When I left Toronto I was so relieved. The city was too much city for me. I lost my dream job as a marketing manager at a fabulous bookstore and my heart was broken. I begged Jason to move away from the city. I was spent.
Jump ahead 10 years. Now I’m begging him to move back.
My life is settled and damn near perfect. I live in a quaint house. I have a steady job. I have friends. I travel. I have cash. I’m not ugly. I have my health. But I’m too settled, too “suburban.” All this perfectness is… well, going nowhere fast. Like I’m stuck in a big, boring rut. Like my life (our lives) is being wasted on complacency. A life lived in fear of something more.
So, hopefully, back to the city for “Round 2.” I’m older, wiser, and a heck of a lot tougher. I’ve chosen to get back in the ring, rather than sit on the sidelines of my life. The city may beat the ever-loving snot out of me, but I think I’m okay with that.
This week has been trying. Work has been a challenge for many reasons. Our car was smooshed (it was parked at the time and we were not in it, thank god). We have been working like crazy every night trying to get our house ready to potentially sell it, so we are both exhausted. There was a crazy loud party in the neighborhood that raged until 2 am last night — on a Thursday night! — so we didn’t get much sleep. My corporate gym membership was canceled. Blah, blah blah. Yes, I’ll have some whine with my cheese.
These are all small, silly things. On their own, it would feel like one little paper cut. You know, kind of stingy and annoying. But all the small silly things together, it’s like a hundred paper cuts on my eyeballs stinging all at the same time.
Here are things that come to mind while I’m watching it:
The werewolf looks more like a werelynx.
Why would Michael Jackson ask that chick to be his girl on a full moon in the middle of nowhere? That makes no sense. Then he looks all surprised when he starts turning in to the werelynx. Idiot.
How do the zombies all know the same dance? Is Michael their king? (Well, I guess he is now.)
Why doesn’t the chick defend herself? All she does is scream and run away. Lady, pick up a branch and start swinging. A rock even. Come on now, grow a pair and defend yourself. You could take down zombie Michael Jackson.
At the end, when we see Michael’s yellow eyes… is he suppose to be the werelynx or the zombie dance king? I still haven’t cracked that code.
Today I went to a funeral that was particularly sad. Yes, I know ALL funerals are sad, but this was a hard one. A co-worker’s brother was killed in a motorcycle accident last week. Without going into too many details, he was missing for a time and they found his body by the GPS in his cell phone. He had kids. Everyone was crying. He was not old. It was tragic. I didn’t know him, but was there to support my co-worker in her grief.
It’s interesting attending a funeral for a person you don’t really know. I started thinking about my own death and who would come to my funeral. Would I donate my body to science, so some young doctor (like my friend Bee) could learn from me? What about cremation? There is something sweet about being in the ground. Maybe I could fertilize a tree or some pretty flowers.
This is heavy for a Monday and for the Summer Solstice.