Anger prisoner.

Tammy is good at noticing things in trees.

On Monday, she took me to Cuthbert Holmes Park. There, I saw my first great horned owl in the wild. My favorite thing about great horned owls is how they look perpetually offended: this one was no exception. Tammy also pointed out the camouflaged hummingbird nests in the trees along the trails. Upon dropping me off at my place, she remarked that my landlords had an apple tree–which I knew about–and a plum tree, which I hadn’t noticed. And a pear tree that had somehow eluded me. 

To be fair, even if she hadn’t pointed out the pear tree, I would’ve noticed it today as I collected two pears off the ground when I went outside to re-pot one of my houseplants. While lining the container with potting soil, I realized that doing so directly underneath said pear tree probably wasn’t wise. Isaac Newton had beat me to the notion of gravity more than 300 years ago. Had a pear bonked me on the head, the discovery would have been one of my landlords to make: me unconscious under their pear tree.

The landlords’ daughter is in town. She was the one who introduced me to her parents via email, but it’s her partner who I know as I worked with him in Montréal. For this reason, we haven’t hung out, but that didn’t stop her from sharing on WhatsApp what her parents had to say about me. They inadvertently complimented my cycling prowess when they mentioned to her how fast I go up the hill on our street on my e-bike.

I do not have an e-bike.

Not to worry, the rest of this post isn’t going to be about how amazing I am.

Continue reading “Anger prisoner.”

Sunny skies, not disposition.

Hot, sticky, and depressing: that’s been my week. I have been unwell, not physically, although I noticed a tan spot under one of my toenails and googled for info, fully expecting to get suggested treatments for what’s probably the start of a fungal infection. Instead, Google coughed up:

MELANOMA!

Melanoma? UNDER MY TOENAIL? I don’t wear open-toed shoes. MY TOES HAVE NEVER SEEN THE SUNLIGHT.

Fine, I’ll keep an eye on my gross feet. What made me cry, though, was my brain. The organ that controls me began to override my ability to think and behave rationally. I found myself in a conflict on Wednesday night and lost sleep over re-framing and re-interpreting the situation, trying to look at it from many different perspectives, second-guessing my emotions, and questioning my sanity.

“It’s not me, it’s them. Wait, maybe it’s me? No, it’s definitely them. Am I overreacting? Just go to sleep, there’s nothing you can do about it now. Ok, here’s what I could do… No. Go to sleep. My eyes have been shut for the past three hours; settle down, emotions. Wtf…”

I showed up to work on Thursday morning feeling like garbage.

A familiar piece of advice is, “Think before you speak.” For me, that could take hours or even days. In the 20 or so years since I was diagnosed with Bipolar disorder, I’ve learned that the best course of action is to retreat from the public until I can function somewhat normally again.

When I told my boss two hours before my shift was over that I had to hightail it, he thankfully didn’t question my need to leave. Sure enough, as soon as my mirrored sunglasses went on and I unlocked my bike, I started sobbing.

Continue reading “Sunny skies, not disposition.”

Giving the cold shoulder in Canada’s warmest city.

Here’s another one for my ever-growing list of pet peeves: I get annoyed when fellow Canadians insist that not all of Canada is cold. Victoria may have Canada’s warmest winters, but… an average low of 3° C is hardly balmy. And it’s very wet. Try getting around the city soaked to the bone in 3° C weather and tell me that it’s a comfortable temperature.

Also, I spent two winters in Calgary and four in Montréal: Not as cold ≠ warm. I will fight you on this while wearing mitts and baffled down slippers.

Furthermore, Victorians have a nickname for June: Junuary. Some days so far this month have required a sweatshirt and pants, evidence that Victoria isn’t all that warm.

Ah, yes, welcome to squaremeat.com, where the hot topic is cold weather.

So far this month, anytime the sun’s still shining after my workday ends, I’ve gone for a ride. Here’s my latest accomplishment:

Is that? Could it be?

Continue reading “Giving the cold shoulder in Canada’s warmest city.”

Chummy chump.

I’ve been informed that there has been an increase in yellow-haired people roaming in this city. But because I am currently the only yellow-haired friend my friends have, they’ve been telling me about their sightings to make sure I know I’m not special.

It’s true, though. My decision to go yellow was influenced by a drag queen anyway. Soon to be incorporated in my wardrobe: a vinyl beret.

My cyst mentor asked me yesterday how my lump was feeling and gave it a name: Calvin. It took three hours for that joke to hit me. I was in the middle of mashing my pizza dough when I went, “HOHOHO. CALVIN. I GET IT NOW. CALF-IN!” I promptly texted him to congratulate him on a pun well done.

The doctor’s office never got back to me with the results of my x-ray, so I called the office on Monday. I called through the video relay service, which I am not a fan of, because I feel the need to make myself look somewhat presentable. I know these interpreters are professionals, but they also people I potentially know in real life. More than that, to use this service, I need to be somewhere with a reliable internet connection, which rules out making calls at work during my break.

I had to wait until my day off to learn of Calvin’s origins.

Continue reading “Chummy chump.”