriously, the sun is actually shining warmth all over the city, the snow is almost completely gone and I pulled my jean jacket out of the closet. I could not be happier to see the dreadful winter days leave. I've been sleeping with all my windows open for two days and smelling fresh air upon awakening is paramount to my sanity. I turned my heat off completely. And the best thing about all of this- bike season is here!

Okay, now on another exciting note. My new book of poetry and short stories is almost completely done, we finished the layout and editing yesterday. It's getting sent to the printer next week and in two or three weeks I will get a box of books at my doorstep. I haven't put together a book since 2010 and this one has alot more content than Sunsets for Daydreamers did. I included an exerpt from a novella I'm currently writing called Under The Blue Lights and there's a ton of poetry.

The book launch is going to happen at BBAM! Gallery (Lionel-Groux Metro) on Saturday April 27th. I'm hoping to book a couple of musicians I know and have a laid back party. I want to celebrate the people that continue to inspire me to write despite all of the pressure to stop and live a "normal" 9-5 life. It's a party to acknowledge the communities that keep us strong, that have kept me strong in the last two years. For those who know me, you know that I've been fighting a bit of an uphill battle with mental health and emotional sanity. I have been very tempted to stop writing completely, and I had given up at points. Becoming dissillusioned with poetry competition last fall left me not knowing what direction to take next. But I've discovered that although I love poetry and I will always write it, I also want to write fiction.

I took it as a sign to expand my creative world. So this is what I'm doing. I have taken a step back from going to poetry events, from competition and even from performing since last October. I want to fall in love with poetry again, instead of seeing it with the resentment and boredom someone might look at a lover they've had for 30 years. I want to feel the awe and emotional connection to poets I had when I first found spoken word. This break has been good for me to find my footing and examine what I want to do next.

This May, I'm heading out West for another tour. Starting in Saskatoon then to Edmonton, Nelson, Vancouver, Victoria and Calgary. It's been months since I performed and I'm excited to get back on stage, to connect with the people that make the poetry communities in those cities thrive. I'll also be getting some downtime at home in Victoria to be with the ocean and the people I love. I really like Montreal, but damn do I miss the ocean.

I'm so grateful that this is my life. I'm grateful to have the opportunity to travel within Canada and meet other artists, to have full time employment and bosses that will allow me to follow my dreams. Writing might sometimes seem like a dead end passion, like there's never going to be a time when I can support myself with this art but it's still worth pursuing. Because in the end we have to do what makes us happy or we wither like neglected house plants. I am not ready to give up.

If you'd like to support my writing by pre-orderering my new book Eulogies for Fireflies please send an email to emm.ann.ward@gmail.com with your contact information and address along with an e-transfer of $10.

Here is a video poem I made called "Steps in Learning to Feel Human Again".

The Other S Word

Well, here we are again.

Another month, another inch closer to the time of year when the sun actually shines and you don't have to melt your hands over a heater after a 5 minute walk to the corner store. Thank the proverbial gods, because my bike is lonely and my feet are tired of being wet and cold. I know I live in Canada and everyone is sick of hearing everyone else whine about how cold it is- but honestly, there are days when this shit is just plain unliveable. I am not a fan.

But that's not why I'm writing today. I want to talk about something that pervades society at large, from queer and lesbian settings to your atypical straight dorm room bro's to progressive communities: Slut shaming.

Wikipedia says: "Slut shaming (also hyphenated, as slut-shaming) is defined as the act of making someone, usually a woman, feel guilty or inferior, for engaging in certain sexual behaviors that violate traditional gender expectations. These include, depending on culture, having a large number of sex partners, having sexual relations outside marriage, having casual sexual relations, or acting or dressing in a way that is deemed excessively sexual. This is often done by name calling (often using the word "slut" itself) as well as covert shaming."

First I would like to state that there are many great ways to insult a person who is being rude/manipulative/unfriendly/backstabbing or any number of other things which would make you want to call that person out. If male-identified, some of the most common ones are: asshole, jerk, douchebag, prick etc. Now, think about what you would call someone who is displaying the same behaviours but happens to be female-indentified. Chances are what comes to mind are: bitch, slut, cunt or some version of all three.

'Slut' seems to be an acceptable insult even when the person being insulted has not engaged in promiscuous sexual activities. I'm not saying 'bitch' or 'cunt' (although it is one of my favourite words- see "Reclaiming Cunt- The Vagina Diaries") are any better or worse but for the purpose of this blog post we will save them for another day. Slut is considered to be one of the worst things you can call a female bodied person. It is meant in its essence to shame that person. There is no other purpose for this term, whereas 'bitch' can mean aggressive, mean, misleading etc. The purpose of the word 'slut' is to tell that person that they are to be judged solely on their sexual endeavours, and if you were raised as a female then you were likely taught that a sexual eagerness or appetite is shameful. Its the classic prude/whore or mother mary/ mary magdalene dynamic.

We are told to be sexual objects while never admitting or succumbing to our sexual desires. The media tells us we are supposed to be sexy to inspire both lust and jealousy from our peers while paradoxically being the humble virgins. Boys are taught that if a girl sleeps with you then she is not respectable, but if a girl makes you wait she is a tease.

So we are all taught to have a universal hatred of the woman who freely enjoys her own sexuality, whether this means experimenting with a primary partner or having multiple partners without the customary shame we are supposed to feel. The 'slut' is less hated when she feels remorse for her actions and her sexuality. Those of us are not repentant and feel no remorse for freely pursuing our desires are put into the 'slut' box and considered less than.

Now, noone says this right out. It manifests itself in a myriade of ways every single day, in different contexts. From referencing women who choose to wear revealing clothing to buying into the porn industry, to my straight male friends talking about how so and so is such a slut but she's so hot (at the same time), to my own acceptance and claim of the term. I've called myself a slut and challenged anyone to tell me it's a bad thing.

I have spent my whole life living with the shame of being female and the things I was taught. At some point, I decided that I was not going to shame myself for following my desires. I am a responsible, safe, adult woman who enjoys sex. I no longer feel shame over this. I am also without a primary partner so I suppose you could call me promiscuous, but as long as my actions are not harming myself or anyone else I choose to go with my gut feeling. If I feel safe, respected and I am attracted to the other person than I am not going to deny myself what could be a great experience with another human.

Some friends tell me this may be why I am still single- because I sometimes sleep with someone on the first date. Or because I sometimes have multiple lovers. According to most "dating experts" (as if there is such a thing), this is a huge no no. I disagree- I believe the reason I am still single is that I have not found someone I connect with strongly enough to make a commitment to. Regardless of whether I sleep with women, men or anyone in between, I haven't yet found someone I could see myself sharing my life with. I have though met many people whom I have shared intense nights/weekends/weeks/months with, to the satisfaction of both of us. Noone was harmed, precautions were taken, and in the end everyone walked away with a smile.

You want to call me a slut right now, don't you? Well, go ahead. But know that when you do so, you are harming yourself by pressuring me to deny my sexual nature. In my opinion, the more we all just accept our own sexuality and open the hell up from these retro 1950s religious ideals, the better the world will become. Of course, this is a very simplified blog post and the entire slut shaming contruct would take me hours to type- but I hope I've made my point.

Now, can we all just act like grown ups and stop calling women who love sex sluts?

Just Another Feminist Rant

Happy New Year folks! I hope your holidays weren't too painfully filled with family and your NYE was safe.

If you think you could indulge me here, and as you're reading this right now I'd assume the answer is yes, because I'm about to go on a rant.

This morning I was going through a music blog that a friend recommended to me for some new bands and artists to listen to. I love discovering new music but I tend to get stuck inside my same old playlist so I try my best to actively seek out new sounds I enjoy. As far as music goes, I seem to have gotten pigeon holed in a certain sound. Years ago I found what I liked and I've kind of stuck to similar things since. I venture outside of it, but I always go back to the same aesthetic. So for me finding new styles of music that I enjoy equally is a big deal and finding people who can recommend new music is key.

So I'm reading and listening to this blog. I like a fair bit of it, I'm grooving, happy that I'm getting some exposure to artists I would've never otherwise heard. It's a great start to my day and I'm looking forward to plugging some of this into my ears when I head out in the busy slushy streets of Montreal later today.

And then I get up to get coffee and it hits me. Through three pages of this blog, there is not a single female identified artist. One band has a female singer, but there isn't a solo female artist or band. And my insides instantly go GGGRRRRRR.

I understand that this blog is written by a cisman. I understand that from his perspective this is just the music he enjoys and feels like sharing. It's not him neccessarily that makes me so irate. Its the entire entertainment industry. Its the lack of movies that pass the Bechdel Test (If you don't know what this is see: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bechdel_test). It's the fact that so often music written and performed by women is put into the Lilith Fair category and dismissed as something best left for the folkies. Or it's packaged and sold to the masses as airy, light, sexy dance club hits. Anyone who thinks music is no longer a boy's club need look no further than a magazine stand, radio, music blog or their local venues.

How many female identified fronted bands, solo artists or MC's do you see headlining shows? Look at the posters on the street. Check the festival lineups.

Most of all, DO NOT try to tell me that there are just less women making music. That is simply not the truth. There are women everywhere making incredible music and pushing boundaries. When a woman walks into the room and sits behind a drum kit, watch the faces of the people in the crowd. You will see more sceptisism and looks of "I wonder if this chick can actually play" then you would if a man sat behind the same kit.

I am aching for the day when women aren't cornered into only playing at womyn's festivals. So here's something you can do: go to local shows where women are showcasing. Buy the albums. If you're a musician and you know women trying to push their way into the scene, book them. Don't treat them as less than, don't instantly roll your eyes at 'chick rock' unless you want us to treat your 'cock rock' in the same manner.

If you disagree with me- show me that I'm wrong. Give me 5 local bands or artists that you love that are getting bookings, reviews and headlining shows with their male counterparts. Because I would love to go to a show and not only see a bunch of men rocking out (regardless of how awesome they are). If I go to a show where 3 bands are playing and not a female on stage in sight, I consider that a pity.

And if you're a reviewer, make sure there is AT LEAST one review of female musicians somewhere in your list of 'Best of 2012', because women are doing incredible things in the world of music. And that deserves recognition too.

-End Rant-

Here's an awesome track from Slutever, because they kick some ass.

Great Expectations

It's been awhile. How was Christmas for ya'll? Mine was just dandy, with my mother and my best friend occupying my home, complete with turkey dinner and present opening on Christmas day. I went to midnight mass with some friends on the 24th at the Basicalla downtown and it was beautiful. I missed my grandmother a whole bunch but got some pictures of her that my mother brought with her from Alberta. I don't think I've ever had such a picture perfect holiday. It was the first in a long time with my mother, and it was good. That said, I'm thrilled to have my quiet home to myself again.

Life goes back to normal on Monday. But for now I'm enjoying the 45+ cm is snow that dumped in Montreal yesterday and relaxing in coffee shops.

New Years Eve is coming up and I don't think there is a holiday I enjoy less (except maybe V-day). It's mostly due to the heedy expectations the evening brings. Just think about how many romantic comedies arrive at their happy ending at a New Years Eve gala. Off the top of my head: When Harry Met Sally and... er, well you get my drift. The pressure of being at the right place in the right attire at the stroke of midnight holds so much hype. I've had some good times on Nye for sure but never have I experienced the ultimate magic that the movies and television portray. But then again isn't that the way it always is? We seem to be fed these grandiose expectations of moments by the media that never materialise in real life and so we find ourselves perpetually disappointed. This applies to all holidays, in particular Christmas, New Years Eve and of course the dreaded Valentines Day.

I'll admit I'm a sucker for it all. I have a soft spot for romantic idealism, things like the big gesture and the kiss at the perfect moment. Maybe I've watched too many rom-coms (which, if you know me at all, is very likely. I have an aversion to horror and thrillers, ok. Don't judge me.) but I get all worked up about these days. Still, the older I get the less I believe in happy endings, even if I'd like to. Reality has a way of creeping in and clubbing that idealism like a tiny baby seal (too soon?). I no longer believe that the person who doesn't call me is just too busy but really does like me. I no longer fantasize about running into my ex when I look so amazing that they suddenly realize they made a huge mistake and beg for another chance. Rejection might be tough to swallow but tougher still is constant disappointment. I'd rather take the hit to my ego and move on than pretend I'm going to get a movie worthy ending.

The truth is this: NYE is just another night. Don't spend more money than you can afford on a new dress or shirt, don't sweat it if you don't have a date to the party, and most of all leave when you're tired. Don't stay at the party until four AM waiting for the miracle to happen. You might only get a bad headache and a day in bed for your trouble. Dance when you want to, go where you want to (even if it's not the 'coolest' place to be) and enjoy your friends. I know that's what I'm gonna do, anyway. This year I'm going to leave the expectations to my dream world and take the night for exactly what it is; another night. Oh, and party my face off sober style because that's how I roll.

Dance floor, here I come. Party safe everyone.

Here's something fun to listen to/ watch while you wait for the new year:

Thin Lines- A Question of Health

Happy Friday afternoon everyone.

Thanks to American's celebrating the colonization of native land this week, I'm off work today. I guess that's the bonus of working for a company who's clientele is mainly American. We have to work on Canadian holidays, but we get time off when everyone else is finishing out their 9-5 week. 

I'm not going to go on a rant about how sick celebrating "Thanksgiving" is, I'll save that for another time.

Today I want to talk about health. 

See, the thing is, I think I have a very blurry idea of what being "healthy" means. I know the old 'an apple a day keeps the doctor away' adage, but what does that really mean nowadays when even apples contain mass amounts of chemicals? Yes, buy organic. Yes, buy local. I know these things, and even on my wire thin budget I do try. My biggest problem is that I don't put effort into cooking, ever.

I live alone and frankly cooking for one is a drag. When I get home from work I'm tired. I don't want to spend an hour chopping and stirring and waiting. Its the waiting that drives me crazy. So I go for quick. Or sometimes I don't eat anything at all at night. Then theres the fact that I smoke like crazy and I drink way too much coffee. I probably don't get enough water or vitamins or iron. I get sick alot, from stomach aches to flu's to other random ailments that make no sense. I lose my voice. I walk alot and in the summer I bike everywhere, but in the winter its harder to get exercise. I recently joined an indoor soccer team and we had our first game on Wednesday. I nearly fainted within the first five minutes.

I remember a time when I had boundless energy and was fit. Hell, two summers ago I was a roofer for five months. I was ripped! My muscles were crazy, and I ate more than I think I've ever eaten in my life. Now I work a desk job in an office. My old eating habits have returned, times a hundred.

And heres the honest to god truth: I've struggled with eating issues since I was thirteen. Its come and gone and come back in many different forms over the years. Now I'm all grown up. I eat one meal a day, sometimes only a small one and usually at work because people would notice if I didn't. The people at work actually joke about how much I eat and how its crazy that I'm so small considering what I consume. What they don't know is that I don't eat when I'm not there. What they don't know is that I constantly obsess about what I've consumed, how much I'm consuming, how small I am. I feed on it when people tell me how thin I'm looking, even if its with a tone of concern. In my twisted brain it means I'm doing something right.

I know this is the reason I get sick so often. I know that I am not healthy. I know this and so much more and yet it does nothing to change the behaviour and the thinking.

So here's my question for you guys: What do healthy habits look like to you? What do you do to take good care of your body? What do your eating habits look like?

I'm looking to get some perspective.

Lists of vitamins and supplements that help you are welcomed.

Easy recipes are welcomed.

If you've battled this, suggestions of things you've done to overcome it are doubly welcomed.

This is  Sonya Renee performing her poem "The Body Is Not An Apology".

The End Could Possibly, Maybe, Be Near

Hey guys.

So, there's alot to talk about tonight. I've missed a whole bunch of weeks, and a whole genetically modified super size bushel of things have happened in that time.

Let's start with right this minute before going into the past.

There's a super storm hurricane rocking the east coast of the U.S. Have you heard about this thing?! There calling it Frankenstorm because its basically a hurricane from the tropics mixed with a crazy storm from the north all whipped together with a full moon (which causes higher than usual tides on its own). It has shut down and evacuated huge parts of the eastern seaboard, including New York. The friggin' New York Stock Exchange is shutting down, and you know what it means when the big guys decide not to make money off of everyone else's backs for a day dont'cha? It means they're too scared to make money. And for those greedy fuckers, thats basically the equivalent of a cold day in hell. Which means we're all in for some crazy shit.

Montreal isn't expected to get the worst of it, only some 90km winds and massive rain. Yes. I said only 90km winds. Because you know what they're calling for in some parts of Southern Ontario near the lakes? 115km winds. Holy crap. Thats enough to blow down trees, lift over cars, and throw your daschund to the moon. ( Okay, maybe those last two were exaggerations but you get my drift. Get it- drift! ha.)

Now, I'm not making light of a very serious situation. Quite the opposite. I'm just coming to terms with how big they're saying this storm is. You know some folks at my office today hadn't even heard about it?! They had no idea what was happening. When I mentioned it they freaked out a little. I mean come on people! Listen to the radio or a news blog or sooooomething.

Because if you've been paying attention lately you'll also have noticed that big earthquakes are happening nearly everyday, everywhere in the world. Even coastal BC had a 7.7 earthquake on Saturday, the largest on record since 1949. Thats crazy. They're still feeling aftershocks from it. My friend in Costa Rica said they had a big one last week, Quebec had one earlier this month.

Now, I'm not one for conspiracy theories and superstition. Not at all. I tend to be very skeptical of everything, not just religion and fairy tales. But honestly, it kinda feels like 2012 might be happening. Freak storms, massive earthquakes and financial bankruptcy across the globe are happening so close together that it honestly feels like mother nature is laughing at us. And she's chuckling and smirking in that way you do when you're arm wrestling someone, only giving it half your strength and they're already sweating and breathing heavily. You know you're going to win, and you figure why not just let them struggle for a little while.

It kinda feels like mother nature is taunting us, knowing that at any moment she could just wipe us out like a kid with a bleach bottle in front of an ant hill. And all the while, we kind of know we deserve it.

And you know, we do deserve it. I'm just wondering if I should spend all my money on a trip somewhere before it all ends.

Heres a poem by my dear friend Jillian Christmas who currently resides in Vancouver. The last line slays me, and all this talk of natural disaster made me think of it.

Good news/ Bad news

Well holy crap.

Theres less than a week left until I fly off to Saskatoon for the Canadian Festival Of Spoken Word with the rest of the Montreal Slam Team. We've been prepping like crazy, and I think we're solid. We're ready. Its time for an intensive week of poetry, competition, old (and new) friends, and a little vacation. I'm excited to see all the poetry family from across the country come together. I think this year will be a great one. I like that Saskatoon is small, and we can walk everywhere we need to go (unlike last year in Toronto- which I've nicknamed the festival of taxi's). I'm really looking forward to this. Not to mention a week at home in Victoria with my people! Oh man. I need to lay on my waffle's (itsalongstoryi'lltellyouanothertime) couch and eat soup while hashing out all the gory details of the last year and a half. I can't wait to see them.

And I need a week of poetry. I need to be rejuvenated. I need to be on fire with passion and love for my people and my art.

I know, I'm emo. Whatever.

Because lately I feel like my life is at a stale mate. Its not terrible, don't get me wrong. I'm not complaining (too much) about my lot right now. It's alright. But still, creatively at least, I feel stagnant. Like my heart needs to be shocked alive again. It feels frozen, or at least lazy.
Yeah, maybe that's it, I have a lazy heart right now.

I'm not much liking it. So I'm hoping like hell a week of poetry will cure what ails me. Or at least remind me of why I do the things I do. Lately I've been thinking it isn't enough, to live like this for those moments when I get to do what I love. To quote Ani DiFranco; "It doesn't seem fair that I'm living for something I can't even define". She's talking about art, so I think it applies here.

To make matters worse; I lost my writing job today. Not because my work wasn't good, but because of cutbacks. Financial matters. They can't justify having two full time writers on staff, and I'm the newest edition so I'm the one to go. They've been letting people go left and right for a couple of weeks. Six people lost their jobs on Friday alone. Scary shit, man. And today was my turn. The company is keeping me on staff, but in a different capacity. I get to be a receptionist - jump for joy! Or not. 

I'm trying to be positive. At least I still have a job, a paycheck coming in and there are good people there that I sincerely like. I like that company so for now I'll do what I have to. But seriously- I thought things were really turning in my direction when I landed that position. I thought all the time working shitty jobs and praying like hell for something, anything where I could write for a living had finally paid off.

(my new panhandling face)

Guess I still have some more dues to pay. Unless you guys have some suggestions?! Anything? Keep in mind I live in a city where I'm not completely fluent in the local language. Options are limited.

This is why you should always have a back up plan. I really need to make one of those.

So whats your back up plan if things in your life ever go seriously awry? It can be anything, carreer-wise, relationship-wise, financially- anything. I need some inspiration. For a creative person, I can't seem to get creative with my own life. And words just aren't cutting it anymore, ya know? I need action.

Sorry, I don't have any poetry today. Here's a song I didn't write by an artist I really like.

Red pill/ Blue pill

Fall. What a season.

Autumn makes me nostalgic. It makes me miss faces I haven't seen in years and old familiar places. It makes me nest like an animal going into hibernation. Fall is a season to get your affairs in order before winter sets in and its time to buckle down through the parkas and the almost frostbitten toes.

I am getting my affairs in order, folks. 

Here's a little story;

When I was 16 I was diagnosed with acute Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. This basically runs the gamut as far as "symptoms" are concerned; depression, anxiety, self harm, suicide attempts, eating disorder, flashbacks and dissasociation. I had them all. I was in need of serious help and so I was placed in a mental health facility for youth for a long time. I don't remember exactly, but it was almost 10 months I believe. Before that, I had spent a month in an adult ward at a different hospital waiting to be transferred. So in total it was about a year. This all happened in the fall.

I was on medication already for depression and the doctors spent that year figuring out the perfect cocktail to at least keep me stable. I hated it. I hated the institution and the doctors telling me that I needed to talk. I didn't want to talk, not to them at least. I had never talked to anyone about anything except for my best friend K. I was utterly beligerent and defiant as a teenager who certainly didn't trust anyone. I had good reason not to trust anyone.

When I left there, I stayed on my meds and did good for a little while. Then I fell harder into drugs and drinking. That had always been my fix, my cure. As far as I was concerned, the doctors and shrinks and social workers and counsellors could go to hell. I was going to do things my way, period.

Somehow, I think I stayed on my meds though. I kept taking them.

And then I sobered up. I got clean and two years after I decided that I had more tools to deal with life and came off all the medication.

Its been four years since then. I have mostly fought the overwhelming highs and lows to keep my life somewhat manageable. I have convinced myself that I am fine, that whatever happens I can deal with it. I have been adament, even through bitter lows and really bad decisions while I am on "ups", about never going back on medication. It's one of the accomplishments I am most proud of, to be free of these little pills that the doctors told me I might always need to take.

And then my bubble burst last week. I had a moment of clarity and I was able to be honest with myself for the first time in a long time. I am not ok and my emotions are far from manageable. They haven't been in a long time. I have extreme mood swings. I can have a great day, be in a great mood (which is always more "ecstatic" and "excitable" than just a good mood) and then crash so hard that I want to go back to doing drugs and drinking just to escape this cycle. I do impulsive things. Sometimes dangerous, impulsive things. My compulsions when I am happy have led me to things which I don't recognize. I don't recognize my own behaviour, because they are things I wouldn't and don't want to do. But yet I do them, over and over and over.

So I went to a doctor and told her my history, told her what is happening now. I feel weak, scared, and ashamed. I know that these things are not my fault. I know that I need to surrender and admit my powerlessness over my mental health issues, at least as far as "managing" it on my own. I can't do this alone anymore. So I went back on medication and I'm feeling only the side effects. It takes a few weeks for these things to balance out. I hope it will. I'm so tired of this cycle, of this tornado of emotions I am constantly in. I want to have a relationship, I want to maintain consistent friendships, I want to not cry at work or feel so excited that my skin is crawling with anxious energy. I want to be able to to rest normally, instead of swinging back and forth between insomnia and sleeping 14 hrs a night.

I know its going to take more than medication. I know they're not magic pills. I've been refered to a psychiatrist for re-evaluation, since the last one was over 10 years ago. I'm looking into therapy and counselling. I feel like I am going down another mental health services rabbit hole.

Except this time I'm willing to talk. And willingness just might be the key.

All Work and No Play- Summer's Almost Over

A thought just occured to me as I'm sitting on my bed writing, recording, and rehearsing new poems in cut off shorts and a bathing suit top- summer is almost over!

I was shopping on Saturday and the thought of winter boots and a new coat occured to me. I am going to be needing this things soon. No more leaving the house in a tank top and not bringing a sweater. It's getting damn cold at night now, and layers are a must if I'm not coming home to change. Also, its getting dark around 8:30pm instead of 10pm.

May I just take a moment to say: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!

Oh hell no. It feels like summer just started. How is it already the end of August?! I mean, its not like I have to go back to school and have the dreadfull feeling of classrooms and textbooks ahead. I pretty much sit in an office from nine to five all year round (yes, I know you're all thinking about how exciting and glamorous my life sounds right now). But there's just something so nostalgic about summer. It signifies alot of skin, parties, festivals and opportunities to go skinny dipping with that person you've had a crush on all winter long. Problem is, I feel like I didn't really take full advantage of the season this year. Probably because I have to wake up at 7am every morning and the thought of being out past 10pm makes me wanna vomit tired chunks of last nights optimism. I know that if I stay out late, tomorrow will be terrible. Its sacrificing an entire day where I feel less than human for a night that could possibly be epic.

Ya'll, I think I'm getting old because I started choosing having good, alert, human days instead of partying all night. This is definitely a sign that I am on a downhill slope to retirement homes and dinner at 4pm in front of a 20 year old episode of Wheel Of Fortune, right? I am not pleased by this.

As hard as I try though, the party just doesn't look that great to me anymore. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I don't drink and I don't do drugs (and no- I don't smoke weed, despite what my appearance may lead you to believe) so the bars aren't all that appealing.

And sure, I dance. I absolutely love to dance and I've got some damn fine moves if I don't say so myself. But you can't really dance in a crowded bar, or in a pub.

And yes, there are a TON of awesome shows and bands that I would give my left nipple (I'm rather fond of the right one) to go see. But they're expensive, and let's face it- nine to five job or not, I'm broke. I can't sacrifice a week's worth of food anymore to go see a show. Five years ago I wouldn't have hesitated but not anymore.

Maybe I'm becoming responsible. Which by the way is basically the word adults use to mean boring and safe. But I'm not going to lie, it kind of feels good. In a "I take care of myself and my loved ones" kind of way. That comes with a certain kind of pride that I'm not willing to trade for a killer show or a sleazy hook up (also, hook ups are just boring and generally underwhelming in comparison to actually knowing someone and sleeping with them).

So that sums up my thoughts tonight. I'm boring, winter is coming, and I have a hell of alot of work to do in preparation for CFSW in October. Oh, and once I figure out how to how to make a video poem from pictures, I'm going to upload a new recording of a brand new poem! Yay new poems!

Here's a link to the YouTube Channel, since Blogger is being a douche and won't let me put it straight on this post. By the way, my channel is emmannward. Follow me!

Don't get too depressed about the incoming chill. I'm sure we have a few good weeks left, at the very least. Play safe.

Tomorrow Means Another Year Has Passed

Guess what?! Tomorrow is my birthday. Which means that another year has passed.

I dont know about you guys, but every year on the date of my birth I mentally jump up and down and silently yell "I survived another year!". In retrospect, that sounds kinda weird. But I do it because hell, that's an accomplishment in itself. When I was younger I did not think I would live past maybe twenty-three or twenty-four, and I'm well passed that now.

It's also a little time to reflect. What was I doing this time last year? How has this year changed me for better or worse?

And this year was a doozy. 

Last year on this day I had just arrived in Quebec four days earlier and I was heading down to the city from my family's place up in St.Hippolyte to celebrate and start my life in Montreal. I went to a Short Shorts party with the person who had alot of influence in my cross country move and whom believed I was in love with at the time (that didn't work out so well). I was grieving my grandmother, who died a week before I made it home. I was ecstatic, excited, terrified, overwhelmed and already homesick for Victoria.

And I only knew two people in this city. 

When I came here I didn't have much of a plan. I had no job lined up, an apartment to sublet for one month but otherwise no permanent living situation and very very little money. I just knew I wanted to come here and hoped for the best.

It did not start off well. That person I was dating ended things two weeks after I got here (shortly after attending my grandmother's funeral with me). I got a job in a diaper factory/ warehouse that only paid $10/hour and I got a crappy apartment that smelled terrible and whose only view was of a dirty white wall. It got no sunlight at all and I knew I had to live there at least for the duration of winter. But in the tiny window between arriving and when the snow started falling I managed to make some connections, a handful of awesome people that I was comfortable with. I am ever so grateful for that, at least.

Oh and then winter came.

Cold as balls-slush and snow-dark at 4pm-horribly lonely winter. It is a terrible season to be living alone in a new city with a broken heart making minimum wage. But again, those people I met and continued to meet were like a buoy in the middle of the ocean during a storm. There were Thanksgiving potlucks, ugly sweater parties, orphan Christmas dinners, and lots of good talks over Vietnamese Pho. And then in the thick of January's frost bite, my eldest brother died of cancer and my friend overdosed. There was alot of death this winter. A trip to Calgary and back. Alot of processing and mixed emotions, and more loneliness than you can shake a stick at.

Slowly but surely though, the light came. I got a new job, albeit telemarketing but still with much better pay. A better paycheck takes a bit of weight off your shoulders, at least on grocery day when you've finally got more than $20 with which to feed yourself for two weeks. Relief! I moved apartments to what I would call my ideal Montreal apartment. It gets sunshine! I wake up with it beaming on my face and can sit on one of two balconies (either facing the street to people watch or over looking my landlords beautiful backyard garden and Koi pond) to drink my morning coffee!

I've made more friends and connections and I know my way around now too. Last night my friend and I were at a show in middle-of-butt-fuck-nowhere and I got us back to a metro without looking at my GPS! Hell yeah! I'm a Montrealer now!

And most recently, I got work as a full time writer. I can't even describe to you the awe of this. No more phone sales! No more crappy retail! I actually get to use whatever talent I have and work in a creative environment. Holy-crap-hello-thing-I-never-thought-possible.

So that's the recap. I'm another year older, and even though it doesn't feel like it some days- I hope I'm a year wiser. I know that people are what is important, travelling through the days with other human beings and the connections we make with each other are what will save my ass everytime. Being a loving, caring person and offering solace to others. Lending an ear, an hour, or a kind smile in passing.

I learned that we're not here for very long and its the impact we make as we go that will always be remembered. I am so, so grateful to have had so many beautiful souls put in my path this year (you know who you are). Here's to another year and whatever may come.

Now, let's eat cake! xo.

We All Want What We Can't Have

Foreword; I wrote this post a couple of weeks ago but I didn't publish it until right now. Things have gotten a little better and I feel like I can breathe a little easier today. Still, everything I wrote holds true...

So I've been very neglectful. I didn't realize it had been so long until I looked here on Sunday. This blog is really just a symptom of my life- chaotic but somewhat organized, busy and forgetful and filled with uncertain purpose that changes on a daily basis. And yes, lately alot of things in my world have been neglected.

I've had a houseguest, and there's another one coming tomorrow morning (which I am incredibly excited about holyshitluckyiscomingtomontreal!!), I've been stressing about Slam Team responsibilities and my job is sucking the life out of me. *(since the writing of this post I have gotten a new position at work- as a writer! I start on Monday and I'm very excited)

Plus, I kind of went off the deep end a little while ago.

I seem to be falling apart alot lately. Which is ok. I give myself permission (sometimes) to do this, and I think it's important. I need to acknowledge that I don't have everything together all of the time, and the expectation that I should is completely unrealistic. Noone has it all together. I hope I never do because hell, I'd probably get bored. And I do! I get bored when things are good and I create chaos because that's my natural habitat. Give me a good crisis and I'll thrive. Your partner leave you, your house burnt down and you lost your job? No problem, lets get fixin'. Got hit by a car and can't leave your house because you're bed bound in a full body cast? Easy! I'll make a schedule of everyone we know to take care of you 24/7. I really truly thought crisis management might be a good career for me at one point. But it would probably take 20 or 30 years off my life in the end. Living in that perpetual high and taking care of everyone is just too much of a drug for me. So I seem to create these things in my own life.

I texted a good friend who has known me a very long time a few days ago to ask her simply; "have I always been a trainwreck?" She didn't respond for awhile. Her answer? "You've had a rough go at life, give yourself a break."

The truth is that lately I can't seem to help but make messes everywhere I go. I am a bulldozer. Or you know, a small child who screams for what they want and then gets it but quickly loses interest.

Isn't it interesting that in a time of instant gratification and endless access to information that nothing seems to last? Everything is fleeting, we read something and then instantly forget it. Children are being diagnosed with ADD because we are blaming them for the constant distractions that we ourselves created. There are no constants, at least in my life. A good example is a home, the place you grew up. Some people can point to that place and say "this is where I am from, this is my home". But alot of us didn't grow up like that. I have no compass from which to say which direction is due north, morally or socially.

So I'm always learning to navigate my inner world as well as my outer world. There are alot of things I am not capable of and I'm learning those limitations. There are others that I hope to be someday capable of but I have alot of work to do to get there.

And there are just some things that make me sad, that hurt my heart. Actions that I've taken and regrets I have. I know they say "no regrets" and "what's done is done" but I'm human and I feel remorse. I also feel shame, guilt and so many other things. I give myself permission to feel these things and then choose to change. To do better, to learn and seek guidance. I'll never figure it all out, and I'm certain of that. But maybe I can live one day without this weight on my chest.

Here's a poem I wrote awhile ago about feeling disconnected from body, heart, and mind.

Her Father's Daughter

She knows he only says he misses her

Because it’s what you’re supposed to say

She know that it doesn’t mean a thing.

These days

She prays for the willingness to care

what’s going on in his world

But like the blue moon she missed

The last time it came around

This, too, eludes her.

There is nothing but tiny strands of DNA

And a potential blood donor status

Between them.

This is not a Father’s Day greeting card

There is no mug

No tool set.

There is only the clicking sound

Of another calendar year passing

And the freckles that remind her

What bitterness tastes like  

These days

She prays that she is not her father’s daughter

With shaking hands

And a computer screen

At two a.m

In the basement

Trying to stay quiet

When her body has become a war crime

She committed against herself

And all her skin can see

Are the strange body parts

Of unknown men

Stained across the sheets

Still, she feels nothing.

Her mechanism for love has failed.

Sex as sport and leisure

Is not sustainable

When you cease to feel connection

With the sweat on an anonymous eyebrow

Or the person who tells you they love you.

Because still, you feel

That it means nothing

When they say

I miss you.