Category Archives: Life F.A.I.L.

by

It’s more than a noun.

Before I moved to Montreal, my whole inability to speak French was something that constantly weighed on my mind. In fact, it stressed me right the fuck out. Everyone would assure me that everything would be fine and I would get by and for arguments sake I have.

Although, not being able to speak the language coherently has it’s pitfalls of course. I’m really not gifted when it comes to languages. My grade nine French teacher can attest to that. In fact I’m pretty sure I only got the grade that I did just so that she wouldn’t have to deal with me again. Adult me can understand her frustration, teachers work hard and having a student who clearly didn’t give a shit obviously didn’t help. Needless to say, life was much different when I was 14.

Never, ever in a million years did I think that I would end up here.

It would have been much easier to take a course when I first moved here, except I ended up getting a job right away and well when you work in a kitchen; your schedule is so erratic that anything that requires you to have a set schedule is pretty much impossible most of the time.

So after my ex and I split and I started doing my own thing, I started to partake in a conversational French course that was offered at a local un-employment center in the neighbouring borough. It was a great course while I was actively participating in it, then I got sick with a hellish lung infection and ended up missing so many classes, I decided that there was no real point in going back for the time being.

Then just for the hell of it, I started taking a beginner class at a local college here. Except that’s not entirely cost effective at best (it was $250.00 per class and there’s 5 levels)–and- for it to be effective at all in a learning sense, you need to be consistent and keep at it. So last winter before my father passed away, I enrolled into the same class that was offered at the center that I had taken before. It was cost effective and I had the time. Then I lost my dad and trying to tackle a French course two weeks after loosing your dad is foolish at best. Yet, I thought that it was worth a shot. So I went to a few classes while struggling to deal with the loss of my dad and the ton of drama that came along with it.

Worst. Idea. Ever.

When you suffer from depression like I do, your short term memory is gone. You team that up with anxiety and just trying to keep it together for the couple of hours that you have for class. There were only a dozen of us in this class and participation is required. I hate being put on the spot and I struggled but I tried. I get very anxious and overwhelmed when I don’t understand something, which quickly turns to frustration and my mind becomes a giant cluster fuck. Than I feel really stupid. I’ve learned to recognize these signs and I try to offset them with internal rationale. It’s not so much that i’m a bad student, I just don’t do well at things I have to do, vs things I want to do.

Anyway- I got called out in class for something. I needed to figure out a noun for part of the conversation.

Imagine my horror when I could not for the life of me remember what a noun was.

The two guys sitting behind me were laughing, the teacher was looking at me with the most (understandably) incredulous look on his face. I felt like the proverbial deer caught in the headlights and my face burned bright and hot with the shame and embarrassment of my failure.

My mind was completely blank, I couldn’t formulate a thought to save my life and I don’t think I have ever been more mortified or anxious.

I was so ashamed and so embarrassed that I never went back.

Yes, I know that’s really over the top and extreme to some. However when you just lost your dad, you’re dealing with depression along with anxiety and a whole host of other things, it’s just a little too much. Even if you don’t fancy yourself to be much of a drama queen (I don’t). I felt stupid and worse yet I was (and still am) terrified that I would never get my mind back.

Depression robs you of so many things, your memory, your dignity and more. It’s defined as a mental illness; it does not just affect your mind. Depression eats at you on all levels, mind body and soul.

So I sacrificed my going back to school for computer graphics to take a level one French course (again). This class is full time for three months. I am terrified. That last incident is much too fresh in my memory and being that I cry a lot these days more often than not, I truly hope that I not only learn something and garner a much needed grasp on the language, but I also hope that I don’t have an anxiety induced meltdown and embarrass myself again.

I’m not one of those people who are OK with having public meltdowns. I am a very private person and I get very overwhelmed and shut down when I feel that people are invading my perceived personal space. I don’t care for pity and I don’t care to play the victim either, because I’m not. I’m just a person who has a whole lot of walls and I only plan to add windows when I’m good and ready to. It’s one of my biggest flaws; however I have always been this way. I wish people would accept that.

It’s not you; I can give you complete reassurance that it’s me and my very messy mind.

by

Tea, toast & tears.

It wasn’t enough to get a letter today from the government informing me that I apparently owe them $758.00 because they ‘re-assessed’ my taxes.  That’s not a huge deal because I have the T4’s to be backing up that bullshit claim.  That’s the one downside to doing your taxes online, you need not hand in your slips, but it’s a damn good thing that I hold onto these things because them ‘readjusting’ the amount of taxes I owe is ridiculous.  Evidently the people at revenue Canada can’t do math?  How do you just “decide” that I didn’t pay as much as I said I did?

There will be none of that thank you very f’ing much.

So I can just add that to the great big pile of stuff I just don’t care to deal with but can’t ignore…

Alas, this isn’t about that.

It’s about my dad. 

Back in June he was diagnosed with lung cancer and emphysema.  Before you put on your judge-y pants, my father quit smoking over 30 years ago so this disease?

Not just limited to smokers.

So there is no cure for emphysema and while my dad was able to kick cancer in the ass, it doesn’t change much.

In fact, it doesn’t change anything at all.

They figure that he’s had this disease for years and it went largely ignored because of our family history of having lousy lungs, so the time that we have is extra precious because we thought that we had more of it.  Something I think that we all take for granted.  Sadly most people don’t get to living until they realize that they’re dying.  We’re pretty candid in my family about pretty much everything and death is no exception.  As soon as the diagnosis was announced my parents made sure that everything was in order and my dad planned his funeral.  So all of his wishes are laid out and we know what he wants and we’ll be certain to make sure that we send him out the way he wants.

Aside from that, life is pretty normal more or less.  It’s always in the back of our minds because it’s not going anywhere, there’s no cure.  Emphysema slowly cuts off your air until you stop breathing.  It’s cruel and while it’s something I try not to think about too hard, I try to make the most of the time I DO have with my dad.  I’ve been trying to get a family picture done twice since I’ve been home because it will most likely be the last.  It never seems to work out and I wonder if it ever will.  I went home in July after I heard the news and Christmas was one of the best one’s my family has had in a long time, it was nice.  Life goes on as it should and while my dad puts on this front of false bravado, I know it’s a ruse.  He’s trying real hard to be brave but I know he’s scared and it breaks my heart because I can’t imagine dying in such an agonizing fashion.

Shit got real when I came home and my dad was outfitted with his oxygen supply.

It got even more real when I seen him at Christmas and he was complaining that he was gaining too much weight from the steroids to help him breathe and yet all the weight gain makes it more difficult to breathe.  Seeing how frustrated he was because he couldn’t catch a break and breathe like a regular person.

Today as I was sitting in class, I got a text from my mom.  Dad has a lung infection, he’s in the hospital.  You should call him.

All of these things take on a whole new meaning when you have emphysema.  So I called my dad, we tried to have random small talk, he asked me about school, listened to me bitch about what douche-bags the tax agency is and tried to be all nice and normal all the while ignoring the fact that you could hear hospital sounds in the background while they tried to find a place for him.  Tried to keep things light and airy when he said he’s trying to stay on this side of the sod (grass) a little longer.

I tried not to fall apart as my dad said I love you to me and heard him start to cry as we were hanging up.  That happens every time we talk now because neither of us knows if that’s the last time.

My father is dying a slow death and it fucking sucks. Part of me really wants this to just be over because the wait/wondering is brutal and scary and emotionally taxing.  I can’t even imagine how terrifying it is for him.  Yet part of me wants him to at least stick it out long enough for me to finish school so he can see me graduate from university.  It’s a really big deal for me and it would be extra special if he was there to witness it.  I know he’s already proud of me, but that’s not really the point.

I can’t handle the feels.

Thank God for Nick.  While tea and toast when I get home from school won’t make it all OK, his hugs are amazing and he doesn’t mind when I come home and fall into his arms as I ugly cry about the injustice of it all.

I just can’t even.

11-979eb4c35cd2d6141c63a4ec545410f7

by

Glass houses

A very long ass time ago Cher (yes I said Cher) had a hit song out called “if I could turn back time ” which is often what comes to mind when I say something along the lines of words are like weapons (Words are like weapons they wound sometimes).

Not entirely relevant to this post per se but a fun little fact just the same.

Anyhoo…

An interesting thing happened the other day and it was completely by chance.  It also goes to show you that some people no matter how ‘book smart’ they are, are really, really fucking stupid yo!

It happened a little something like this while we were waiting to meet with one of Nick’s friends from the dark ages high school:

Nick: Babe, I forgot my phone at home.

Me: Do you recall anyone’s phone number off the top of your head?

Nick: No, of course not. Blah blah blah…

Me: OK well lucky for you, I have data on my phone, i’ll just reply to the  e-mail so that everyone will have my cell number in case someone needs to get in touch with us.

Nick: Oh well in that case, check and see if so and so’s number is in there would you?  It should be in the e-mail that was sent out.  We can just call him and get M’s number from him.

Me: I’m on it.

So there I am, scrolling through a pile of e-mails that were sent to pretty much everyone when it became clear to me that they were ‘piggy backing’ off of an old thread from a previously planned get together.  Someone wasn’t too bright in doing so because my eye happened to fall upon this from one of Nick’s douche friends so called good friends e-mail reply…

“Should we invite Nick?  Maybe he can bring his hot new girlfriend.  Just kidding, unless you’re into that sort of thing” 

Thing?

Since when am I a fucking thing?

Listen ass bag, first of all I am A. FUCKING. PERSON. A kick ass one at at. 

That’s common knowledge yo. 

Secondly: When you’re sending out an e-mail blast perhaps you should start a shiny new composition?  You know the shiny new one that DOES NOT have you making derogatory remarks about your friends girlfriend?  Even more so when said friend and his girlfriend are included in said e-mail recipients.

See I personally don’t give a shit what you think of me.  I know that I am not for everyone and that’s fine.  Because let’s face it honey, I wouldn’t tap that (you) if you were the last offering left on earth, so as far as that’s concerned I suppose the feeling is mutual?  I’m clearly not your type judging by your wife, (who is lovely by the way) we’re complete and utter opposites of each other.

That’s OK!

You know what ISN’T OK?

The way you betrayed someone who thought you were a better friend than that.

I will not loose any sleep over your small minded opinion of me, nor will I let your poor judgement(s) of myself color my self worth in anyway either.

My boyfriend on the other hand?

He’s amazing and he deserves much, much better than that.  

He was far, far more tactful than I would ever be when he pointed this indiscretion out to you.  And yet you don’t have the balls to say anything for yourself.

 I do however believe that we all live in glass houses and therefore should not throw stones…

So honey if you are going to throw stone’s from your glass house, put some clothes on.  Your vagina is showing.