I don't care

Morning thought. About celebrities, I don't care about their personal life since it's none of my business. I really like Sally Field but that doesn't mean I have to know what she does in her personal life. Obsessing about the lives of others, particularly total strangers, is a sign that there's something lacking in one's own life.

Seeking peace of mind

I haven't felt at peace in...well I never have. There was a time though when I did feel more at ease, and more comfortable with myself. I was only 18-19 years old then and hadn't really lived and I know I can't ever go back to that time, and those days had their own set of problems so I don't think I'd want to anyway. There is something to be said for being young and naive and a social recluse. Even though it's lonely it is at least somewhat peaceful to live in your own little fantasy world. I've been longing to get back to that lately. A comfortable place where I can focus only on writing fiction and where I don't give a crap about if my writing is good or not because I am just writing for the fun sheer fun of it. I deactivated my Facebook account yesterday. I just wasn't enjoying it anymore. I just got tired of reading about the same things every day and feeling that my own life is inadequate in comparison to other people's, even though I know that statuses are embellished and often don't reflect the truth. I also didn't like how I wasn't able to express myself freely and say what was really on my mind because my real thoughts wouldn't be acceptable. There is always the pressure that everything has to be so "normal" and cheerful and life affirming. Every time my status was less than life affirming and positive I always felt judged, that people were sitting there going "She's such a whiner!" or "She's such a weirdo!". It's not okay to be down for no specific reason. I don't want or need to know all the mundane, every day activities that people get up to, like have a cup of coffee for example. When everything is always the same day after day it just kills me. I also don't another way to feel unpopular, ignored or disliked. It's like how it is with cell phones. When you don't have a cell phone you can't be reached everywhere and you can at least fool yourself into thinking that the reason people aren't calling you is because they can't get a hold of you. But with cell phones and Facebook and email the truth stares you right in the face. There are no excuses for not getting in touch because with so many choices of communication you can't escape the fact that people aren't getting in touch with you because they don't want to. Well, given what I just said this next bit is going to sound like I'm contradicting myself, but I feel a certain kind of peace when I'm not contacted by people. People actually drive me crazy. I don't like people. I like animals. If there was a Facebook for dogs and cats I'd be there instead, naturally I wouldn't really quality for it but if I could fake my way in somehow I would. I have found that in order to achieve some sort of inner peace it's necessary for me to withdraw a little from the outside world. Not completely of course, I can't very well do that now that I'm a mother. I don't want my son to dislike people too. I don't want him to be like me. I want him to be happy and well adjusted and a people person. However, my spending too much time on Facebook is hardly the way to achieve that for him, rather it will have the opposite effect since it took precious time away from him. Although I do miss Facebook, it's more like the missing is a sort of compulsion or an impulse. Like missing your usual morning line of cocaine. I will probably return to Facebook in time but for now I am taking a much needed vacation from it. I have to say that I was happier before I even heard of it, and hopefully I can get back to that now. There is a lot to be said for being a recluse.

Almost 3 weeks now

Kelly has been gone for almost 3 weeks now, and the grieving has turned from desperate to a hollow ache for her. Sometimes it almost feels as though she was a dream. Like she wasn't even here at all. I thought I was over the worst, but this second stage of the grieving process is almost worse. The more time that passes the more remote she seems and at times it's almost unbearable. We got her ashes back. She now sits in an urn on top of our bookshelf. Some of her will be spread at the cottage where she loved to be so much while she was still alive. One of her sticks was cremated with her, so that she'd have something to play with in the great beyond. Although I bet at Rainbow Bridge she'll have all the sticks she'll need. Her blanket still smells like her. I handle it very carefully because I'm so scared that it'll stop smelling of her. I've developed this desperate need to be around dogs. I crave dog! Life is just not the same without a dog around. Animals, but especially dogs, make life a whole better. Right now we have no animals around, and it sucks. I stare at dogs when I pass them on the street. Their owners must think I'm psychotic. I turn around and stare, while trying to act casual. If it's a German Shepherd it's a sadness mixed with joy. I wish she was here right now. If she was, I'd hug her and press my face against the side of her head again. Smell her. We gave her food and her treats away the other day. It was worse than I thought it would be. It felt sort of like a betrayal. Removing her beloved treats from their usual spot in the pantry was especially hard. I know it's good that another dog gets to enjoy them, but it still feels odd. She always used to go to the pantry and sit down in front of it and stare at it, and then she'd glance at you, and then back at the pantry. Her way of saying that she wanted a treat. I know nobody can live forever. She was bound to leave us sooner or later, but the absence of her is at times almost too much. I wish I could hear her, or feel her, like some dog owners say that did the weeks after their dog had died, but I hear nothing and feel nothing. I wish I could, but I don't.

Grieving our dog

Kelly, our beloved German Shepherd, passed away last week.
She was 11 years and almost 2 months.
She had been sick lately, from some kind of growth in her abdomen, but apart from that and her failing eyesight due to cataracts she was doing well. She still had zest for life and a healthy appetite for food.
I secretly felt guilty for not putting her down, but it just felt wrong to do it when she was still herself, just not as spry as before. The not being spry part is to be expected from a mature lady of her age.
Then one day last week she got up and wasn't herself. She was listless and didn't want to eat, and later on started bleeding. At first we thought, or rather hoped, that she started her heat unusually early, but I the moment I saw the first drop of blood on the floor and put that together with her behaviour I knew what was up.
I felt this chilling sensation creeping up my neck, because I knew that this was it.
That same night, we had to take her in to animal hospital to have her euthanized. Her bleeding started increasing and increasing, until we realized she might not even make it through the night.
The dreaded decision was here.
I wasn't even able to be there with her. Our 4-month old baby was asleep and my parents were out of town so we didn't have anyone to stay with him. My spouse walked her over to the hospital himself.
I said goodbye to her, almost frantically, wanting it to be over with quickly. No matter how many hugs and kisses I gave her it would never be enough so I just wanted this terribly painful moment to be over with.
I wonder if she knew what was going on. She might have been too busy trying to lick up her own blood from the floor. In all this, her main concern was cleaning up after herself.
They left. I watched through the window as they walked off. I saw her walk off towards the area where she used to play and do her business. I saw this for the last time.
Hours later, Nick came back, alone. He had Kelly's collar and leash with him. He also had the red bandana she always wore.
They weren't worn by her anymore. They were empty.
For some reason that's one of the saddest aspects of putting your pet down.
You leave your house with a living pet and return with an empty collar and leash.
The bandana still has her smell on it. Her soft fur.


From the moment she came to live with us and up until the day she passed I never stopped fearing the day she would have to leave us. I knew it would be horrible, and reality did not fall short of my fears.
Anyone who has lost a beloved pet knows how hard it is. It's inhuman. I wonder if this kind of pain is even worth having a dog.
I can still smell her on her blanket where she used to sleep on the bed at night. It's covered in her fur because she had started shedding shortly before she died.
We used to go to bed together at night. When I would take off the bedspread and lift the cover to get into bed she would hear it and take the sound to mean that it was time to go to bed, and I would hear her get up and hear her footsteps approaching. Then she'd appear in the doorway and make her way over to the bed and climb on and settle down next to me, after doing a few circles of course to make sure she was in the right spot.
I won't wash her blanket because I want to keep the smell of her as long as possible. We had to wash her pet bed because it had blood on it.
It makes me sad to think that the smell of her will decrease in intensity and then one day will disappear all together, as though she never existed.
When she had laid down next to me I would reach out and put my hand on her and stroke her or pat her. Feel her warm body, her soft fur underneath my hand. Sometimes I'd kiss her goodnight and press my face against the side of her head, just underneath her ear, where her fur was softer than on any other part of her body. I'd take a good whiff and soak up her special smell.
Then we would sleep side by side.
Evenings are the hardest, probably because of our nightly ritual, but probably also because things slow down and you have more time to think.
I glance over at the spot where she used to sleep, which is now empty.
You hear of some pet owner who have felt the animal's presence after they have passed away. The sound of their paws on the floor. The warm sensation of the animal rubbing up against their leg.
I thought if I left her favourite ball and her rubber ring on the floor, she might appear. I must admit that I even threw the ball at her at one time, just in case she'd be there to fetch it. She loved doing that.
I keep wondering where she is now, and if she's forgiven me for not being with her at that moment when she passed away.
I wonder if she's happy now, if she's at Rainbow Bridge waiting for us.
If she is there, I can guarantee that she's the dog that plays the hardest and the wildest, and she'll try to be leader of the pack.
See you later Kelly. I love you.

Shot in the head

I just had the oddest dream that I feel like writing down because I know I will forget it otherwise.

I was attending a political meeting, together with top politicians from all over the world. Oddly enough my parents were there too, and this meeting was held at a junior high school.
The Russian president either to step out or he changed seats with me, because for some reason I was sitting in his seat.
Suddenly, I don't know, I became aware that there was an assassin somewhere in the room. A sniper with a rifle. And he was after the Russian president, and since I was sitting in his seat I became the target. In an attempt to shield myself I burrowed into the people that were sitting around me so that he wouldn't hit my vital body parts. However, he still managed to shoot me twice in the back of the head.
I just remember feeling a slight, stabbing pain, like a headache, other than that I was lucid and talking like normal. I was explaining to the people in the room that I had been shot twice in the head, and that I needed medical attention. Everybody kept assuring me that I would be taken care of, but the meeting still continued so I suppose any medical attention would have to wait for the meeting to end.
I started looking around for the assassin and when I looked up towards the ceiling I noticed four vents located high on the wall. Behind one of them I could make out a rifle and the outline of a man. Clearly this was the sniper that had shot me. He was just calmly hanging around.
I leaned over to my dad and whispered to him "I found the sniper. He's behind the third vent up on the wall. Look!"
My dad barely reacted. He just calmly said something like "Yes, I see".
It was all a remarkably subdued affair. The fact that I had been shot in the head twice was given no more attention than a hornet buzzing around the classroom would have. Yes it was a problem, but nothing that stopped the meeting from continuing. And absolutely no one bothered to go after the assassin, even though there were other presidents and top politicians in the room.
The meeting carried on with me feebly pointing out that maybe an ambulance was a good idea. Although I was feeling fine. Just slightly uncomfortable.
Then after the meeting there was another meeting for pregnant mothers, held in the same school. At this meeting, parents got to find out their unborn babies' IQ as well as 5 personality traits that the baby already possessed, even though it hadn't even been born yet. All you did was enter some information in a computer program and wham...the computer spat out a neat row of personality traits. These personality traits could be things like:
"Cheerful
Neat
Hot headed
Slow
Good cook"

For anyone who has ever played Sims 3, they will know that this is exactly how you choose your Sims' personality traits when you create them.
Because I still had the bullets in my head I had a hard time focusing on my computer screen, but I think my unborn baby had traits such as "Stubborn" and "Genius", and that's all I could remember. The IQ was high but again, I was too out of it because of my gunshot wounds that I couldn't remember.

Eventually I think I staggered off and finally got treated for my wounds. It was no big deal. I was out of the hospital in no time. The next day I was walking around like normal, and trying to tell people what had happened, and getting no reaction at all.
"You know that Russian president shooting"?
"Yeah"
"That was me, I was the one who got shot instead."
"Oh."

I kept trying to find a way to access that computer program again to find out for sure my baby's personality traits and IQ, by searching on Google, but I couldn't find it.

At this point I woke up.

Quite an eventful night.
The latter part of the dream is pretty obvious, I'm curious about what my baby will be like, and apparently intelligence must be something I would value because why else would IQ and genius be a part of it. The fact that the list of personality traits looked so much like it does in the Sims 3 tells me I have been playing it too much.

The first part of the dream about me taking two slugs for the Russian president remains a mystery though. The part about me not getting medical treatment and no one taking my getting shot seriously must mean that I feel I'm not receiving attention or care when it comes to some problem I'm having.

Dreams are cool, as long as they're not nightmares. As odd as this one sounds it wasn't a nightmare, even though the feeling of walking around with two bullets in my head wasn't exactly pleasant.

Leaving your baby alone outside

I always found this odd, that some parents will leave their baby in the stroller outside while they're in a restaurant or in their apartment. It would only take 10 seconds for somebody to walk by and grab the baby.
A Swedish woman is being charged with bad parenting after she left her baby in its stroller outside a restaurant while she went inside to order food. She claims that it's normal in Sweden to do this, and that she had her eye on the stroller the whole time. I don't know, is this normal in Sweden? I do know that I have lived both in North America and Sweden and while I have never seen a lone stroller with a baby in it anywhere in Canada, I have seen it many times in Sweden.
I wouldn't do it myself. It would be nice to trust my fellow human beings, but the fact is I don't and I would certainly not be willing to test out this life affirming attitude on my baby. Call me a cynic if you must. If I lived in a village where everybody knew each other I might consider it, if I was close to the stroller, but even then it seems like an odd thing to do.
If I had a crucial need to buy some tacos, I would just simply have to forgo that particular pleasure. If I wanted my baby to sleep outside for a while and get some fresh air, I would just have to bring out a chair and sit next to the stroller.
Like I said, it only takes 10 seconds or less.

A baby

I haven't been blogging much lately. The reason for that is that the inspiration hasn't really been there. There is also another big reason for my recent laziness.
In the beginning of May we found out that we're going to have a baby. I'm going to be a mommy. I entered my second trimester recently and we just found out the other day that it's a boy. So, naturally there have been a lot of thoughts flying around in my head. Am I going to make a good mother? Is he going to look like me or like Nick? Are we going to always be able to provide for him? Should we move to a bigger place? Things like that. The practical details don't seem to matter as much as the emotional ones. The biggest concern for me is, am I going to be able to provide him with an emotionally stable life? I never even wanted children until just a couple of years ago, when the idea started to fester inside my brain. Then when a girlfriend, who had told me that she was never planning on having kids, suddenly told me she was pregnant a couple of years ago it got me to thinking. I asked her why she had had a change of heart regarding children, and she said that she didn't want to grow old alone. This made perfect sense to me, since there are certain holes a life partner just can't fill. I suddenly saw before me what it would be like to never have kids and to watch your friends and relatives have their own families while your life always remains the same, quiet, low-key affair. And I realized that it's time I create my own family. I also think that at some point, most of us realize that we want someone to pass on our own legacy, or something to that effect. A part of ourselves. This and the fact that I started constantly seeing babies and kids everywhere, noticing them in a different way, and thinking of how my baby would look and turn out, made me finally take that plunge. We wanted to wait until we're back in Vancouver, but I'm not exactly 23 anymore and how long can we afford to wait? We were surprised at how quickly I became pregnant. In fact, due to my overly realistic assumption about how long it would take to conceive, our baby is due to arrive around New Year's Eve. Had I been able to choose, I would have wanted him to been born any other time but around the holidays. Imagine having your birthday on New Year's Eve, or worse, on Christmas Eve. Oh well, it is what it is now and what really matters is that he's born healthy and that the rest of the pregnancy is as relatively smooth as it has been so far.
Apart from fatigue, I have had surprisingly few pregnancy symptoms. Although this second trimester seems to so far be filled with emotional ups and downs. I feel like a walking bottle of nitroglycerin, waiting to explode at any second. I am feeling extremely irritable, but it's hard to tell with me if that's due to the pregnancy or not since I'm usually a rather temperamental person. I'm guessing it's a combination of hormones and my normal crabby self.
I'm also experiencing a fierce protectiveness of my unborn baby, and I get angry with anything and anyone that I feel is a threat to us. I think I'm paranoid when I think that any stress, emotional or physical, is a direct threat to the baby. I cringe at raised voices because I know the baby can hear everything that's going on, and I don't want him alarmed in any way. I guess I want to give him the stability and happiness that I didn't always have when I was growing up. That's why I worry about not being a good enough mom to give him that. I'm afraid that we're powerless against genetics and upbringing, and that we're doomed to repeat our parent's mistakes. I suppose it's normal to think that way. I'm just glad I can recognize my shortcomings and do my best not to let them overpower me. I know I'm far from perfect.
If I am to be honest, I had visions of this little girl with long, dark brown hair and my eyes. So yes, I suppose a part of me dreamed of having a girl. Probably because passing on a part of myself becomes all the more tangible that way. Now it'll be a little Nick instead, which is just fine.
But really, 15 years ago I would never in a million years have thought that I could be a mom. I didn't even think I had it in me. I didn't use to have a maternal bone in my body. I worry that I'm just enchanted with all the perks about having a baby, like be able to buy tiny baby clothes and dress him up like a little doll, and cuddles in bed and seeing him smile for the first time. In reality there are a lot of tough times ahead with lots of sleepless nights. And nothing will ever be the same again. Someone else always has to come first now. I realize all this. I wonder if everyone who decides to have a baby does.
Well, whether or not I will suck at it or be good at it will be apparent in about 4 and a half months.