This week – back in Markham, back at life – has been slightly varied in its consequences. I flipped out on my dad Tuesday night because I was tired of holding back my thoughts. It was one of those moments where I just couldn’t keep in all of the frustration anymore and just let it go, and cried and cried like I was grieving. Being so angry made me think about moving out (I’m still quite an emotional teenager at heart, it seems) and call my boyfriend, who is on the opposite side of the world and received my call at an alarmingly early hour only to hear unintelligible sobbing and sniffling on my end. However, he is an angel, and went out to buy an extra phone card so I wouldn’t fully panic and dye my hair purple for rebellion, and calmed me down.
Because he was such a sweetheart, (“I will support whatever decision you make/you are always welcome here/consider us a 2nd family”) the duality of my past post really came alive for me. As The Clash sang so many years ago, “should I stay or should I go?“
I’ve wanted to move out of my house for a while now, and had a logically thought-out plan in place for a year to leave by August 2012. I am loading up on courses this year so I can work more the year after (if the need arises) in order to be able to pitch in and do my share of the “together” part. I made plans; I mentally painted our bedroom and picked out cutesy IKEA furniture and vintagey plates and cutlery. I decided on the flavour (smell?) of our soap. I had a sleeping plan prepared (he sleeps late, I prefer earlier) and a backup plan (ear-plugs with a vibrating alarm).
Getting angry made me almost forget all of these plans. And I am a planner by nature (and by sanity), so this was pretty serious of a hiccup in my mental state.
However, in recent days (ahem, 2, if you want to be specific) I have been overwhelmed by joy. The fight blew over as quickly as a tree in a hurricane and everybody understood what had transpired without having to be told (a little past bitterness, a lot of misunderstanding, and no bad intentions). This made moving on easier. I still have moving vans on my mind, but my friends (Ri, and Fer) are – and I am very spare with my use of this word – god sent, and helped me mull over an issue so big in a few days time. I don’t think these ideas will leave my mind anytime soon, mostly because I have a goal, but they are not at the forefront of my brain. Right now, at least. Talk to me in a week and I might be packing a suitcase, with my temperament.
This joy that I’ve been indulging in is really just a bit of perspective. I am a busy girl with so many wonderful plans. Varley (Art Gallery Summer Camps) really helps me see that. I saw it at the beginning of my work term in July, when the morning literally lit up my days, and I see it now, when I lay in the grass with a bunch of 10-year-olds, playing Pig and giggling at all their jokes that don’t make sense. I see this new calmness in the way I act at work, the simplicity of just letting children be whoever it is that they are, as long as they’re within the boundaries of safety. It was a load off to practice the psycho bit with my dad; to scream out all the angry energy that had built up, tight as a coil, in my belly.
I am now looking towards the horizon instead of navel-gazing. That is a big change, and I think it has to happen often in order for me to keep walking on the path best suited.
I have wonderful friends, and a busy life that helps me treasure the time spent with them. I got an A in my dreadful summer course and an editing opportunity that I am thrilled about (but will announce later). I have travel plans and school plans and writing plans and I have ways and means to get all these plans fulfilled. I have a boyfriend that is unlike anyone I have ever met. I have friends that literally make my life an already-determined experiment in happiness and kindness. I have a family that is gung-ho about whoever it is that I am. And I am pretty gung-ho about me too, even if it takes a little breakdown for me to see that.