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Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
It’s the first real, lovely snow of the year, and though my facebook friends page is filled with moaning and groaning and decrying the arrival of the white stuff, I chose to sleep in to eleven rather than get up at nine, and now I’m lying under layers of soft, colorful (and most importantly, warm) blankets with no inclination to join the rest of the world at all, ensconced as I am in my hideaway. Especially when the weather is like this I can’t help but imagine my little room as lighthearted version of Rapunzel’s tower, high above the earth. Weirdo, you are saying. I’m sure it’s a fair accusation. Don’t know what it is about snow that, as much as I will complain about it in the coming months, makes me feel safe and domestic and ready to skip through it going “tra la la”. Maybe memories of being a kid coming in after playing outside all day, the niceness of putting dry clothes on, mum having hot chocolate ready, noses and toeses thawing, falling asleep in the dark afternoon only to wake up to supper and laughing with my sister and brothers.
My daily gratitude, something I’ve decided I’m going to post each day in an effort to remember how lucky I am to be afforded such love and magic as I have, is for my irreplaceable P & K, the friends I have known and loved for 9 and 12 years now, respectively, and who I hope to know, love, and laugh with for many years to come. Most people feel lucky to have just one best friend, and somehow we each got lucky enough to have two. In truth there have been times they’ve driven me crazy, times I’ve thought “I wish I knew how to quit you” (and giggled), times I’ve felt left out and mismatched and misunderstood, but it doesn’t matter. It can’t. How can one say anything but thank you for such profound love and friendship?
Moving to Vancouver to become a massage therapist because when I got a shiatsu massage this summer (in a yurt in the coastal forest in the middle of a thunderstorm, no less), the therapist asked if I had ever considered healing as a line of work, effectively lodging the idea in my brain – good idea? Yes or No.
I’ve been having trouble the last few years because I’ve always called myself a writer, always felt like a writer, always planned to make my living from that when I could – but I tripped myself up in the process, asking too much of myself for too little work, then wondering, agonised, why I was producing so little I liked? Learning to trust my voice again has happened slowly and is the reason I’ve started squirrelling my random thoughts away in this blog. I don’t care who likes or doesn’t like them, or even if I like them very much. It’s just the doing, and I think it’s working. P and I have a spectacular project planned that commences Sunday…stay tuned!
Thinking more and more about treeplanting in the coming year, even going so far as trying to get hired for the spring plant with companies that do it down south. I think I have the motivation for the money, and enough suprising strength and determination to be good at it if I tried. There’s an office job that least might be nice, at least in terms of pay, but the more I think about the more I think, “hell, I’m young”, and probably too young to be bored and so responsible, too alive to not go after the marrow of life. What to do, what to do?
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