Hey #Toronto it’s snowing! (The audio on this is the best.)
“So, you don’t get into your first choice of college,” said visiting author and coach Rachel Simmons at a workshop for Grade 10-12s yesterday, having spoken about how we sometimes exaggerate, “what’s your reaction?”.
“I’m never going to college,” came a reply.
“I’m so stupid,” was another.
‘I hear you, sisters!’ I thought, sitting in the balcony taking photos for the school website, all too aware that I, almost without fail, go to pieces at the first sign of a setback.
Rachel had been in the school for two days presenting to the middle and upper school on developing skills, expressing, communicating, forming relationships, handling mistakes… all the good stuff. The beautiful thing was it wasn’t presented in an overly polished, faux inspirational, “we’re in this together YOU GUYS!” way. It was humorous, relatable, and just real chillaxed. And it applied to pretty much everyone.
“People face a setback, start crying, and say it’s because I care so much,” she said. But if we care so much, she explained, we have to do something about it. We can’t just break down. We have to think and plan and do.
I drank it in, I was inspired, I went home and told B all about it and thought I could drag myself out of my funk, I’ve learnt something, I’m feeling hopeful.
Fast forward to last night.
“I have nothing,” I wept, sadly, in the car on my way home from my Web Design evening course (irony unobserved).
I move out of my apartment at the end of the month. I had thought it was a great idea to stay with B’s parents for the first two weeks of December before I go back to England for the last two weeks, and then lining up a place for January. $800 savings, I remember being the crux my logic, sweet.
As it happens, B is going away for the first week of December. And of the two friends I’d ask to stay with, one is away too, and the other is moving herself.
“I just feel like I’ve been here for a year and a half and I have nothing,” I continued my pity party. “I have no one to stay with, I have no apartment, a temporary visa.”
“You have a bed,” B offered, unhelpfully. I shot him a scornful look.
Just a day before I’d been so full of motivation and hope and – let’s face it – peppiness. And yet there I was again, one setback and I was sobbing woefully, visions of a bleak future stretched ahead of me, friendless and alone in a bitterly cold foreign land, no family, no apartment, nobody loves me and whydoIbothertogetoutofbed. Blub.
I can laugh now, because I know I can be ridiculous sometimes, but in the moment everything is terrible.
Dragging myself out of bed is becoming increasingly galling. Firstly, I am tired, secondly, I am cold. I stand in the shower thinking I have nothing to wear, I hate my hair, I’m about to embark upon the same day I’ve lived every day for a year. My clothes are uncomfortable and falling apart. I can’t fit in my trousers and everything I own has a label in some irritatingly inopportune place. I am putting on weight. Everyone I know is more successful than me. I am failing as a human being. What is the point of my life.
The presentation at school was inspiring, but I can’t have expected to walk out of there transformed into a ray of sunshine, surrounded by woodland creatures and butterflies, happy just to be. These things take work.
And as Britney says, you better work, bitch. Now get to work, bitch!
Roast dinner of a Sunday practicing for England next month.
I’m unsure as to how I’ve lived here so long and not known, but it turns out squash, the drink, is not a thing in Canada.
"Is there anything you need me to pick up?" Michael asked on his way out the door on Sunday morning.
After a night of throwing back jaeger bombs and singing 90s pop songs at karaoke to celebrate the birthday of a fabulous friend, I was thirsty. Damn thirsty. And also, as ever, in a 90s mood, the halcyon days of my childhood.
The previous day, my now ex-housemate had liberated all of her things from the apartment, meaning we didn’t have a water filter. We also only have one chair and I’ve been demoted to sitting on a yoga mat, but the lack of filtered water was my main concern at that point.
"Some squash please," came my reply, "orange. Or summer fruits."
There was no reply, but I thought nothing of it. It was too early on Sunday to think anything of anything.
Michael didn’t pick up orange squash as per my request. As it turns out, this is lucky, because he thought I meant a squash, like those miniature pumpkins.
In Metro that afternoon I sought squash myself, to try and prove it wasn’t a strange request. To my surprise, there was no squash. Squash isn’t a thing here.
Oh Canada, still brimming with surprises.
Still learning Canadian. #peachesandcream #itscorn
Blooming lovely time at work today.
Anyway, happy Halloween! I’m not doing anything because I have no money and no friends at any rate, and I’m not watching anything scary because I will get scared and the cat scares me, so… happy any other day!
Me, in an email to mum this time last year.
Challenging my brother to a seasonal pun-off; mistake. Some highlights:
This is almost tombuch. Make no bones about it, life will never zombie the same.
- I mean, not all of mine were good, but at lEaster didn’t embarrass myself. In challenging me to a pun off, you really Fawksed up, Guy.
It must drive you batty, being beaten by your own pumpkin. Then again, you never really stood a ghost of a chance.
When it comes to puns I think you’ll find I reign, dear.
This is Halloween.
Photo credit: kayleighannerees, except the one she’s in.