Connecting with people matters so much to me, despite the fact I’ve failed so badly at it.

Not my fault in a way, given how I was raised. But anyway, my trials have not been too successful. I’m different, so people diss, dismiss, and reject me. They aren’t interested cuz I’m different. I’ve tried so hard. But I tend to talk too much, it seems. I’m interested in what other people have to say but I’m so desperate to speak that I probably don’t give them enough space. Perhaps I’m a “bore.” I try not to be and I’ve been told many times I’m a good conversationalist, but that doesn’t translate into long-term friends. I do have a few of those, but they aren’t the people who told me I’m a good conversationalist.

How the heck can I be lonely in an overpopulated world of 7 billion people? Dunno, but I am. So lonely.

Every time I spend time with people, I feel angst afterwards. I talked too much. I failed. Sorry to say this, and I don’t mean to be “negative” but my life is fail and I should not have been born.

Still I keep trying. Working on some huge changes right now, not that anyone cares.

My ex lives in the same building as me. More than 2 years since the separation, many moments of angst. I hate letting go.  But soon I’ll be moving far away. Torture.

Maybe I’ll actually get a life worth living, soon.

“Give me love, give me peace on earth.” An obscure album I bought in my teen years. I was a Beatles fan early.

Wish me luck. Suicide ain’t pretty, but neither is the pain of fuitile loneliness.


Feel good by doing the right thing.

That’s my insight for the day.

I’ve been keeping up with the biz podcasts. So many ridiculous businesses. Troll cakes – take some Internet troll insult, put it on a cake, and mail it to the troll? People spend money on that? What a waste of resources. Twenty-five bucks could have planted some trees or something. Made contraceptives available to people in third world countries.

Okay, people gotta have fun. I get that. But wooden bow ties? I’m not kidding. Fifty bucks for that, or a fancy wallet? Weird-ass shirts with a giant pocket over the entire front? Or even the endless POD t-shirt offers. Overpriced t-shirts, paying for a cute slogan. Art? Not really. Expressing yourself feels good, and that’s what such shirts are about. But ya know what? Expressing ourselves is a human characteristic that tends to be stifled generally. We don’t know how to handle honest speech. We don’t know how to listen. So, we purchase an approved form of communication, a safe form. Like stickers to ‘stick it to the man’ or magnet-messages for bad drivers. Amazing, fun, and so unnecessary. Like the essential oils blog full of woo advice, or the luxury tooth brushes – oh, sorry, “sustainable bamboo tooth brushes.” Right, sustainable. Or soy candles with essential oils “for the eco-conscious.” Just no.

That said, there are a lot of great businesses, too. And even the goofy ones provide meaningful lessons and how-to tips. Great podcast.

The difficulty is in seeing anything of value I could and would want to provide. I tend to be more frugal than frugal. And then I was thinking about what I really value. I really appreciate feeling good in my body. The massage school inexpensive therapeutic massage by gung-ho and talented students have been precious. I feel good. I want to feel good. That’s what people are often buying – something that feels good. The student I’m seeing this term is about to graduate. Graduate to a career where he’ll be greatly appreciated, no doubt. He’s talented. Wonderful non-pokey pressure, but he can also judiciously crush your fascial adhesions – a game changer for range of motion.

I wish I had that focus, talent, and ability to make people feel good. When you feel good, you don’t need a bunch of crap, to consume, buy, eat, indulge in. To use. I want people to feel good, but I also want to do good, do the right thing. I want people to feel good doing the right thing. Makes the right thing easier to do.




Been listening to the podcasts of Chris Guillebeau, of “Side Hustle School.” It’s really excellent. I’m fascinated by all the different ways people come up with additional income streams on top of their jobs. I love Chris’ attitude that this isn’t just about money – it’s about independence, freedom, confidence, as well.

Now, he says, “side hustle school” so fast it sounds like “sad asshole school” but I’m sure that’s just my Freudian projection. My life is basically a failure so far. I’m at rock bottom. I need something new and fresh. I’m 55, not ready to retire or just quit. I need more.

Wish me luck. I can’t go on the way it’s been. I’m on the edge.



Been a while since I’ve posted – November, last year.

Still finding it odd there’s 7 billion people on this rock, but I’m lonely. Many are lonely.

At the same time, there seems to be not enough space. It’s hard to own a little cottage and a garden, even if you move out of town. Pretty much impossible to own your home in town, near university and all other exciting amenities. Few people in Vancouver can own their home and most are renters.

I’m trying to get out, even if that means into some house in the middle of nowhere, such as Williams Lake, Greenwood, Port Alberni, whatever.

I wanna grow my own veggies and be free from paying rent on someone else’s investment, and putting up with people clattering overhead, next door, and on the street passing by. The city is killing me, even as it is the source of Meetup buddies, dance classes, and other amenities.

The world doesn’t agree with me and every so often topping myself seems like an easy out.


Where unicorns live, mud and sparkles

Said I’d write about this a long time ago. Finally writing about it. Not the fantasy unicorn that people fantasize about, but an actual unicorn – that is, something that can’t be seen because it doesn’t fit with what we know exists. Actually, that’s kind of an anti-unicorn, isn’t it? Rather than a nonexistent creature that people want to dream of, rather an exising creature that people don’t believe is real.

See, I got called a unicorn at one point by someone, and that resonated with me. It wasn’t just my rare blood type, shoe size, or IQ, all of which are in the two percent or 98th percentile. Not my spatial, colour, or verbal aptitudes, either.

The key point is just that statistically I’m not in the main trend, on numerous variables. Even gender. I’m apparently female, but often perceived as male. The big hands and feet and lack of typical female markers such as makeup, purse, fashion and high voice are enough to effect that, despite my big-ass hips and utter lack of interest in or understanding of sports.

I’m so far from the mainstream on numerous variables that you can’t see me from there. Picture people standing up on top of the normal curve. I’m down in the valley somewhere, on the tail. Land of mud and aparkles.

It sucks being invisible. It’s not the kind of invisibility cloak that lets you sneak into the opposite sex locker room and ogle and pinch bottoms wtih abandon. It’s more like invalidation, something I was raised with. Yup, I was a unicorn to my mother, too. Must have been a painful birth, or maybe unicorns are born without horns.



sorrow, loneliness, and purpose

I need purpose in my life, something more than just taking care of me.

Yes, I had to put myself first, take care of me, since no one else ever did – not my mother, family, husband – I had to put me first.  Unlike my dear cousin and probably many others, I can and did look in the mirror and say, “I love you no matter what.” No one else did this for me, not my mother, family, or husband. Ex-husband is the worst.

My mistake: I thought we were twins, forever. I thought it was eternal love and security conquering all. I never had this closeness or love with anyone, in 50 years. And then it turned out to be false. I can see it was a mistake and could never work because only one person, me, wanted it to work. My mistake. Mea culpa.

I don’t know what to do. I don’t know the best I can offer. I am over 50 and supposed to leave the active stage, supposed to retire, supposed to cease to exist. I am invisible.

I’m not ready to give way or die. I need a place in this world.

I don’t know what to do.





The problem had dogged me my whole life, apparently, until a couple weeks ago. I mean I’ve been struggling with it a few decades, but really there were long periods when I didn’t even try. Nothing seemed to work. When I was about 12 my mother took me to a doctor who gave me a diet sheet. I took one look at the first breakfast,  which was something like one boiled egg, one piece of dry toast and some milk, and I just snorted. I think my mum brought the paper home, but I never saw it again.

I’ve always been fat, as others have pointed out most unkindly since about Grade 1. But I’ve always been healthy because I eat real food and I do strength training. This was enough to make up for any number of bags of potato chips and fast food indulgences and masses of cheese – because mostly I ate my five a day and cooked everything from scratch. But now… the fat is disappearing. Simply, I wanted to feel light, to do things with ease, and to have more opportunities in life. Greater agility for dance, perhaps the ability to do more intense field work in my area of interest. It might even help me get hired in a new line of work, given so many preconceptions about fat people. But anyway, the main thing is I wanted it for myself, absolutely wanted it, and realized I was going to have to have a meal plan. I wanted to feel good. And now I feel good.

I plan my meals the day before, and I don’t snack. No, I’m not perfect, but basically that is what consistently happens. Three five to six hundred calorie meals, and my morning coffee with 18% fat cream because that’s how I like it, and maybe a protein shake in there if I’m too hungry in the morning or late at night. If everyone on Supersize-Superskinny can do it, then I can do it. Your appetite adjusts to the schedule and amounts given, even when those amounts are half of what you used to eat. (For us overeaters, anyway.)

I haven’t quite figured out how it is that the emotional eating is gone. Maybe it’s that I pursue many other things seeking pleasure. I’m consciously choosing to turn away from a path that brings me much pain in the long run. I’m consciously choosing to lay down new neural pathways in breaking that habit and looking to create new ones. But it’s not that everything is just hunky dory now. I have the same problems in life – need a new job, hate the noise and stink, feel lonely as hell often, am ageing – all that. But I’ve knocked off a long-standing problem – two, actually, both struggling with food and weight and struggling with the emotions around food – and that is a glorious triumph for me.


PS the four blocks of cheese I have in the fridge that were on discount a while back are gonna last me till next year now, for sure.