Strange Girl Seeks Strange Boy

It’s Easter Monday, and here I sit in my neighbourhood Starbucks. I hate myself for it. I was at the bookstore once and picked up a book and in the foreword she thanked the Starbucks staff at her local where she had sat and written the whole book. Disgusted, I immediately flung it back onto the shelf. I could never read a book written at generic, corporate, soulless Starbucks! I need to ask myself: Why? And who exactly do I think I am anyway?

It’s eight something in the morning, and I am an Emotional Mess. It all started yesterday when I got my period. Suddenly I was mousey, unconfident, quiet. That progressed into moody and frustrated. Finally, this morning, I was sad, lonely, self-badgering and fully, fully lost in this world.

You know when you get your eyes checked and they put that big upside down triangle machine thing in front of your face and you rest your chin on it and before you the doctor starts sliding this lens then that lens then another then another until he or she deduces that you do need glasses or you don’t? That’s life! And the eye doctor is God or The Universe or Fate or whatever name you use for It. And you, sitting there behind the view of all those different lenses, some blurry, some crystal clear, and all the shades in between, that’s the Human Condition.

And it’s ups and downs are not going to change. ‘Tis life. So then, is there a point to try and figure out why one day you see crystal clear and one day you don’t? Why one day you are secure, confident, proud of who you are, then one day you wonder why everyone else has their shit together so well and you are such a disaster? Or do you just wait it out, because no matter how good things are or how bad you are feeling, eventually things and your perspective will change again? Life is not static.

Despite how terrible the lows can be, I am still thankful for this sorry state. The deeper the carve, the more to be filled. But this is no time for being positive!

« You’re a strange girl, » my friend Pedro told me. I know, and I’ve always known this. I am the girl in grade four that got the side of her head shaved into a checkerboard and died her hair orange. I am the girl who moved out at sixteen because I wanted to do things My Way. I am the girl who moved to Toronto all by herself at eighteen and never looked back. I am the girl who doesn’t let the lack of a travel partner or much money hold her back from taking off and spending the summers in Paris and weeks in New York and Boston and Montreal and Vancouver. I’m the girl with a will and a way. Usually I really like myself.

But this morning, it seems like it’s all been a farce! What was I thinking!? I should be saving and buying a condo. How will I ever find a mate when I always have the Benetton Brigade tramping in and out of my tiny appartment all the time leaving me no privacy whatsoever? If I keep taking off all the time, how will I ever find a stable partner? Are you a teacher or a singer or a writer or what? What are you??? If you’re thirty-eight and you still don’t know, how do you ever expect someone else to jump on board for the ride? You will always be alone.</

Wow. With internal dialogue like that who needs enemies??

"You're so dramatic," my father and many others have often told me. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, they are right. "Depression is a North American luxury." That's me quoting myself. I said that. I say that. And now I say it to myself. Good Gawd. I think I talked myself out of my morning’s Emotional Messiness. How me of me. I jumped from behind the upside down triangle machine thing and changed the lens my damn self, didn’t I?

What can I do? I am me. I lead a good life, I am a good person. I have a great job, amazing friends, I travel, I have rich, rich life experiences daily. I am healthy, not bad looking. But yes, yes, I am different; marching to the beat of my own drum.

In writing this post I have realized that at times like these, that is my Big Insecurity. Not that I don’t have my shit together, but that I have it together differently; that I am a bit strange. But « normal » is so boring! I don’t want to be normal! 

This morning The Eye Doctor slid a funny, fuzzy lens before me and I couldn’t see,
I felt sad and lost and I couldn’t hear the beat.
Then the beat came back and you know what? It’s pretty sweet, but I wonder.
Will anyone ever march to this beat with me?

À propos de Stina

If I could tell you about me in a neat and tidy definitive statement, I don't think I'd be writing this blog.
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