My doctor put it to me this morning that I’m not a naturally happy person, and I have to work hard to find my happiness.
And he’s right.
Even on my brother Wayne’s wedding day, I struggled.
And there it is. A confession. No one knew that. I’ve held onto that little nugget for 25 years.
It’s not that I wasn’t happy for them. I definitely was, and still am to this day. But it was a struggle to feel it in the moment. To put a smile on my face during the festivities.
At Jason & Paige’s reception, I was manic. Over-compensating. I had to slip out when i was about to crash emotionally.
I can think of a ton of other moments over the years.
So there it is. I’m not incapable of being happy; I just don’t know how to do it without serious effort.
I helped a friend with a little unpacking clean-up after his move on Saturday. Feeling like a leisurely afternoon, I plan to stroll through Kensington Market before a jaunt to Staples. But first, I need money. There’s an RBC ATM at the Rexall at Spadina and College; I make the decision to pop in and grab some cash.
2:00 pm: Everything seems normal before TERROR STRIKES. The ATM, while trying to complete my transaction, can’t eject my card. After 3 attempts, it eats the plastic and cancels the transaction.
2:01 pm: I call the RBC help line, and spend several minutes explaining the situation. Too many people come by wanting to use the ATM; I warn them off. It’s a killer.
2:10 pm: I’m informed there are only 2 branches in all of Toronto with branches open on Sunday. One’s in Liberty Village (Dufferin and King area, which is technically closer to where I currently am) and Fairview Mall in North York. Both branches are only open until 4:00 pm.
2:11 pm: OBSTACLE. I need photo I.D. to get a temporary card. My driver’s license has expired and won’t work. I have to go home and get my Passport.
I have 1 hour, 49 minutes to accomplish this goal. I’m racing the clock.
2:12 pm: I jay-run diagonally to catch the next available Spadina streetcar north to the Bloor-Danforth line.
It smells like feet in there.
2:21 pm: Arrive at Spadina. The ETA system is OFFLINE because of track repairs between Kennedy and Woodbine. (You’d think this wouldn’t matter, but it does. It’s hard to gauge how long it’ll take to get home.
2:23 pm: The subway shows up.
It smells like feet.
2:37 pm: Arrive at Greenwood Station, bus takes it’s sweet time showing up.
What’s with all feet smell?
2:48 pm: I get home and retrieve my Passport.
2:55 pm: The bus arrives and I’m headed back to Greenwood Station, then west to Pape. The ETA is still offline. Makes it harder to keep up the 24 parody.
3:09 pm: I board the Don Mills bus at Pape, and begin the travel north to Fairview Mall.
3:18 pm: This trip is taking forever.
3:31 pm: Eglinton.
Can’t get past the persevering smell of feet.
3:39 pm: Hit York Mills. Beginning to hallucinate that no one is wearing shoes. It’s the only explanation.
3:47 pm: FINALLY arrive at Don Mills Station and Fairview Mall. I’m running through the crowds like Jack Bauer. But there’s no Chloe giving me sitreps in an ear piece.
3:50 pm: Arrive inside the RB C branch. Get in line. There are 3 people ahead of me, and a half dozen seated at the back. See? It makes sense to have branches open on a Sunday.
4:05 pm: Finally in possession of a temporary card. But I have to come back to a branch tomorrow to get the hold taken off my account; you know, the one they put on when I called to complain about my card being eaten.
4:07 pm: I run to the Silver City Cineplex to catch the 4:15 pm showing of X-Men: Days of Future Past.
All my life, I’ve heard, and been told, don’t sweat the small stuff. Makes a lot of sense; avoid stress, find peace.
Never happened.
I’m reading Chris Hadfield’s autobiography, An Astronaut’s Guide to Life on Earth, and in the preamble, he says ‘no, do sweat the small stuff’. Because it made him more aware of each job he did that lead to him captaining the International Space Station. But there’s more. Don’t aim to for the end goal, because it might not happen. Aim for what’s going to make you happy. And if you get the desired result, keep going, but remember, that might not happen either.
Aim for what makes me happy. Even if means sweating the small stuff along the way.
Today I installed a keyboard tray under my computer desk. 99%. A neighbour helped drill the holes so I could screw the final pieces in. (I’d loaned out my drill.)
Seriously. This is a big deal for me. It went almost flawlessly, and when I hit that moment where I could progress no further on my own, I didn’t get pissed off. Didn’t get frustrated and throw a tantrum. (Should’ve seen me with the air conditioner last summer; great model, floor model, but getting the hose into the slot and putting it in the window had me cursing a blue streak.) I examined my options. I made phone calls. I asked the guy next door.
I sneezed so hard this afternoon, I bit my tongue.
Bloody allergies. They’re killing me. I gotta use a nasal spray to unclog the old proboscis.
Enough fluff.
The manic episodes continue. Happened yesterday at Jason and Paige’s wedding reception. Challenging my brother to karaoke, passively-aggressively taking credit for one of the jokes he told as emcee (in my defense, it was a good joke). But really, I shouldn’t have needed the validation. And I hate myself for that.
Had to leave the event early into the dancing because I could feel myself slipping, emotionally and mentally. That’s the thing about a manic episode: what goes up, must come down. Thankfully a TTC bus ran directly outside the Legion Hall; it wasn’t the bus I though it was, and it went to Scarborough Town Centre instead of Kennedy. But the RT got me to Kennedy. Stupidly, I nearly jumped off at the first cross-section to wait for a different bus. Thankfully the driver talked some sense into me.
And even then, I didn’t go home. I couldn’t. So I kept traveling west and then south, and visited some friends. And found out I missed quite the party. I mean, Sharknado Florentine. Yes, I wanted to play with the stuffed sharks, but no takers.
I’m not even gonna hint at the other stuff I missed.
Fuck I just did. Sorry. Anyway.
This is my life.
So I made the right choice and came home to sleep. Didn’t even post in the blog last night. That makes twice in almost seven months. May not seem important, but it eats at me.
Today I got done what I needed to, and spent a couple hours at Carey and Mimi’s Night Meats party. That was a blast. Recreated an infamous photo with Nike, which I’m sure when I’m 70 will come back and haunt me. But it was fun, so fuck you. I got to reconnect with Ian Keeling, who I’ve always been impressed by. And he’s on the first draft of his fifth sci-fi fantasy novel. I’m struggling to get back to the rewrites for A Song for Rachel, and haven’t even begun plotting Possession.
But I realized, I’ve had 2 full days off this weekend. And that makes up for a lot.
This weather is about a month behind schedule. And it’s not helping that what few breaks I’m taking at the office (note: I said taking, it’s my choice) there’s no sun to step out into.
Thanks again for the light therapy box, brother. It’s really helping right now.
I haven’t been hugely ranty. Oh, I get pissed off. Fuck, I can go 0-60. I’m just not taking it here. As often.
An outlet, that’s what I think I need. Something to channel this shit.
I’ve been trying to let go, of negative emotion, of taking affront to things that happen completely out of my control. Until recently, I wasn’t very aware that I was even feeling it. But the streetcar/bus ride from hell, after 11pm. Fuck. I screamed, I slammed my body into the shelter.
I don’t know where this is coming from. Or how long it’s been there, unnoticed.
Fight or flight. It’s like that. Plays into my anxiety too. That’s the flight option. Full-blown panic attack, scrambling for lorazepam.
I get so damned hyperfocused at work, which in a sense is good, but it’s got its fallback. (And that was the weakness I answered honestly at the interview.) I missed an email about a meeting, because I was ensconced in an Excel file trying to crack the DNA of a chart that only had 3/4 of the numbers on the hard copy.
An hour ago I pre-cooked a bunch of rice so I could pack a dinner tomorrow. Not lunch. Dinner. Because I already suspect I’m going to be working late.
