thoughts from 33,000 feet

Today I am grateful for:

• spending time by myself exploring a new neighborhood
• meeting new people that I find an easy and comfortable connection with
• friends who know me better than I give them credit for, and love me anyway
• sincerity (especially when it's least expected)
• having a sandal tan: proof that I'm not a crazy, albino loner andhave actually spent time in the sun this summer

I am on the way home from BC, weighed down with a small sense of impending doom (which seems dramatic, since going to work in the morning isn't nearly as horrible as I make it out to be). There is,however, something unappealing about being require to do something that I have no interest in doing, at a location that takes me far away from what I do want to be doing, at a time of the day that I would much rather be sleeping, with people who I don't particularly like(and some I have a hard time being civil to), all because I need to make 2000 dollars. It seems to me that there must be an easier way. And I mull over it too; I sit in bed and whine about having to get upin the morning. I get knots in my stomach when I think about having to spend another day of my life doing something that is boring. I knowthis about myself now – I absolutely hate being bored. This doesn't necessarily mean that I always have to be active. On the contrary, Ican happily spend half an hour, sitting quietly and reflecting, or an afternoon lying on a beach. I can waste away a day being quiet and inactive and self-absorbed, but when I'm FORCED to do something–anything- I immediately become resentful. I don't like traveling,because I'm not given a choice about sitting in one position for however many hours. I don't like school because I don't get to choose when I feel receptive to learning. And I don't like my job because I And I don't like my job because I feel a mixture of guilt and fear every time I dare to check my Gmailaccount to see if Steve has written to me yet. And yes, those emails are probably the only thing that keeps me alive, hour after hour at my desk doing nothing but answering the phone and filing mail and making envelope labels for people who are too lazy to do it for themselves.

But being in Toronto for the weekend made me feel really alive again.I felt like there were suddenly choices and opportunities and things to look forward to that I had never previously considered. I felt as though I could move to a little apartment in the Annex, and every day Iwould wake up not knowing if that day was going to be the day that my entire life changed. Every place I go could be where I end up meeting my life long best friend, where I could fall in love (or further in love, as the case may be), where I could make memories. It's cliché,but I love the idea of a fresh start. I'm excited about new furniture and new street names and a new route to class. I want new things to complain about and look forward to be and be anxious about at night-time before I fall asleep. Being in Toronto made me realize that growing up and getting closer to these huge goals that I've had for myself is a really exciting and fulfilling process. I feel like everything is finally just around the corner for me.

I know that the idea of Toronto is more romantic and carefree than the reality will be – I tend to create ideal scenarios in my mind and haven't been able to retrofit them to include reality. A summer in Kingston spending Saturday mornings at Chapters and walking the quiet,tree-lined streets at dusk with friends as we go out for a drink, working a restaurant job and making new friends, reading on the back porch and starting a garden turned into me living in a pig sty of a house with sticky floors and mould growing in the closet, not making enough money to meet rent, not having the time, energy or motivationto do fun things with friends and smelling like rotten tacos when I got home at night from work. I fled, for the ideal of Vancouver –rollerblading around the lake, grocery shopping with my mom andc ooking big, healthy meals, spending the weekends at the beach or downtown or on Vancouver Island. Reading, shopping, seeing theatre.What it has quickly turned into, however, is 50 hours a week of work, sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic in a car with no air conditioningfor two hours a day, sore feet, exhaustion, and packing little yogurts into my lunch bag every morning, day after day after day. I guess that my point is that I know Toronto isn't going to be the garden of eden that I probably am creating for myself in my head. But it becomes so easy to let go of that and settle into routine; easy to let the feeling that the whole world is out there collapse into the feeling that all there is are bills and work and laundry. I don't want to lose this excitement that I have – I need to make an effort to make not only mytime in grad school, but also make every day count for me. I want to explore, exercise, spend time with old friends and new ones, join a team, make my house feel like home, write in my journal, buy fresh cut flowers for myself once in a while. Because if I'm always looking forward to the next experience, fantasizing about how much better it will be than whatever it is that I am currently stuck in, than I'm going to end up 60 years old, and realize that I forgot to enjoy life.Maybe keeping this in mind will help me to enjoy my last 4 weeks in Vancouver, too – even with the 10 hours of commuting :D

This has turned into more of a ramble than I had originally intended.Still, I think it's good for me to be writing again. I have a lot of discourse and dialogue about a lot of topics that I think will be well worth exploring in the next few weeks. Sorry if I bored you with this one tonight. Something lighter might be in order, tomorrow, if my day puts me in a good enough mood.