I’ve been looking forward to this for weeks. I have a huge rosemary bush in my garden behind the building. I live in a concrete tower, but I have a couple of garden plots here. People always ask me why I have them or how did I get them. Anyway, it’s nice to have a kitchen garden with herbs.

Since it’s Easter weekend, I cut a basket of rosemary and put it in a pile on the free shelf.  Something we have in our laundry room. I put up a sign saying it’s free for the taking. Most of it was gone in a few hours.

And that’s it. That’s my bit of human connection till I go to a meetup on Sunday.



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.

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.




Supersize v. Superskinny


I’m late to the reality-TV party, but I recently discovered the UK show Supersize v. Superskinny, which is kinda reality-TV because they are real people taking part in a filmed interactive situation. But this show uses its shock value for a very constructive purpose rather than just for entertainment. Basically, Dr. Christian Jessen, often just called Dr. Christian, guides one obese and one near-anorexic person to learn from him and each other, in order to revampt their eating habits. Dr. C, with his sensible comments and caring voice, has taken up residence in my mind along with my favourite participants, and encourages me now.

Two different people each week meet and compare visual display of a week’s worth of food. They are each going to have to eat what the other one did in the past week, as recorded in a food diary. They enter the feeding clinic and the skinny person is presented with a vast dinner, often followed by unwanted snacks. The fat person gets some sad excuse for a meal, like a chocolate bar, a piece of toast and an energy drink, or if they’re really lucky, decent food, but a portion fit for a four-year old.

So this past week, I set up a “feeding clinic” for myself. No one else here, just the show participants and Dr. C to cheer me on. From the show, I learned that you can reset your appetite. I planned three sensible meals a day for myself, and a protein shake as an option if rushed or heading out for a long swim and the like. Currently the two key points for me are to do without snacking, and to make a plan and follow it. I already eat high quality food made from scratch, for the most part, and now that is exclusive. No more fast food burgers and other not-great stuff I’ve enjoyed in the past. Time and again the supersizers suffered through some hunger but pretty soon were okay with their tiny portions. I can only guess their bodies started burning a bit of fat.

Amazingly, most of these people started to look noticeably better after several days in the clinic, especially people who were there for a whole week, and especially the super-skinnies. Even though they were often eating takeaway food with lots of bad fats and carbs, just getting more calories put colour in their face and took away some gauntness, immediately. I also noticed after the first day on my feeding clinic, immediately my complexion looked clearer, just like most of the supersized folks on the show.

So, I got a bit of glory. I found something that I know will work. I saw it work for many others. Planning your meals is not a new thing, but it’s something I resisted till now. I like flexibility, but now I need control. I always cooked in bulk and saved it in the fridge and freezer for meal convenience, so I’m used to that level of planning, but the point is here is planning for portion control. Limit intake to three meal periods and a scoop of protein if necessary. So far I’m not defining the meal portion extremely. That will be the next step, once I have the 3 meals without snacks habit down pat. I’m quite sure this alone will make a decent difference, as I was quite the opportunistic grazer up till now.

It’s great to have a plan I can believe in, live by, and refine, and be free from emotional eating. Yes, I had a few thoughts of indulgence over the past few days, but I focused on my goal to get through to a new state of being, like the peiople in the show. They are sent off for a few weeks or months and come back to reveal their results. They are encouraged to continue beyond that. Unfortunately, I won’t have a feeding clinic buddy to keep in touch with, but I can at least remember a lot of the delightful and inspiring people who have been on that show.

Just one thing about me – I’ve never been a dieter. My life has been going through hell the past two years, due to my marriage breakdown. I did manage to lose some weight during the separation part of that, but gained more than half of it back. Yoyoing is not fun and I don’t want that pattern to repeat. I’m taking it slow, steady, and comfortable (except being willing to feel hungry while adjusting), so it can be a solid lifestyle change.

I know all the supersizers and superskinnies and Dr. C would wish me success.


Glorious soil

Glorious soil

Spent some time reading up on something that is a genuine interest, soil. Picked some cukes from my garden, too. They’ve been slow coming this year. Was not a good garden year with the cold spring and overheated midsummer. My beans wouldn’t even set fruit for quite a while there during the heat wave. It just cooked the pollen before it could get down the tube, I understand.

I want to have a life, finally. I want a real job, something with some meaning and purpose. I want to be connected to people who share interests, like in soil and science and soil science. I’ll probably live another 30-40 years, given how healthy I am. In the pre-industrial era, 30-40 years is basically a lifetime, I tell myself, so there’s still time to start over. I’m not ready to retire and shutdown. I feel much younger than my years, anyway.

I want all these things. What am I doing to get them, besides reading about biogeochemistry? Well, I researched jobs and applied to ones I thought I could do and would want to do. Didn’t get a job, though. I’m trying to sell my old truck and get moved out of here. I’m trying to buy my own place, either an apartment in the Fraser Valley somewhere or a house further afield. I need a change. This is a really good building, but I’m tired of renting and I want out of the building where my ex still lives and where I spent most of my ill-fated marriage.

I want connection. Friends. Community. Why is that so hard? I never had those. I thought my soil, my personal stock of attributes, was rich. But nothing’s growing, not those things I want and need, anyway.

Talk about – pop music

This won’t be an essay.

I love pop music. From the 1920s backward to folk music and early music of the Renaissance and beyond to classical times, and from the 1920s forward even to some rap music, I have taken great pleasure. But I’m also a word freak and I do hear the lyrics. I was an English teacher; when Paul McCartney said in one of his rare false moves, “world in which we live in,” it grated on my ear. But what really grates on my lately is objectification of humans.

In some shop today, the lovely Watching the detectives by Elvis Costello washed over me, causing me to start to twitch to the ska beat. He was writing ABOUT objectification in a clever way, as always. Sadly, the next song was Put a ring on it (I think that’s the title) by Beyonce. What a disgusting way to describe oneself. “I am an object; if you like IT put a ring on IT.” It’s right down there with, I’m in love with your body.  I have no idea who wrote or sang it, nor do I care, but I wish they had never existed to write such a vile lyric. But, I guess people really think this way. And, yes, the truth hurts.