Sunday, May 25, 2008

less cold

I'm trying to write Trinity a letter, but I just feel like I could go on and on and on forever and never finish. I feel like there are billions of little things that I could say, and no one letter will ever in a bazillion years encompass all of who Tanya was and what she means to me.

I spent some quality time this morning with best friends. Okay, one best friend and two horses -- one of which is a best friend, most of the time! We rode out in a green field in the misty rain and she said, "we'll just pretend it's Ireland!" and that made it feel less cold.

Friday, May 23, 2008

head up

I sent Eric a lengthy email, listing my woes. I felt bad after I sent it. I don't mean to ruin his good time in England with my sad, Canadian life. But I missed him so much last night, while I cried about Tanya and the memorial and Christy's wedding, and my friends, and my poverty, and everything else that's been compounding over the past week.

"Head up, baby," he wrote back. That is such an Eric thing to say. And an Eric thing to do. Be brave and strong and put your chin up and live your life. That's what he would do.

That's what she would have done, too.

Thursday, May 22, 2008

dilemma of epic proportions.

The anniversary of the day that she passed away is soon approaching. I don't want it to. I'd like it to be May forever and ever. I'd rather not have the calendar flip over to June 1st, because then... that's it. I can tick off another year in my head. Another year without her. Another year of feeling lost and sad and longing for something that I can never, ever have.

May 31st is the day that one of my oldest, dearest friends is getting married. This day is so important to her. It's important for me to see it happen. It's important for me to consciously take steps to maintaining our friendship, even though it's no longer so convenient to see each other. I'm supposed to sit at a table by the door and instruct all of her guests to sign ceramic platters so that she can get them glossed and kiln-fired and will remember forever who came to her special day every time she puts out appetizers or carves a turkey.

Now the memorial get-together for Tanya has been scheduled a day early; not on the June 1st that I'd booked my entire life off of, but on May 31st, when I'm supposed to be helping Christy get married to her high school sweetheart. And I'll be miserable, the whole time. As if her wedding being on the eve of the worst day of my life wasn't bad enough, I'll now be sitting at a table by the door fighting back tears for the memorial that I can't go to, for Tanya's family members that I won't see. For not being able to look out at the pasture with all of those special, loved people, and feel connected to her.

The literary juxtaposition of the whole dilemma is just too much. Celebration and mourning, all at once?

My stomach is in knots and I don't know what to do. The wedding starts at one o'clock; the get-together starts at two.

untitled fiction:

The night he phoned me from Vancouver was the same night I put a letter in the mail for him. It said, "I will be good to you," and I included a cutesy little photo of us that we did in a photo-booth at the mall. We are cheek-to-cheek in the little black-and-white square and our eyes seem like they belong to other people, now.

He phoned me from Vancouver and he sounded far away. Farther than the west coast; like he was calling from China or New Zealand or the South Pole. I was just about to say, "I've been thinking of you," when he blurted it out.

"There's someone else," he said, and coughed. There were several beats of silence while I thought about the letter -- in my mind it was already floating magically through the clouds across two provinces, knowing its destiny and following an imaginary line from the red mailbox down my street to the little cubby that has his last name on it, in the lobby of his apartment building (because that's how mail gets around, in my head, anyway). And I want to snatch the letter out of the air. Send a trained falcon after it, or a skydiver, or a seven-forty-seven jet airplane.

"Oh." This was all I could think of to say. I was seeing our black-and-white faces, now -- our cheek-to-cheek grins.

"It's been this way for a while," he said, and coughed again.

"Okay," I said, thinking about the way I'd signed my name with a heart next to it. Thinking about my saccharine little x-o-x-o.

"Be good," he said, turning the tone of your voice upwards, trying to sound amiable. I found this little sentence enormously ironic, and maybe if this had been happening to another couple, and if he and I were just standing together on the sidelines watching, I'd mention that fact to him and he'd laugh and say, "you're right; that is ironic," but as it stands I didn't think I should comment on it.

"I guess so," is what I eventually came up with, and he muttered a strangled-sounding "be seeing you" and I pressed the phone down into the receiver.

Outside, at the end of the street, I approached the red mailbox. I opened the little slot, peered inside, tried sticking my hand in. I tried jiggling the box to and fro, as if that would suddenly make my letter shoot out from inside and land safely in my hands. I thought about going back home and getting a screw driver: maybe I could dismantle the entire mailbox, sort through the pile of birthday cards and bills-to-be-paid, locate my letter, and then put the whole thing back together. I thought about contacting Canada Post: maybe they would bring down some sort of Postal SWAT Unit, maybe they already have such a team in place for emergencies like this one. Maybe I could throw a lit match down the little slot. As a last resort, I kicked the mailbox and then jumped around in pain on one foot for a while. None of these ideas, while brilliant, would work.

So I went home. The roll of stamps were still on the kitchen table. There were no messages on the answering machine, no laughing voice saying, "Darling, I was only kidding! Got you good, didn't I? Anyway, I love you, and sweet dreams!" Just my dark apartment, and my enormous, empty bed.

"I will be good to you," I said out loud to the cat, who looked at me strangely and left the room. I let out a snort of laughter -- this whole thing reminded me of a sitcom -- and sat down on my bed. Maybe I could write another letter, to counteract the first. It could be all spiteful and mean, and I could include a photo of us together with his face all inked out with a Sharpie, and there would be no adorable x-o-x-o, and no heart next to my name -- no, I wouldn't even sign my name at all! The paper and stamps and envelopes were just in the next room. If I did it tonight, he'd get both letters at once.

Then I thought about his Someone Else. Someone Else is beautiful and serene, and she'd open the letters before he got home and then they'd look at them together and laugh and think about how glad they were that I was out of the picture, and the two counteracting letters would solidify their relationship. He would smile lovingly at Someone Else and know that he'd made the right decision.

If this were happening to another couple, and he and I were standing together on the sidelines, he'd grimace and say, "She should not have sent that second letter!" And I'd agree, and we'd pop some popcorn and watch the story unfold in all of its gory detail. He would think that sending a second, spiteful letter would be a bad idea. He'd say, "She should know to just let it be."

"Let it be," I whispered into the dark bedroom, and curled up on my side of the bed, hoping he'd at least feel guilty when got the letter I wished I'd never sent.

Wednesday, May 21, 2008

as i please

Would I be happier if I moved back out to the ranch and got up early every day and did the dishes and operated ropes course activities and let the horses in and out of their pen to eat? Would I? Would I be happier if I lived in an 8x10 and ate breakfast, lunch and dinner with my co-workers, and watched movies at night with the volume almost off because the walls are paper-thin? Would I be happier if I had to shower and go to the washroom communally and clean up after other people in the bathroom and constantly have to turn down the thermostat that customers keep cranking up?

Sometimes I really think I would be. I look back on my time there with rose-coloured glasses. Maybe it's because I feel cooped up in this office, and because I'm not doing what I should be doing anyway, so I might as well do something fun in the interim.

And because I kind of don't want to go back to school in September; last year I took quite the academic beating and I don't know if I have it in me to pay a zillion dollars just to get it again.

I wish I were free to do as I please, I really do.

new day

I had this written on my mirror the summer that she passed away:

Today is a new day.

Remember that.

wednesday mornings.

Tonight, I'm going to go pick up my car and fork over every last penny to my name. I'm not even exaggerating. It's going to clean me out. I'm trying to be positive about it. There are worse things that could happen in my life than financial setbacks. There have been worse things.

Now my boss is having a meeting with the representative of the Canadian Wood Council from Ottawa in my office. It's kind of awkward. I'll just continue pretending to be entering data about mining corporations into our database. Business as usual, I guess.

It's wednesday morning, and it's the first time I've been in the office this week. I am going to be so broke.

I want a cookie.

Tuesday, May 20, 2008

disheartened.

I just had a heartbreaking conversation. Already disheartened about the sky-rocketing costs of owning my POS car, I called a friend to talk about replacing water pumps and timing belts and wound up talking about his two-year-old daughter crying out for her mom in the night and being inconsolable.

"She is deeply, inately sad," he told me. I started to cry. "She wants to know where her Mommy is, and she gets confused when we play with other kids and they all have mommies, and she asks for her at night, and I'm sitting right beside her and I just tell her that her mommy is in heaven and she'll see her in her dreams if she closes her eyes and goes to sleep."

And I had tears streaming down my face and I didn't care at all about how much fucking money it's going to cost me to replace a stupid water pump in my car, because those kinds of things, while irritating, are just snags in the road and don't even remotely compare to the kinds of heartache that life is capable of serving us.

And he asked me why no one had given him photos or videos to share with her, and I didn't know what to say because there's no answer that can justify denying a two-year-old girl as many little bits and pieces of her incredibly fantastic mother that we can provide.

Today is a very disheartening day, and I feel smaller than small.

Friday, May 16, 2008

goal.

Tonight I am going to stop being so lazy, and will set up trot poles on the circle, and poles in the corners and work on Sebastian's adjustability and maybe school a flying change or two.

There.

old strathcona

I am hungry hungry hungry and I keep thinking about the Strathcona Farmers' Market, and how I'd love to just leave work right now and go there. Buy some saskatoon berry syrup and some hand-made goods. Eat a hot dog with sauerkraut from Fat Franks, and stroll Whyte Ave like I used to do when I had more time. Buy used books from Wee Book Inn, a one-of-a-kind necklace from the Plaid Giraffe, and stationery from Le Papier. Try on $3.99 shirts at Army & Navy, look around Avenue Guitars, even though I can't afford to buy a new guitar (nor do I need one).

Today is a wonderful Farmers' Market day, and I'm missing it!

Thursday, May 15, 2008

patios in jasper

This morning in particular, I groaned at the idea of going to work. It's not just one job, today, it's both jobs and I worry that I just don't have it in me to smile and be nice and serve lattes to gardeners until 9 o'clock tonight, after having been at my office job all day. I need to build up my stamina for this kind of thing. Or start drinking Red Bull, which is something I don't want to do.

I take the same highway to work that leads to the mountains. My exit to the office is the last one inside city limits before the highway stretches out towards the west. So often, this morning included, I have just wanted to say "screw it!" and keep on driving.

Today, I would like to sit in the sun on the patio of a coffeeshop in Jasper, write in my journal and drink a dark roast.

Wednesday, May 14, 2008

the last trip

Here is a poem that I wrote in the car on the way to Canmore:

The Last Trip

there was this time
when we drove right across Alberta
in one fell swoop

mountains
     foothills
         forests
             prairies

you like the mountains.
you said you felt finite
under their looming grey stares

but I like the prairies best
because they make me feel free
-- heart opening across expanses of gold and green.

that was the last trip we ever took
before the end.

large and in charge.

My horse is becoming more headstrong by the day. I attribute it to the fact that it's spring, and he's excited to be riding outside, and he's remembering what it's like to gallop around (and have me actually allow him to). I also attribute it to the fact that he is becoming more fit each day, and with fitness comes an enormous gelding who arches his neck all pretty and breaks into frenzied canters.

One thing I'm enjoying about Sebastian getting back into shape is how easy it is to do up his girth. Two weeks ago, after he had a month off, I almost couldn't even get it to the first hole. It took all of my hand strength to do up that little buckle. Last night, I did it up to the third hole in one easy move. I have high hopes that he'll get his sillies out and we'll be able to actually get to work. He's been really decent in the indoor arena, but as soon as we near the outdoor arena, he gets all swishy-tailed and strong.

Each week seems longer than the last. Ugh. I'm at work (as usual) and I haven't done anything remotely work-related for the past hour. And I'm not particularly looking forward to doing the two-job-marathon tomorrow.

Friday, May 9, 2008

intangibility

I don't have any tangible goals for riding, and I think that might be part of the problem. When I think about my goals for Sebastian and I, the only thing that comes to mind is "get better" or "get to where we used to be" or "get up to par." What do these things even mean?

Sometimes I feel like buying a whole different horse and starting over. But that's silly, of course.

I do feel good about the fact that I'm making more of an effort to get out and ride. I hope the whole summer is like this. I hope I feel motivated long enough to get a momentum going. And then in the fall, I'll try to find a lease for Sebastian, because I can't ride six days a week and go to school at the same time. I've tried it for the last two years, and it just isn't working out.

I'm at work right now, drinking the tail ends of cold office-coffee (the worst kind of coffee, short of church-coffee, in my opinion) and shivering under the unyeilding blasts of frigid air conditioning. Is it a rule that all offices must be sub-zero? I should move my whole desk out to the parking lot and do a little data entry under the sun.

Wednesday, May 7, 2008

on gift-wrapping:

My sisters are notoriously wonderful gift-wrappers. At Christmas, their presents are adorned with real ribbons and bows of every colour, all glossy or sparkly or elaborately tied. The wrapped edges of their gifts are perfect. The paper looks classy. If they use a gift bag, it is appropriate to the theme of the occasion, and comes with matching tissue paper and beautiful home-made cards that are created special for the recipient.

In my house, the glorious gift-wrap goes about as far as finding a gift bag -- any gift bag -- and something to cover up the object inside (preferably tissue paper, but I have gone so far as to use construction paper or Safeway bags in the past). On the table right now, all ready for Sherry to open are two gift bags. The one from me has horses all over it; someone once gave it to me because of my obvious love for the animals (regardless of the fact that I think a bag with them all over it is a wee tacky). The one from my mother is a ridiculously over-sized wedding gift bag. It has wedding bells and white roses all over it, and it is roughly four times larger than necessary for her gift. There the two bags sit, a little dysfunctional family of tacky wrapping.

And we both know that Sherry and Melanie will come over tonight for the birthday celebration with delightfully wrapped treasures. They will have taken the time to tie bows just right, pick out wrapping paper, fluff up tissue paper, and special-make the birthday cards. In contrast, my mom and I hastily tossed our gifts into inappropriate gift bags this morning, before sloshing coffee into our travel mugs and rushing out the door to get to our workplaces on time. I at least purchased a card; my mom didn't even go that far.

But we shine in other ways, I suppose.

miss you.

Knowing you is like opening my eyes in the middle of the night and remembering exactly who I am.

I miss you.

Monday, May 5, 2008

weekends, workdays and long-distance phone calls.

I spent the weekend in the mountains with my best friends -- hiking, shopping, sipping lattes, sipping long island iced teas, sipping a handful of shooters, meeting funny new people, doing crossword puzzles, eating excessively and telling each other secrets. It was delightful. I loved spending my birthday with close friends in such a beautiful setting. I didn't want to leave on Sunday; I felt like calling in sick and staying one more night. Just one more night!

The drive home was suitably hilarious. We laughed until tears came to our eyes and had to hold in our pee. These things happen when you put the Silliest People Ever together in cars for long trips. Besides fast food and Laura's flatulence, lots of heartfelt things are said. And lots of ridiculous things are said, to be followed by long stretches of laughter from everyone in the car.

I'm back in the office, now, bored to tears. I can't even force myself to do my job because it is so monotonous. If they didn't keep giving me raises, I'd quit and get an editing job. Or if I had the guts to do it (which I don't). I'm not looking forward to working at the greenhouse this weekend, either. I hate NEEDING jobs. Why can't I just find a large sack of money each month and live off that? Hmmm?

I am exceedingly tired, but I'm going to go to the greenhouse tonight and purchase a birthday gift for my sister, and then I'm going to go out and ride my horse (whom I can only imagine is even more of a scraggly dust-cloud than he was before I left for the weekend). I might even sponge down his legs and tail outside, if he's good and it's warm out.

Eric called me today. We kept getting cut off after fifty-six seconds and I felt sad and frustrated. Scotland is far away (not as far as where he's been before, but still) and I just wanted to hear about his day and how he is and what he plans to do next. He finally got the payphone to work, and we talked for about ten minutes until he had to go. He said that there are lambs all over the countryside and that he keeps thinking about me saying, "Awww, babies!" so he took a video and will send it to me. They'll be in Scotland for a few more days, and then they'll move on to England.

I am all alone in the office, which promotes an even worse work ethic than ever before. I just feel like locking up and going home.

Thursday, May 1, 2008

japanese koi

Yesterday, I went to a pet store just to look. I do this sometimes. It makes me feel happy. I was hoping they'd have equine supplies or puppies and kitties, but they did not. I looked at the birds, and felt the need to purchase another budgie. I think the next one I get will be white. I picked one out, and even brainstormed some names. Snowbell, and others like it. He/she was clinging to the wall.

The guy who works there taught me all about Japanese koi. They can grow up to two feet, and live almost a hundred years. And they can survive a Canadian winter. When I looked down at the pond of baby koi, they all came eagerly to the surface, opening their mouths in little ohs. Slipping over each other, a moving swarm of orange and white. The older koi just swam by me nonchalantly, casually raising an eye to the surface, going about their business.