Infinity

Sometimes I do not see it coming. Standing on top of the world, I am busy with my head in the clouds and my heart in your hands. It rushes over me, through me, inside of me. It turns me inside out, forcing me to wear my damage on the outside.

Only you can see them, those secret places where the tissue is worn thin, stretched over too many heartaches. Only you can touch them, tracing the roadmaps of yesterdays. Your fingers slip over the empty places, the torn and ragged holes left by forgotten pieces of me. Only you can heal them, your love building bridges over sunken hopes and rotten dreams.

Sometimes I forget where you end and I begin. Until I can see your bandaids on my tattered soul. And then, I am grateful.

Dinner for Two: Or - Roasting my House Dress, 2.0

I had the insanely ambitious brilliant idea to took dinner for two. Now let us not forget that in my book: Kraft dinner, frozen pizza, grilled cheese, and chef Boyardee ALL count as viable dinner options. In fact, I prefer it that way. Who needs to cook when you can WARM! But I digress.


I planned a delicious roast beef, tender and steaming. Falling apart when you glance in its general direction, to die for and better than your mother's. Add to that sauteed golden potatoes with garlic, rosemary, paprika and fresh onions and some steamed carrots. Of course, I must have dessert. Let them eat cake!

... erm... or pie. Pecan pie. THE bane of my existence.

The fact that it probably isn't a great plan to make the pie for the first time WHEN OTHERS ARE EATING IT notwithstanding, last night I made a pie. For the purposes of today, we will call it Pie #1. Of course it was baked to perfection and steaming hot with all its pecan-y goodness. It was NOT undercooked in the center and overcooked on the top, it did NOT smell a little like burning, and I so totally COULD insert a knife gently in the center. I swear.

Last night, I tossed and turned in my bed, agonizing over Pie #1. Guest of Honour has been speaking of Pecan Pie for...um seven odd months now. He? Is expecting damn good pie! I must deliver! This morning, I mulled over Pie #1 again. It didn't look any better by the morning light, coffee or not. So I began Pie #2.

Dear Pie #2: You are expected to be delicious in all of the traditional ways. I expect you to supersede your forlorn burned brother, Pie #1. You must elicit nothing but moans of appreciation and eye rolling from Guest of Honour, and should you fail to deliver on any or all of said requirements, I will feed you to the raccoon of doom. I promise you this.

It looks good, flaky light crust, toasted pecans and beautiful brown top... it looks like the picture. It had better taste of it, or he is eating my roasted house dress. And liking it.

Dear Roast Beef #1....





{image from Etsy}

Only the Whisper Hits the Pavement

I've decided that I have become a blogging slacker. To remedy this, I have given the blog a whole new feel...

I've been reinventing my workspace as I get ready to begin writing my thesis. It's funny how when you really look at it, your old working space (the one that's gotten you through five years of university) is really a friggin mess. How did I EVER birth any of those endless essays, fits of genius or manaical opinions in such UTTER chaos?

I've chosen to move my workspace into my bedroom, where all is quieted in soothing tones of silver, teal and chocolate brown. Instead of kids toys and general mayhem, I've got an orchid, some plants, some comfort.... SOME PEACE! I've swept aside the piles of papers and books, coffee cups and pen shrapnel. I've come away with something more soothing and condusive to the writing process.

It is, in some way - like a rite of passage. As I grow from passive student to opinion producer; from school to career; in all honesty from child to adult, my workspace has changed around me. It is my hope that in changing the atmosphere of my blogging space, so too will my writing.

Wiping away the coffee stains on my life....

The Elephant in the Room (or - this is gotta be a good life)

Spent the last couple of days living in nostalgia, looking through old pictures. Reading old emails. Stepping into the shadows of who I used to be and finding, surprisingly, that it doesn't fit anymore. And for some reason, that makes me feel sad.

I choose to live where the light is. Where love is possible. Where possible is possible. I turn my back on the creeping shadows and turn my face to the sun. All this time, I thought I was beating it, only to look down and see those shadows shackled to my ankles. I am standing in a puddle of my own rotting hope.

So much negativity pressing down on me.
From the outside, moving inward. Full of sickness and rot.

I'm turning my shovel in the ashes and I feel like I keep searching, looking for a shard of colour in the surrounding miles of gray. I wonder if I am a caterpillar who cloaks his potential in the winter of his cocoon, or just a silly centipede trying to convince myself otherwise.

Feel it in my gut, something is shifting. Almost imperceptible, but its there. My anxiety climbs as long as I cannot put my finger on exactly what has changed. Or why. That tremor in the earth, through my toes and into my calves, that turns my stomach. The wind in my hair is loathing, not freeing. Stealing my breath and making no promises.

Sitting, clawing at my thoughts inside my brain and praying for the break. This is gotta be a good life. Somewhere. Or it has to have the potential to be. There has to be something to come from it all. I am a lover, a giver, a friend. I am also a liar, a poser, and a thief. Aren't you?

Keeping Abreast of the Situation

HELLO ALL!

Deep breath - where to begin, where to begin. I'd love to create this long, witty blog that will have you in stitches - but I'm still in stitches so let's go back to the drawing board.

I've been flat on my back for the last two weeks, and am just now beginning to join the human race again after a recovery from hell. I had the breast reduction surgery on March 8th, and its been rocky. Of course that led to three weeks off from the Masters of Education program - leaving me up to the proverbial tits in work (pun intended)!

All inappropriate joking aside - I thought I'd take a few moments to talk about this whole plastic surgery thing, and tell some truths to those who are thinking about it.

First shocker: it's not as bad as you think it will be!! And I'm being completely honest. Here in Ontario, it is day surgery. So basically I went in at 7 am and was on my way home around 2 pm. I spent three hours in the recovery room, and 2 hours in actual surgery. I WILL say, however - that is SUCKS when you first wake up after surgery (before the pain meds come along). I woke up FREEZING and in serious ouch. To top it off, the breathing tube they placed in my airway compressed my lip against my teeth, so I had a major fat lip as well! Thankfully, the lovely recovery nurses brought me a warm blanket (actually blew hot air on me) and some morphine for my IV. That made the world a little better.

Who am I kidding? That made the world a WHOLE lot better half an hour later after they gave me enough to take off the edge...

...of consciousness.

The tricky part at first was the drainage tubes that ran into each breast, and the little self-contained collection drums that were suspended from my bra. The entry points were very tender and it was hard to wear regular sized clothing. They were removed a day later (SUCK), and it was easier to move around after that. I have to admit that taking care of myself was not an option, so I shipped Thing One and Thing Two off to Dad's for the week, and stayed with a special person who was able to wake me for my pain meds (every four hours), cook me meals, assist me with getting dressed and helping me wash my hair in the sink. I was also fortunate to lean on my old friend Jenny to get me to appointments and help me once I returned back home. I thank those two very much for all their help and support. And of course - dear old Dad was my chauffeur and nurses aid on the day of surgery.

The pain was not what I thought it would be. To be honest - the problem areas were: drainage tubes, pot holes, seatbelts and anything that flies through the air. The pain was not how I imagined it, it was a severe discomfort. It felt like I was a breast feeding mom who missed sixteen meals (SO FULL AND UNCOMFORTABLE), but without relief. Certain parts of the breast were numb, probably thankfully so, but it creates an uncomfortable irritating feeling. I used ice packs to bring down the swelling, which did help. I should mention that although nipple sensation has been completely restored (PHEW), some sections of the breast are still numb.

During week two, I developed an infection in ole Lefty - which created a hot, swollen and painful addition to my recovery. I was placed on a 10 day cycle of antibiotics, which helped. To be honest, currently the right one is feeling quite well and minimally irritated, but the left is still causing me issues. I think perhaps the infection has just slowed the healing process on that side a little, so I'm anxious to have them catch up to each other. It's still swelling now and again and feeling irritated. It's almost like I've been wearing a bra with sandpaper on one side. I can't seem to get it comfortable. I am hoping it continues to improve.

Last Friday I had the sutures removed. Which is somewhat of a misnomer. They are dissolvable stitches, so they needed to clip the knots on either side of each breast and at each nipple. I have to admit that burned A LOT, but I was happy to have only that to deal with, and not the actual removal of each stitch. It did make me feel a bit like a patchwork quilt, and I'm still a little afraid of just busting apart. Like one minute everything is fine, and the next there are shards of breast flying in the face of my colleagues. I'm sure I'll get over that.

I was forbidden to shower until the stitches were dealt with, which was an arduous process of bathing from the waist down, then drying off and washing my hair with a measuring cup. I was happy to finally clean myself properly, however I did (and still do) get a little freaked out touching them. It's like alien breasts - they don't look or feel like mine, and the incisions freak me out exponentially. I''m sure once the numbness subsides and the scars aren't so fresh - we will become better acquainted.

So - all in all - I'm week three and doing ok. This lefty is going to have to get it together soon, I'm becoming frustrated with the irritated feeling and the swelling, but I have to remember to have patience as my body adjusts and heals. I'm beginning to get my energy back - but am finding I still tire very easily and would prefer to nap every day, although it is not a luxury I can afford. At the end of the day - I think it was worth it. Although I have to buy all new clothing because my shirt fronts sag to my bellybutton.

Argh.

DAG.