P.S. Nate was OK... nothing broken. Just shaken up, scared. Lonely.

Nathan called me on his way to the hospital. He was in a gnarly crash apparently, out on his speedboard in the gathering dark. His friends had loaded him onto the mini-bus, were driving him to Nanaimo General. His voice sounded small and far away, and I felt pity and uncertainty... but I knew that my being there wouldn't have made him not crash. Wouldn't have made things better.

I feel strange here in Kaleden. Like-- I haven't found my space yet. Certainly it must be strange for mom and dad too... no kids at home since Sandy graduated in 2000. And in those intervening years, we've all changed, developed new habits. I'm softer (I hope) towards my mother, kinder, (occasionally teasingly cheekier) and better-humoured in general. Dad has a sense of humour that I never fathomed as a child, and can appreciate now. Mom and dad each have a TV-- one upstairs and one downstairs, so they can each watch their own shows. This strikes me as kind of sad.

I wander around the house, like an elderly dog, looking for something I can't remember. Looking for something to do, a way to be myself in the presence of the people who have defined me for so much of my life. I cleaned mom's kitchen this evening, sewed buttons on my new cheap pink dress.

I'm thinking. A lot. But I think-- the thing that will be best for me is less thinking, and more doing.

Tomorrow is 'moving day'. Mom and dad will be swinging through Nanaimo to grab me and cart me and my belongings back up to Kaleden. For a month? For the summer? Uncertainty reigns. Funny how the last time I said "I WILL NEVER LIVE WITH MY PARENTS AGAIN" I had a sinking feeling that I might be telling myself a lie.

There are certainly positive aspects to the move; I haven't had a real Okanagan summer since 2002, and it will be nice to swim in the lake and eat fresh cherries and peaches, to float down the river channel and mock the tourists (quietly, and from a distance, of course). I'm also looking forward to painting the dry and gorgeous Okanagan landscape. I've really been getting into landscape paintings lately-- it certainly doesn't hurt that most of the general population likes to buy them as well.

But as I prepare to make my exit, I am reflecting on a lot of good things I will be leaving behind as well. Wonderful relationships and delicious new connections, sea sounds and smells... ahh, I'll be back.

I'm just feeling a little conflicted about it all right now.

I'm still living in a basement room in Nathan's friend's house, in Nanaimo. We don't pay rent, and we don't contribute much, aside from whatever household cleaning I pitch in with, and I buy groceries and cook once in a while as well. I qualify this behaviour as freeloading, and I'm not entirely comfortable with it, although I am very very grateful for Jenny and Aaron's hospitality and generosity. I want to find a way to pay them back (It will probably have to be with art.) Am I technically homeless, since I don't have a real home or my own address? I don't think so. I don't think this compares to sleeping under an overpass or anything. But I still feel bad when I meet homeless people, and they ask for help... because I still want to help.

I met a homeless guy today in the parking lot of the Shopper's Drugmart-- and actually I met him yesterday, too. He asked for spare change, and I pretty much don't carry cash anymore... using my debit card is just too easy. Anyway, I felt bad for not having anything to give him (giving him the 13cents in my pocket probably would have just been insulting), so I picked up some groceries while I was in the store-- soup, granola bars, and a fancy iced tea (because everyone likes fancy iced tea, right?)-- and when I went out to the lot to give him the groceries, he had moved on. So. I didn't quite know what to do... keep the groceries? Find an alternative homeless person? Foodbank? But I really just want to help this guy. I left the groceries in the car, in case I bump into him again.

Easter Sunday started gray, rainy, and disgusting. Check that-- it was ME who was gray, runny and disgusting, as Aaron & Jenny's wee ones (the kids upstairs in the house that I am currently freeloading in) have been wiping their noses on me for the past few days. I am disappointed to be sick again, because (even though I didn't write about it) I had a pretty nasty cold in Hawaii, less than a month ago. Come ON. I don't get sick. Unless I'm not dealing with emotions very well... which might be... is the case.

I'm not happy here in Nanaimo. There. I said it. And I said it last night to Nathan, amongst a bunch of other wailings and moanings and complainings. And Nathan, in all of his calm, unruffled glory, said exactly the right thing: "Go to the Okanagan." One thing I love (and hate) about Nathan is that he never gets very emotional-- he always stays calm, sets me straight, sends me on my way. I think that in the two years we have been together, he has perhaps been outwardly angry with me once. At worst, he might simmer a little over bad drivers on the road, but otherwise-- he's a windless pond. He truly is a fine human being.

Anyway, I don't think I'll be back to Nanaimo. I think this is exodus. My mom and dad will be up through Nanaimo in about 2 weeks, as they make their slow (retired) way home from Victoria-- I'll probably catch a ride with them. I'm going to give Nathan my car... he can drive it 'til it dies, or sell it, or do whatever he thinks will get him ahead the most. We've already talked about what I'm going to do with my engagement ring (Nate said I can keep it) and the wedding rings we had purchased for the wedding that never happened (we both want to keep our respective rings for sentimental value-- they are silver and gold, with native killer whale designs on them, as that's Nathan's clan). I'll plan to stay with mom and dad for the summer anyway... it's been a long time since I've had an Okanagan summer. I don't really know what's going on with my life, and embarrassed to admit it. But at least I'm admitting it.

"And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should." (from the Desiderata by Max Ehrmann)

Do you recall what I was saying about cyclical unhappiness? Yeah, well it's called PMS. Go figure. How'd I manage to forget about that?

The days are warming and floating by me like blossom petals; the grass is thick and long, dandelions are popping up in the lawn, trees are bursting into frothy clouds of pink and white.... and I am served my seasonal reminder about what is good in life, here, now.

As for the floating days... well, out of fear of making a misstep, I often don't make any at all. Like a rock-climber frozen on a ledge. If forward looks too difficult, impassable, and back is unthinkable, then one just stays put. But what I found out from my recent actual experience rock climbing (yes, I did it, it was awesome!) is, if I just grip on to one spot and don't move forward or back, if I overthink, I wear myself out just clinging, and I end up falling anyway. Better to make that lunge towards the next hold, tenuous though it may seem. Ahhh, rock climbing euphemisms.

So-- about taking that lunge. I have an application in at a local bubble-tea shop, though the waitress looked at my experience suspiciously (ESL teacher, art supply store clerk, research & development/ office assistant... doesn't add up to "Winning Bubble Tea Barista" applicant, I guess.) I have another application in at the local university for a position that may be wayyyy over my head... but maybe shooting high is better than shooting low? And my resume is in the hands of an ESL teacher recruiting company, and I got an email today that they had submitted on application on my behalf to a school in Vietnam. Oh, and I'm still waiting to hear about that mural that I want to do in Kaleden... that will be a perfect summer gig, so that's the one I'm really holding my breath for right now.

I miss my mom and dad... I haven't seen them since... early December? Holy smokes! Time flies! But they'll be coming to Vancouver Island shortly for a surprise birthday for my twin cousins, who will be turning 50 this year. I'll travel down to Victoria to meet them, and hopefully join up with some old friends in the area as well. We'll see how it goes. I say 'friends' lightly, because as much as we're in touch on Facebook... well, we all know what a bunch of hooey Facebook is in terms of propelling actual human interaction. I think my brother might come too-- I sure hope so! I can't remember the last time I saw him... oh, mom and dad's party last summer. That's too long. I can't wait to hear what stories he's brought home from Africa!

I suppose I ought to get back to working away on those calligraphy projects... one down, three to go. It's nice out, so I'm working outside, sitting at Jenny's beautiful new outdoor patio set, with the grass sliding around my ankles, and insects landing in my fruit punch. It's the best.

Take your vitamin D, folks.

x

Endrene

Make that my fourth year of writing this blog. Just like, how when you turn one, you begin your second year of life. And how when you turn thirty, you begin your fourth decade. Numbers are weird.

My 200th post, and my 3rd year of writing this blog. Yaaaay, me.

I am bored, but not rightfully so. I am in a town that is still new to me; there is exploring to be done, gardens and homes to be aesthetically inspected as I wander, new people to meet. But... well... meh. I'm sure I must just be in a cyclical rut.

I am in one of those gray moods that make me reconsider the benefits of being on some sort of mood-boosting medication, the kind that makes me actually want to get up in the morning. Then again... I know well that some exercise, a triple dose of vitamin D, and actually DOING something (whether or not I feel like doing something) will probably be just as helpful, easier on the pocketbook, and more beneficial to my overall being in the long term.

I have been helping Nathan (albeit enviously) as he shows off his beautiful carvings, and pursues his new art form with a fervour I have seldom-to-never felt about my own artwork. As I type, he is sitting in the cool spring sunshine, whittling away. I thought about painting, but let the idea pass with little more than a sigh. I instead lay wrapped up in my winter jacket, face up on the kids trampoline for a while. I got cold, and wandered in to write this.

I am in the middle of a calligraphy project that I am loathe to finish; yet I can't allow myself to start anything else until that job is done. I had expected it to be fun-- I thought my client had a good idea of what I like to do (foolish assumption), and instead found myself with a very boring project of repeating the same verses four times over, in plain black ink on plain cream paper. I had envisioned swirls of colour and creeping foliage intertwined with the text. No such luck. I haven't yet fully completed even ONE of the four, and my deadline draws near. I can't forfeit the project either; my client's money is already in my bank. I am in his debt, quite literally.

There are several niggling problems that have been knocking at the back door of my mind... but I have been pretending to be a teenager on summer vacation, imagining that every little thing will take care of itself. I haven't a job, or a home. I have to re-file my taxes. I have bills to pay, but find it difficult with little income, and multitudes of outcomes. I am tired of being a grownup who isn't.

I really would like to make my family proud of me, in the way that they were proud of me when I was 17 and in Youth Group and Jazz Choir and running for Miss Penticton and volunteering with whatever project came my way, and dressing up and using my best manners for dinners with family members and the mayor, etcetera, etcetera. And I really would like to make my own self proud of me, in the way I was proud of myself when I was living in Japan, paying my bills, and forging friendships, and telling a taxicab driver where to go in Japanese. Everyday (or most of them, especially in the beginning) were flavoured with adventure, novelty, and possibility.

I guess I do know what I want. I want to get in deep again, in the thick of life. This surface game is killing me- the act of shopping for basics and getting the daily coffee and flipping through the "Help Wanted" ads-- none of it feels genuine, or desirable. The boredom may in fact, be warranted.