IDIOTSSYNCRATIC

Hey friends! Here’s the deal…

I’m currently looking for a new home.

K, cool. Great, you say. Who cares?

Well I do.

Here’s something you most likely already know about me.

My name is Emily. I’m 27. I’m a Kindergarten Teaching Assistant. I love my Job. I Love my students. I wouldn’t change any of that for the Freaking world.

Them little beans are my pride and joy; my classroom my Raison d’etre.

K, great, Em. You love your job. Whoo. Why do I care?

Well, my fine friends, you should care because I am homeless.

In some form or another, I have been homeless all my life.

When my parents were together, my home was a broken home. I was a little seed who grew up in the presence of domestic violence (not too often, but for those of you who have lived through it, once is Enough.)

I…

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Hello e-community…

I was going to post a whole new blog post today, but I got waylaid by a massive pile of laundry. Grr. Anyhow, in the next few weeks, I’m going to be re-posting some of the blog posts I’ve kaiboshed over recent months.

I feel like most times that I’m driven to hit the keyboard, it’s somewhat meaningful, and most times I choose to hit Publish and not Delete, because something I’ve written about that night will matter to you- or someone like you- very much.

So in that vein, I’ve pulled up this Love post from two months back and I’m re-publicizing it, with all its original flaws.

– (What the Hell is this Love thing? Anyone dare to comment this time around? :)-

So, in the last few days, I’ve had much occasion to ponder the L word.

A lot of us want it, some of us have it, and some throw the word around more than we’d like to admit.

I jump into things quickly. I find someone I like and I chase after them relentlessly.

Good game if the person you’re chasing wants to get caught…

Anyhow. This Love thing.

I started thinking about what it all meant. Since the dawn of time people have been trying to define it. We chase after love and its meaning in poems, art, music, movies, dreams…

It’s what keeps us going, wakes us up in the morning, puts rings on our fingers, babies in our bellies…

Love is a very powerful driving force behind almost everything I do.

So I’ve decided to write myself a little report card.

An audit on my self as a Love-r.

I’m drawing my authoritative definition of love from the Bible, from the Corinthians chapter where all those people were pretty much like “Oh Crap. This Jesus guy just blew the whole love thing outta the water. How in hell are we ever supposed to be able to love like he did?”

Here’s the response they got, and I’ve come to think of it as a pretty good answer to what is Real Love:

“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.  Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.  It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails…”

Oh dear God. I’m laughing as I ponder writing my report card. At present in my relationship, I am definitely not patient. If I don’t hear from him in more than 8 hours, I become impetuous as a child.

When I do speak with him, I am most assuredly not kind, and I am easily angered. As for record-keeping, most women I know keep a running tally of recent grievances in their minds for occasions such as this…

I think the only thing I might be getting an A in right now is perseverance. And maybe hope.

As I ponder this whole love and relationship thing, yet again, I wonder what other people have to say about it.

How much of a good relationship is timing? How much is knowing how to pick the right person? If one person is a super-giver, is it best to look for another giver so that you’re always giving equally; or should a giver look for a taker so that they each have their roles?

When do you know when to come close and when to take a step back? How do you remember to keep your head on straight when falling in love is the most wonderful, illogical thing?

I read a terribly good self-help book the other day about relationship addiction. It’s been laying on my shelf for the better part of a year, but who really wants to admit their issues with codependence?? But, finally, I felt the urge to do battle with that part of me so I brought it to the bath with me a few nights back.

Typically, when I embark on a new self therapy book, I take a highlighter to the sentences that really seem to pertain to me and make a deal with myself to return to those issues later in realtime counseling.

By the time I finally put “When you love too much” down, the whole damn book was blue.

I’ll admit, I love Love. I love the idea of it. I love dreaming of it, I love chasing it, I love having it, I love giving it.

I hate losing it.

All that said and done, is that really a bad thing??

Is it so bad to want to love someone? To care for them? To select a worthy human being and hold them in a special place in my heart?

I would call myself a serial monogamist. I’ll admit that I’m usually happier in a relationship than not, and that I can be very needy at times. I like to hear my loved ones tell me that they appreciate me. If I could get that daily from a special someone, I’d be happy as a pig in muck. I prefer to go to parties or weddings with a plus-one. I’d rather eat dinner with someone else than on my own.

I wear my heart on my sleeve and I’m a romantic fool. I believe in fate and in marriage as a sacred institution. I believe in chivalry and the idea that a man should fight to win his lady’s love. I believe in both partners needing to woo each other, even once they’ve made a commitment to one another. I believe in all these things and now I’m wondering if that’s too much to ask…

Am I crazy for believing in romance? Does romance still exist in modern dating relationships?

I could ask a million more questions, but now I’m turning it over to you, my readers, my friends, my confidantes. What are your thoughts on modern-day relationships? Love? Loving too much? Finding balance while still believing in romance? Working to woo your lover? Thanks for any answers you are able to provide. Clearly, I’m in the dark here,

xoxo, Em.

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Has our society taken self-care and ‘being okay on our own’ to its limit?

What happened to Love?
Capital L ‘let’s do this’, all-in, scary, fearless, partner-for-life, Love.

I’m 28. I live by myself. I cook, clean care for, and entertain myself. I have many friends, male and female, that I love and respect dearly. I know what to do with a blank slate of an after-work evening. I’ll go to yoga or make a meal for a good girlie friend or watch TV at my sister’s house and snuggle her cats. I get my fixes where I can. But sometimes, I’m lonely.

I said it. I get lonely.

There’s only so much social media I can participate in just to feel like a partner is with me while I’m doing fun independent stuff, but the fact of the matter is, I don’t always want a FB like or an Instagram like.

I want a partner in crime to be with me in real time, most of the time. Then I won’t take so many damn pictures or blow up my own FB wall. I’ll just be in that moment, with that person, having a time.

I want Someone who wants to roll around on my couch and play Super Nintendo with me. Someone to sit beside me on the flight to Thailand this August so I don’t have to join a young person’s tour group solo as a 28-year old woman. I want Someone who gets off work and asks what ‘we’re’ doing.

We. I think I wanna be a ‘me’ in a we again.

It’s been a long, tough, up and down year but I’m finally back on my feet, practicing self care, enjoying myself greatly, being fit mentally and physically, and I think I’m ready to come into something as a whole person now.

I’m not looking for my better half, no need for anyone to complete me. Just a life partner. Is that so much to ask?

I have so many beautiful, fun, smart friends in the same boat. Negotiating this zany, impersonal, often dishonest, drunken, casual dating world that we live in.

We’re all empowered, self-made, self-loving, ass-kicking females who can cook, clean, and snuggle up a storm but there don’t seem to be any serious takers.

Someone will hang around for a week or a month or two and just when you think you’ve managed to find authenticity, they’re gone, or it fizzled out and it’s just over.

And so I go back to the drawing board. Dating is not very fun. Being on my own gets lonely. I’m already doing all the self work I want to be doing in my personal life.

So now what?? Just wait? It’ll happen? Argh. Any time now 🙂 Somebody worthy and worthwhile, take this girl off the shelf :)-

Xo,
Em

Life Sucks

August 5, 2013 — Leave a comment

Very lovely and very true words that I re-posted from a friend’s FB wall today:

For anyone who may have a need… Did you know the people that are the strongest are usually the most sensitive?

Did you know the people who exhibit the most kindness are the first to get mistreated?

Did you know the one who takes care of others all the time are usually the ones who need it the most?

Did you know the 3 hardest things to say are I love you, I’m sorry, and Help me.

Sometimes just because a person looks happy, you have to look past their smile and see how much pain they may be in.

To all my friends who are going through some issues right now–Let’s start an intention avalanche.

We all need positive intentions right now.

If I don’t see your name, I’ll understand.

May I ask my friends wherever you might be, to kindly copy and paste this status for one hour to give a moment of support to all those who have family problems, health struggles, job issues, worries of any kind and just need to know that someone cares.

Do it for all of us, for nobody is immune. I hope to see this on the walls of all my friends just for moral support. I know some will!! I did it for a friend and you can too. You have to copy & paste this one, no share button, please.

So I did. I reposted. And 3 of my 1,030 FB friends liked it. And maybe some other friends de-friended me for it.

And that doesn’t matter.

Those are good odds for me. A day where THREE people I love really Heard me and appreciated what I had to say.

A girl like me could die happy on a day like today.

 

…But, God willing, I don’t Plan on dying today. Only the Good die young anyway 😉

So, at the end of this post, for my own purposes, I need to add that today, starting right now, and ending when I take possession of my new place tmw @ 6 pm, I will need trucks/vans/service vehicles/any motorized thing that can carry about 4 loads of furniture up to my new place just off of Sarcee and Bow Trail.

For your efforts, I can contribute love, laughter, electronic dance music and Palm Bays or Twisted Teas. I don’t have a lot of money and right now all my friends are busy, or something 😦

Thank you for even reading this; it makes me feel less alone. Xo! Em

Image

That one’s for you, My Prince. You know who you are. Have a better day and maybe we’ll take another kick at This Love can tmw? Regardless of outcome, xoxo. I miss you.

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Editor’s Note: This is a re-post of something I had put up originally on 11/24/11. Until yesterday, it had been my highest-grossing blog post. One of my dear friends said something like “Oh, Em! That’s so cool! Many ppl checked out ur blog today! That must feel Awesome!” And I was like, “Yeah, it totally does. But I feel not Right about it somehow.”

And that is because A Ton of the badass that is now Me, actually came first, from my Dad. And the post about him last year got 237 views. I think I actually feel guilty that the post about me as an adult earned 3 more views than his ode did last year.

So now- the Shameless Daddy’s Girl is reposting the love letter I wrote to my Dad years ago.

I Love you Daddy Bear; I am because You are.

Inukshuk, Strength, Building, Tower, Beauty

11/24/11

I just woke up at Tina’s house to the sound of the baby crying, and I woke up in the middle of an Incredible dream.

My Daddy and I were working very hard to move huge piles and piles of rocks.

In the Dream, we worked on a mountain top side by side and our job was to receive large slabs of stone as they were craned onto the summit.

Our duty was to rearrange the rock towers as they came in. We were runnin around like Crazies, moving these one-two-three-ton boulders like they were made of Styrofoam. It was Awesome! Real Hero shit!

In the dream, it had just become Time for us- having organized and sorted the rock piles so neatly all summer- to start the work of pushing the mountains down.

Me and my Dad were literally moving mountains together!!! And we Loved it!!!

We would look at one section, decide amongst ourselves how to best move it, and then get rip-roaring stoked about how we should best Destroy it.

At around 2:30 a.m. this morning in Real Time, when Jude’s hunger cries woke me up, I had just finished a part in the dream where Dad had been watching me run and leap from one section to the next, excitedly pushing these immovable rock piles over and down like it was no sweat off my brow.

I was making rock avalanches like a Pro and neither Dad nor I were scared for our safety at all.

We were just watching all of our hard work from this summer slide into an amazingly beautiful rockslide that rolled like water into the valley below. There was no Fear.

Me and my Daddy were nimble as mountain goats and sure as Shit that we could move mountains better’n anyone else!!

It was like in Real Life when we watched that fireworks show at the Stampede together in the summer of 2003, and we Screamed our fool heads off with delight each time another rocket exploded.

I think I actually peed my pants laughing that night, when I looked over at my 40-something Dad screaming like a Child on sugar/crack/bathsalts.

The people around us musta thought we were nuts, like we were Clampits or Po’ Folk who had never seen a single firework before.

Or like maybe he or I had some terrible wasting disease and we were actually at the fireworks show on some sort of Last Wish Foundation’s dime- that’s how loudly and excitedly we were whooping and hollering at those pyrotechnics.

But in actuality, we were just that stoked to be sharing such a radical experience together.

This summer, when I was suicidal, my Daddy took me camping.

And Mountain Climbing, at that!

The jury is still out on whether our hike up Frank slide was actually a good idea, because while we did have a great father/daughter day, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t thinking about jumping that whole way up that mountain.

Think about that…

Your daughter, whom you love so Dearly and have never been able to understand, is miserable for some reason and you’re completely powerless to save her from her own demons.

My poor Daddy came from his home in BC and lived with my stepmom and I for six weeks- or was it eight?- this (editor’s note: now ‘Last’) summer when I fell off my rails Again.

And I gotta hand it to him, and I haven’t had the opportunity to say this to him personally yet (ed note: I since have; he cried, shhh it’s a secret. Men don’t cry), but he did a pretty bang-‘em-up job that summer.

For what he had to work with, he did the very Best he could.

What the hell is a parent supposed to say?

And how is a parent supposed to feel when their grown daughter wakes up every day, shaking, covered in her own fear sweat and all she can do when you hug her is whisper over your shoulder that she just wants to die?

I WISH I could tell you I was being dramatic and I’m only exaggerating, but I’m crying as I type this because that’s literally the level of pain I put my parents through this (Last) summer.

I literally asked my stepmom when she was holding my hand and we were waiting for me to be admitted at the Foothills psychiatric ward, to please just kill me herself if the psych doctors didn’t admit me to a suicide prevention program that night.

They didn’t admit me that night. They sent me home.

Nor did they admit me the other two times I tried to get Emergency mental health help this (past) summer.

No matter what we told the doctors about my persistent suicidal thoughts, night terrors, 30-pound weight loss, insomnia, panic attacks… they Wouldn’t admit me.

And Cindi just had to keep right on caring for me almost singlehandedly for that first little while until my Dad came east to help shoulder the burden.

I can only imagine how fucking horrible it is to hug one of your only two daughters while she tells you wholeheartedly that all she wants to do is to die, and keeps asking would you please just let her go.

Daddy, I am so sorry for what I put you through.

Mom, Cindi and Victoria, same goes to you too. And to my dear friends who tried so hard to cheer me up and never knew if it was the last time they would see me, I am so Sorry to you too.

Jesus I am (ed note: Was)  full-on bawling now on Tina’s toilet at 3 am.

Tears are just plopping onto the bath mat like an airplane food drop in the Saharan desert.

Tears to the Desert of my soul cuz this (past) summer– one of the very worst parts– was that I couldn’t even cry about it! When you’re That Fkn Low, tears don’t even come. You Pray for them, but it’s too much to Hope for. A single tear might prove that you were Worth something; that you could still Matter.

I just knew I was stuck deep in a horrible pit, and for the life of me I didn’t know how to crawl out.

But this is a happy post. It really is.

Father

So my Daddy took me hiking at the Height of my suicidal ideation phase. — Good idea or bad idea– the mental health Grand Jury is probably still out on that one J !

But thanks be to God, when I got to the top of Turtle Mountain and overlooked the destruction of the valley below where the rock slide of 1903 had leveled an entire city and spewed age-old rock for miles, I felt at once really insignificantly small and simultaneously Power-full.

On the Edge

I had hiked Turtle Mountain with Daddy years before when I hadn’t wanted to kill myself, and I had been Way Too Scared to go that extra distance at the crest of the mountain and touch the edge where the rock slide began.

I had been too afraid to live on the Edge. But This year when I got to the top of that bad boy, I practically Ran to the summit.

I walked right up to the mountain’s edge, skooched down low on my belly and eased my body over the lip of the mountain so that I could come as Close as humanly possible to ending my life that day.

But my Daddy was behind me, laughing and taking pictures of my bravery, and I could never Jump in front of a Man like that.

Mountain

(ed note. Fuck this still Hurts me to read. Thank God I’m almost Done!!)

So.. we threw rocks instead.

We climbed a little bit lower down the mountain and started having the time of our lives.

He would scramble around finding the Perfect big fat heavy rock, and then I would watch as he whipped it down the mountainside.

We would watch together as the missile smashed into trees and other rocks on its way down, filling the air dusty with rock powder and launching a fresh series of mini rockslides down the cliff face.

And then he would watch me; asthmatic, suicidal, way-too-skinny, dehydrated, powerless little me pick up my own damn rock and hurl it confidently down into its own spiral of chaos.

Outdoorsy people call this experience ‘trundling’, but I like to think of it as a mental health exercise.

I had no Control over anything going on in my own life, but man could I whip a rock down a hill Real Fkn Good!

The pictures embedded in this post are from that day, and to the untrained eye, they probably just look like great, happy, sunny father/daughter-day pics.

Sunny D

But to me and my Daddy, they are snapshots of a mental place he and I wish to Never Return.

Depression is a Place where a daughter might go to throw a rock, and end up throwing herself down instead. The difference is in two more grams of weight to the rock she picked, the sound of the wind that day, the feel of the fall in front of her, and then the Security in the Smile of the First Man she Ever Loved, standing behind her, Fully Trusting that she Will Not Jump.

It’s August 1, 2013. Daddy-World-E-community. This is my Promise.

I Didn’t Jump. I will not Jump. YOU cannot Jump. You cannot Let ANYONE else choose to Jump. Depression CAN NOT take another, or a First, of your loved ones again.

My Dad taught me that day that Depression cannot be cured in one day alone. Hell No. That’s just Wishful Thinking.

Depression, no matter how bad it gets, needs One Person. Just One Freaking Person to give a single Shit whether or not YOU jump.

If you’re currently Low, Find that person.

If you know someone who is Depressed, and you don’t think ur cool enough to Be that person for someone, then Become that person. Because a jumper needs EVERYONE on their team to give a few shits from time to time.

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So when I woke up to the baby crying just now, and I woke up literally moving mountains in a dream with my Dad, I can’t help but smile a big ole shit-eating grin and thank the God of dreams for putting that one in my head.

My Daddy taught me Three Lessons in Life I needed to know to Get By, and I know them well:

1)       All Men are Pigs, (hehe… coming from a man; .hilarious, but very sage advice indeed)

2)      Your sister will Always be your very best friend; she’s the best gift your Mom and I ever gave you,

3)      And You, my Dear, are the Future Ruler of the World.

I didn’t Know it Last summer Dad, but I carried it with me in my heart anyhow.

Today though, Daddy;

Today I feel like the future ruler of the world.

Thank You.

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Cool/Helpful Frank Slide Stuff

http://www3.sympatico.ca/goweezer/canada/frank.htm

http://yearofwheels.wordpress.com/2011/02/26/riding-up-frank-slide-alberta/

Resources

towriteloveonherarms

http://twloha.com/

http://www.depressionhurts.ca

Calgary Dream Centre

www.calgarydreamcentre.com/

Calgary Distress Centre

                                                              No problem is too small to call.

403.266.HELP (4357)

Hey friends! Here’s the deal…

I’m currently looking for a new home.

Shit. There was a Flood. Now a lot of people need new Housing.

Shit. There was a Flood. Now a lot of people need new Housing.

K, cool. Great, you say. Who cares?

Well I do.

Here’s something you most likely already know about me.

My name is Emily. I’m 27. I’m a Kindergarten Teaching Assistant. I love my Job. I Love my students. I wouldn’t change any of that for the Freaking world.

Them little beans are my pride and joy; my classroom my Raison d’etre.

K, great, Em. You love your job. Whoo. Why do I care?

Well, my fine friends, you should care because I am homeless.

In some form or another, I have been homeless all my life.

When my parents were together, my home was a broken home. I was a little seed who grew up in the presence of domestic violence (not too often, but for those of you who have lived through it, once is Enough.)

I grew up in the midst of chaos, confusion, passion, laughter, community and drunkenness. Always another new face to meet, a new school to fit into, a new chance to be a better me.

Wouldn’t change Most of that for the world either.

Learned a lot. Some what NOT to do in my Own Adult Life, lots of good things too.

Got a great Stepdad in 1997. He changed my life. Thank you, Gilles. You’ve since passed but one day I’ll hug you again and I can say “Gilles! You were here along! I thought you’d gone the other way! hahaha!” And he’ll say “Of course I’m Here, kid! Does a Bear shit in the woods?!” Hahaha. And we’ll have great laughs.

For now though, I’ll keep on missing him and loving him for the Father figure he was to me.

Boohoo, Emily, so your life was tough; who cares?

Well, again, maybe it’s time people knew some more about me.

I once spent Christmas in the Sheriff King shelter for abused women and their children. Do you know what it’s like to walk into a room full of toys & tell your Mom you want the red tricycle, only to have her read the tag, swallow her pride and tell you ‘that trike is for a 5 yr old boy?’. too bad I didn’t fit the bill.

I think i got a barbie.

And promptly cut her head off with a pair of scissors I found.

Regardless, I spent some time in shelters. My mom shopped at thrift stores.

We changed schools a lot.

I never had friends, or community. Never got to join a sports team or go to a summer camp.

Til Grade 3, when Gilles came into my life, I very rarely spoke at school. Teachers asked my Mom why I didn’t speak.

was I stupid? Deaf? Retarded? learning disabled?

Year after year, my Mom would respond indignantly that I was reading Well Above and Beyond my classes’ reading level, No she’s not Retarded. Eff you, Mr or Mrs. what’syourface.

Point here is; I don’t need your sympathy. I don’t need any pity.

I need a HOME OF MY OWN.

I’ve spent literally this ENTIRE day (my Day Off…haha!) on my computer, trying to hussle up one rental unit that will rent one living space to One single white female who CHOOSES to make a low-income salary so that ALL the kids that pass thru my door WILL be heard.

I don’t have a lot of money, but I do got Soul, and Soul don’t buy you a home these days.

Can’t even rent you one.

Every door has been slammed in my face today, or at least that’s the way it feels.

Internet friends, I don’t need sympathy.

I need Hope. I need Prayer. I need a freaking Home by August 15th.

OF MY OWN.

This will work out. It Just Has to.

In love, and rage,

Em. Xo!

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PS CALGARY HOUSING MARKET; RENTAL AND SALES, Step Up. Come Hell or High Water, your people Will hold you accountable.

The World is watching.

Love This Guys’ work. He’s freakin’ started his own Onion. DR, you’re the man. xo!