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Monthly Archives: March 2012

Mid-Twenties Disillusionment

I have a general feeling of discontent lately. I feel as though life is stalling and I can’t play the clutch to make first gear stick.

Nothing in particular is really worth whinging about, it’s just a series of small (or some larger) disappointments – turned down from job interviews, not a lot of postings coming up to apply for, projects on hold, a feeling of general worry and fear of what the future will hold for our society (American Politics. As a woman, those “Presidential” candidates have some SCARY ideas of how my body should be ruled; and I’m not even American!), I feel like I’ve lost touch with a lot of friends, my attempts at dating aren’t proving as fruitful as I’d hoped but I’m not rushing into things, etc etc etc.

Things were cruising along, I felt like I had direction and purpose. Maybe I’m even more my father’s daughter than I thought – Dad can’t stand sitting still and not doing anything, unless it’s for an hour or two after a hard days’ work. I love having projects and things to work on to the point where I get overwhelmed and have a sort of mental/stress breakdown.
I mean, after finishing a huge project or event, I love having some time to relax and enjoy it, but I hate having a string of lazy days where I don’t need to bother getting dressed and spend my day creeping on the internet.  Gimme something to sink my teeth into!

Hopefully tomorrow will be a better, brighter day. Thanks for listening to me whinge, internet.

My Ocean

My island is surrounded by the Pacific Ocean. I’m a Pacific Islander, but my island isn’t surrounded by warm tropical waters.
The waves that roll onto my shores are steely, slate-coloured, deep and dark blue, grey and green. They are fringed with white and salty.

Our waves are cold, bone-chilling even in the summer months. They roll in endlessly, falling over each other in the race to crash upon the craggy rocks, the boulders and even some sand. They splash over the walled walk on top of the cliffs, spraying icy saline over sidewalks, vehicles and unsuspecting pedestrians. They stretch from the island to the mainland of both Canada and the US, depending on which side of the island you’re on.

The ocean calls to all the residents – the salt-tipped wind whips back hair and reddens cheeks, noses and ears with chill. The lighthouse at the end of the breakwater is a peaceful spot for many. The siren song is loud here, permeating the air we breathe, the light we see, the rain that falls on our roofs and streets. The salt-air spoils us for other climates, we can’t survive in the arid climes of any interior lands.

Beaches roll along for miles, from one edge of the island’s point to the other. Cliffs bravely face the ocean, covered in scrub, brush and driftwood. The shore is uneven and beautiful. Blue-grey and black rocks stretch out into the water, scattered along the foreshore; smaller rocks roll along the shore, a unique and wonderful sound; a swishing along the sandy stretches. Driftwood gathers and piles along the shore, marking the high tides of winter.

This is the ocean that soothes me.
This is the ocean that I know and love.
This is the ocean I call home.

These waves roll from one end of the earth to the other and back again. How ever the ocean waters may change from the Pacific to the Atlantic and Indian oceans, these waters will always calm my soul. These frigid waters will always delight me in the heat of late August and these waters will create the breath-taking backdrop of my little world.

Lost Alice

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Wandering through life, like Wonderland’s forest
The path changing and disappearing.
There are no maps in no-man’s land; your guess is as good as hers.

What do these paths hold?
Mad Queens, black rabbits, or the way home?
One path holds a tall, sturdy Oak,
Another becomes a free
f
a
l
l
through the earth.

She’s scared to jump. Climb those rocks, it’s pure adrenaline getting you to the top.
Crushing indecision – The “what-if”‘s fly like leather-winged bats in her head.

Just a lost little girl, stuck at a crossroad. St Christopher around her neck; a comfort, never a noose.
No one can guide her now, her path is her own to pick.
How can you find home when it is no longer there to come home to?

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Education is important. The students are the most affected by the quality of education they receive. The teachers aren’t greedy, but the media has latched onto the wage increase; not the smaller class sizes to deliver effective and meaningful lessons and education. Please be aware. Think critically, and evaluate both sides before you leap to your own conclusions about this issue.