I support you

I’m not generally the type to re-post videos and insist others watch them (maybe that goes back to my Rankin Inlet days when trying to watch a minute-long YouTube video took half an hour) but I’m going to make an exception.

I figure if word about Jamie Hubley’s suicide has made it to B.C., and all over my Facebook, most people who read this blog will be familiar with his story. But for those who aren’t, Jamie was a teenage kid from Ottawa who committed suicide last week. Another case of a gay kid being bullied to death. This time, the son of an Ottawa city councillor, not that that should make his death more important, but certainly has made it more public.

It seems every couple of weeks there’s another story in the news about a kid who takes his own life because he or she (though most often he, it seems) can’t deal with the bullying, the negativity, the hurt anymore. Sometimes it goes back to sexual orientation, but not always.

And that’s where this video comes into play. Because yes, gay kids feel ostracized. But so do adults. Kids are cruel to each other, and adults are cruel to themselves. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. I’ve lost a friend to suicide. I have had several friends who have dealt with depression, and I’ve had my own dark periods.

I woke up this morning wanting nothing more than to just cry. So for about three hours, off and on, I cried. Why was I crying? I have no idea. My life is good, I have a job, I have a cute little apartment in a cute little house, I have a bit of money in the bank so if I feel like it, I can afford to treat myself. Even yesterday, as I was biking home from work I was thinking to myself what a wonderful life I am living, and how lucky I am. But none of that shone through this morning, as I wallowed in bed.

What’s going to get me out of this slump is my friends. I called one, and she let me talk. I texted another, and I’m going to spend the night with her family out of town. Both were exactly what I needed.

And that brings me back to this video, and what this young man is talking about. Sometimes those three little words — “I support you” — are all it takes. It’s so simple, so universal. Sometimes people just need to know others support them. It doesn’t matter how huge or trivial your problems may seem, a little bit of support can make all the difference.

So watch this. Feel inspired. Feel amazed at Scott’s depth, and tell or show someone in your life you support them. It can’t hurt.

The photo and the kiss seen ’round the world

What does this say about our culture right now?

Some argue this was egged on by social media. But then look at the story’s dissemination! The beast feeds itself. The whole event is surreal. Surreal enough to be one of those things that becomes historic.

Over a game.

What in the world do people think they have to be angry at? All this was so unnecessary. I’d have rathered if they just lost in Boston in Game 5. At least then maybe people wouldn’t have been so revved up. So prepared.

I have friends and colleagues who were attacked in the riots. One went out basically to “watch the back” of another, who was working solo in some very hostile crowds. They had a skateboard swung at them. Because they were media.

I read earlier today that a police officer was slugged in the head with a brick. Needed 14 stitches.

And then there’s this:

I find it terrifying people get to this point.

Location, location, location

I bought a table today.

I bought a table today for three reasons:

1. I was at a friend’s/colleague’s housewarming party last night. They moved into their place 2 weeks ago, and it looks like they’ve lived there for years. I’ve been in my silly little basement suite for 8 months and it still looks like a hobo lives here. It’s terrible. I don’t even like inviting people over because I’m ashamed of the disarray. Part of this is because I have GRAND PLANS and some of those PLANS require money that I am hesitant to part with (see: a real bedframe). But today I went browsing and this little kitchen set was on for half price, and I couldn’t say no when it was exactly what I’d been looking for, at a cheaper price than the second-hand ones I’ve been looking at locally. And now the kitchen’s done.
2. I’ve long had this theory that if I just had a little table and chair set in my kitchen I might actually eat at a table, rather than on the couch while defending my dinner from the pup. So far it’s worked for 2 meals. We’ll see how long it lasts.
3. Oops. Can’t remember the third.

Why am I writing about a new table? Why don’t I have anything more interesting to write about? Not sure. Probably because my life seems overwhelmed with work and the play right now. We’re 5 weeks from opening night and our consultant was SUPPOSED to come and give us feedback a week from today (giving us 3 rehearsals to get things in shape). Today we learned the woman messed up her schedule, and is coming Tuesday instead.

I may or may not have had a meltdown.

And not in-character either (though I get to do that too. Apparently I’m very good at crying at the drop of a hat. Probably because I am very good at crying at the drop of a hat).

I am not 100% happy with how my timing is going yet with this play. We’re completely off-script, have been for a couple weeks, so now it’s just getting the rhythm and the mannerisms down pat. I’m a perfectionist, I can’t help it, and until I have that one run through where I just kill it, I won’t be happy. And I’m so not there yet.

I guess there’s pleanty of time, but I really wanted to be in top form for the consultant. I wanted what she saw to be a PERFORMANCE. I guess I’ll just have to adjust my expectations.

On friends

I’ve never been the person who has a million friends. I’ve always had one or two close ones, in each of the places I have lived. And it often takes me a little while to develop those friendships. Not sure why, I’m generally a social person. But I guess I feel I need people in my life I can rely on.

I’m in the middle of a several week-long battle with a close friend I’ve known since high school. At one point we dated, then broke up. I consider him a very important part of my life, and has been a constant I rely on.

I don’t fight with friends. I don’t like to fight at all, to be honest. I don’t like to fight with family — I’m always in a hurry to “fix” things. I hate conflict.

I don’t know what happened a couple weeks ago. I don’t get how this friendship got so derailed. I asked him to stop doing something that he had been doing for years that really bothered me. I had reached a point where I felt this was interfering with our friendship. I told him so.

Ever since, it’s feels like I’m back in the early 2000’s. We’re dating, we’re fighting. He says I’m being over-dramatic. I feel like I’m not being given a chance. He disappears. I chase to explain that I’m not trying to be unreasonable. I apologize.

It’s the same cycle. It’s the same crap we did when we were dating. But now I’m fighting for a friendship that I’m not really sure if he wants anymore.

I’ve always believed we could be friends. We were too oil and water to ever be good in a relationship.

But I respected him and he was always there if I needed him. And I hoped he felt he could always come to me too (though admittedly, rarely did).

But maybe friendships have a best-before date. And maybe ours has expired.

It’s hard for me to let people go.

In other news, this week is the one-year anniversary of Paul’s death.

That was a photo I took on the last trip out to his and Sarah’s cabin before I left Rankin Inlet in July 2009. I remember it as a great last weekend. Full of friends, fishing, fun and food.

I still try to talk about him as much as I can. If not with people who knew him, than to people who didn’t. It’s the only way I can keep his memory alive. It’s too bad his story had to end the way it did. It doesn’t do justice to his life.

Paul had amazing taste in music. A couple of weeks ago, my iTunes playlist brought memories of sitting at his old apartment, him getting excited about his latest Amazon shipment of CDs (it was impossible to download most of the time, and Paul liked the real deal anyways). And he put on Duffy’s Rockferry.

Rest in Peace, my friend. We love you dearly and will always keep your memory and spirit alive.

A flair for the dramatic

Here’s the problem with my job:

I’m paid to be enterprising and creative. And that can be very stressful.

There are days — like when I am just coming back from a week and a half vacation — when I really really wish I had a job where things were dropped on my desk, and my role was to complete the task.

The funny thing is, I don’t even mean I wish I had a clerical or secretarial gig. There are tons of reporters who have exactly that kind of job. Whose daily assignments are doled out to them and they “just” have to track down the story and write it up. But because I work in a “bureau” (a decentralized branch of the MotherCorp) it’s my responsibility to dig up the stories, represent the region to the province.

And that’s a huge order. One that made me wake up at 630 this morning (instead of — gasp — 6:55) in a panic that I would fail. That for some reason, I wouldn’t be able to come up with stories for the entire day, and of course, the entire week (because as one of my ex’s said recently: I’ve “always had a flair for the dramatic”).

The irony of course it that I’m generally pretty good at my job. My all-consuming fear of disappointing others (and failure) generally pushes me to excel.

But I can’t help but wish sometimes stories would just drop on my desk, and I could run out like the good like reporter-squirrel I am and gather my nut-sources and then put them all together in a relatively coherent manner.

At least then maybe I could sleep in that extra 20 minutes.

ALSO:

Give a gal 6 hours in an airport and she begins to tinker with her much-neglected blog and blog template.

I know this is a graphic-heavy style, do you folks find it clunky to load and/or read?

Let me know.

I’m so bloody stubborn

It is February 28th.

And after a four-month hiatus, I got back on the running wagon tonight. And it wasn’t near as hard as I thought it would be.

You see, once upon a time, many months ago, I had a running buddy. Both of us equally hateful of the ‘sport’ but she continued on after I finished in the fall. She’s now planning to run a half marathon in the spring. Crazy girl.

I on the other hand, picked up biking to work (which I LOVE — it helps I only live 2.5k from home) and completely neglected the whole running thing. I made up plenty of excuses: too cold (which was true, for the most part) too icy (yah right, like I’m going to kill myself with these bad ankles) the list goes on.

Maybe in the end, I just didn’t FEEL like it. Who knows.

What I do know, is that any time anyone asked me about if I was still running, I became more and more entrenched in my quest NOT to run. It’s bizarre, I know. It’s like the more people encourage me to be physically active, the less I want to do it.

Maybe I think it’s some kind of personal slight?

Anyways, for no apparently reason, I decided to go for a run when I got home this evening. Part of it was I didn’t feel completely zonked when I left work for the day. Part of it was it was actually DAYLIGHT when I left the office. Part of it was I missed wearing my comfy sneakers (I have a rule: they are for running ONLY). And part of it was I had a truly gluttonous weekend.

In any case, I came home, laced up and ran 3.5 kilometers.

And while I was pretty sure I was going to collapse when I walked in the front door, I actually felt fine. Which is crazy, because it took me more than a month to get to 5 and 1 back in the summer (5 minutes running, 1 minute walking — it’s a Running Room thing). And somehow I still have the endurance (?) to make it happen, MONTHS after I stopped.

So I guess getting back on the wagon is easier than I thought.

(And apologies to all those out there who really don’t come here for a fitness blog. I promise it will NOT become one, but sometimes I need to selflessly bask in my own achievements. This is one of them. Back to your regularly scheduled vapid programming shortly, I promise).

The romantic tree stump

I have this picture as the desktop background on my home computer these days, and I wanted to share it with y’all.

There’s something about the way the light is hitting that heart-shaped tree stump that is just magical. And I didn’t touch it in Photoshop, didn’t even crop it.

Kudos to my mom for pointing it out to me.What’s even more amazing is just a foot or so away, was another heart-shaped stump. But the photo didn’t turn out as well.

It was taken just before Christmas in PEI at the Christmas Tree farm where the fam has gone for the past number of years to pick out our tree. We bundle up in our wool coats and winter boots and stomp through the farm hunting for the perfect tree. There’s just something about doing it yourself, you know?

Audition anxiety again

Well it must be that time of year again.

The time when I have very little going on and desperately need an excuse to start leaving work on time (because otherwise I am such a suck and will work overtime I won’t be paid for…).

Luckily, I have an audition today. An audition for a part I think I might be made to play.

The play, I never heard of before. It’s called “Sins of the Mother,” it’s about this Irish-American family of women and the way alcoholism has torn them apart as a group, and individually.

Yes, I know, what an uplifting play.

There are two sets of two sisters in this story. One pair are in their 20s/30s. One pair is a mother/aunt.

I’ve become completely taken by this play. I think it’s because I can really relate with the sister dynamic in the younger pair — one is sarcastic and jaded, the other “just tries to make things nice.” And lord knows I’m guilty of both, and I think DD (my sister) and I have bounced back and forth between those two roles regularly in our lives.

I’m going to audition for the more challenging role — the sarcastic jaded sister. She has a couple monologues that I find really powerful, and can relate to.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like my mother is/was an alcoholic, nor my father. Actually, my family has a very ‘healthy’ relationship with alcohol… but I certainly have known people who don’t.

When I lived in Rankin I knew alcohol played a big part in our lives, but I never realized how twisted we were until I moved back down south. I remember walking in the door of my friend’s place, shrugging off my jacket, but not even taking off my boots before I walked in her kitchen and started to pour myself a drink. I didn’t even notice I was doing it at the time, it was just natural. There wasn’t anytime we DIDN’T drink up north. I prided myself on thinking that I was the only one of our close-knit group who DIDN’T have an alcohol problem. And that’s probably not far from the truth. One of my friends used to have regular blackouts. Another would drink a 60 oz bottle of rum in 2 days, and he’d disappear into a black hole, no one would see or hear from him for a whole weekend, he’d be pickling his liver, and couldn’t pick up the phone when we called. Another can’t stop drinking until she passes out. Another killed himself in a drunken stupor.

I won’t get into the sordid details of how one person’s alcoholism affected my life up there, maybe some other time. Suffice to say I needed to deal with a lot of those issues, and have started to…

And in a way, I see this play as a way of finishing that work. That if I get this part, it will be good for me now, to give me something to do — something that I love to do, I’ll be getting back on the stage again — but it’ll be the final step in the healing. Verbalizing the last of the anger (albeit in a proxy sort of way) and then I can move on.

I don’t know if I’ll get the part, I have no idea. But I didn’t even try for the last one, and regretted it for months. So no more regrets.

Put yourself out on a limb, Jackie.

2010 was…

• Heartbreaking. A dear friend of mine killed himself, and his memory still haunts me. There are days that go by that I don’t think of Paul. But rarely a full week. His death broke my friends. His death changed me. His death colours so much of the lens through which I look at the north. Nothing will ever be the same.
• A rebirth. I finally started to take back my self. Unwrap the things I’d tucked away and put on hold. I rediscovered my passions.
• Lonely. For months I sat alone in my apartment. Scared of taking the first step in a new place. The first step is always the hardest. Once you put one foot in front of the other, you have to propel forward. That momentum is key.
• Breaking new ground. I became a runner. For two seasons, at least. I broke the mold I never thought I could change. I went from struggling to run two minutes at a time to running 7 miles – 11 KILOMETERS – in one morning.
• Discouraging. While I’ve never defined myself by the people I date, 2010 was noticeably void of any sort of romance. I got used to the dull feeling of being void of feeling. I got a glimpse of it once, but it flickered out before I could get a good look.
• A springboard. 2010 was a year when I had to set my own rules and decide who and what I want to be. I hope I’m heading down the right path.