Aliens are stalking my parents

I woke up in a trailer park and before I can even get my morning coffee into me my mom tells me she saw a UFO.

“A UFO?” I mutter. “As in aliens?”

“Yes,” she exclaims. “As in aliens!”

Now my mother is kind of wonky (this is the woman who came to my father and I at the breakfast table one morning and claimed that there were eggs popping out of her head… we later figured out that it was the beads on the ends of the bristles on her hairbrush that were coming off and not eggs, as she had originally suspected.) but she has never gone on about aliens or UFOs. This was a first!

We had been at a family function the night before and I thought the “UFO” might be alcohol induced so I asked her to describe it. She told me in great detail the shape; oval with multiple sides, the colour; glowing orange, and the speed it was travelling at; a slow but steady hover. Also, my aunt and her neighbour were backing up the story. They all saw the same thing! I had to rule out drug induced hallucination because all of them weren’t drinking the same Kool-Aid.

My mom was so convinced that I started to believe her story to be true. Maybe she had seen something out of this world! Maybe… the aliens were trying to contact us?

“OMG!” I thought. “I’m totally going to introduce them to Gossip Girl. It’s like totally going to revolutionize their world!” (jokes).

It wasn’t until later, after I had told most of my interested friends that my mom had seen a UFO, that my cousin called to inform us that they had identified the U in UFO. Turns out the alien spacecraft was just a toy that you could buy at the local general store. It’s kind of like a Frisbee, but lighter, so that it hovers for longer periods of time. My mom and I laughed. Of course! Alcohol + flying toy ÷ trailer park = spaceship. It all makes perfect sense now.

I thought that was the end of aliens with my family. WRONG! The very next weekend we were all up at the cottage. The night was clear, the stars were bright, the bon fire was warm and the beer was cold. My mom and dad went to bed earlier then the rest of us so I don’t know how it happened, but the next morning my mom says “Amanda, your dad saw a UFO last night!”

“You’ve got to be kidding!” I said.

Apparently they weren’t. My mom and dad tell me that in the middle of the night, when my dad got up to take his nightly pee, he saw an object flying over the lake. It was bright, oval in shape and flew over the lake and off into the distance. This incident is yet to be explained *cue X Files theme song*.

Shaking hands with a killer

They were warm and rough, nothing extraordinary or unusual about them. They were your average hands, except they had killed a man.

I met a murderer on a Greyhound to Owen Sound. I learned his name; Aaron, where his people were from; Cape Croker and his preferred brand of beer; Kokanee, but I never learned what made him snap and take the life of a friend. He said it happened in a fight and things “got out of hand”. A life was done in by his hands during a situation that he deemed out of hand.

Haven’t you ever imagined killing someone? I bet you have.

I caught the Greyhound in Toronto with my boyfriend; we were headed to the North Country to spend the long weekend with family, friends and beer in hand by the lake. As we watched out the window, city streets made way for rural fields, and the city bound passengers were replaced with more rural folk heading north. It was in the countrified city of Guelph where the most interesting characters came aboard. Two of them ambled down to the very back of the bus and sat right behind me and Scott. As the bus turned out of the station they started up a conversation. Pleasantries about the weather and the long weekend soon turned into more serious talks about where they were from and past shared experiences. It turns out they had more in common then they thought; both had done time in prison.

Stories were swapped as they drank the booze they’d hidden in their carry-ons. Chris, a middle aged white guy who was heading to Sauble Beach to meet a girl he found on the internet, had done five months in the slammer for drunk driving. Now he has to blow into his car to make it start; I guess that’s why he was taking the bus.

Aaron, the fellow convict, said “that’s nothing.”

Chris countered with “oh yeah, what were you in for?” His pride had been wounded.

“I just got done serving 10 years down below,” said Aaron in a beer soaked whisper.

The surprise was evident in Chris’ voice when he repeated his question. “But what were you in for?”

“I killed a guy,” replied Aaron. “I took his life.”

Chris didn’t need to respond. Aaron told him that he had gotten into a fight with his friend at the bar. The fight got out of hand and he ended up killing the man. He had been sent to prison, or “down below” as he called it. He had missed watching his son grow up over the murder of a friend. They started to talk about how prison changes you and about their families; both of them are fathers. They continued to drink as they talked and eventually Aaron leaned over our seat and offered Scott a beer. Scott accepted it which drew us into their conversation. As the bus continued driving into the night we talked about the weekend ahead. Scott told them we were headed to my cottage and Aaron was interested to know where it was. I told him Wiarton, which made him very pleased. He knew the town well and wanted to know who we knew in common, his people had always lived on the reserves near Wiarton. This place gave him a kinship to me and he continued to ask me about my people and how long we’d been in the area. Scott and he got into philosophical discussions about life and the choices we make. He freely admitted that killing someone had been a choice and that prison had changed him. I think that in his round about way he was trying to tell us that he’d learned his lesson.

As we pulled into our final stop Aaron was asking us if we wanted to go out for drinks with him and even offered us a ride home after. We politely declined. Chris was the first to get picked up and we wished him good luck with his internet lady. Aaron continued to try and convince us to head to the bar, he’d had such a good time on the bus with us he said and kept shaking our hands. Even when his ride appeared and was calling his name he continued telling us how he always meets the most interesting people on the bus and that he hoped to see us soon. He turned to get his ride and then came back to shake our hands… twice.

I shook hands with a murderer. Whose hands have you touched?

What do you mean by “abnormality”?

How do you respond when someone tells you that they’ve found an “abnormality” in your cervix that, could be nothing, or could be cancer? What do you say to that?

I said “okay”…. because that’s all I could manage at the time.

Last month I went in for my first official pap test. It was surprisingly easy! It left me feeling slightly uncomfortable for a couple hours, but other then that it was easy peasy lemon squeezy. The doctors at the clinic said that I really didn’t need a pap test because they’ve now started doing them only for women who have been sexually active for three years. I insisted that I wanted one… just in case. And I’m glad I did.

This morning I got the call with my test results. The woman from the clinic said the test had discovered some “abnormalities” in my cervix.

“It could be nothing,” she said. “Or it could be an early indicator of cervical cancer, we’re not sure yet.”

She told me that I needed to make an appointment for a second pap test in 6 months; if they find the same anomalies again they will then send me to a gynecologist to do more extensive testing. If I do indeed have cancer they will pursue treatment. This was the procedure, she assured me, and not to worry… it could be nothing.

Clearly she doesn’t know me! If you’ve read my last blog post you will know that “worry” is my middle name! I’ve now been sitting here pondering the fact that I have to wait 6 months to find out if I’m fine or that I might, possibly, maybe have cervical cancer. Should I spend the next 6 months doing all the things I’ve always wanted to do bucket list style? Or should I just start planning my funeral? Will my birthday next month be the last one I celebrate?

I know this may seem like an overreaction, but hearing the word “abnormality” and “cancer” used in the same sentence to describe your body is a little scary.

Along with my usual worrying I’ve been weighing the pros and cons. Pros: I’m young and strong enough to fight this if it turns out to be cancer. Cancer treatment has improved over the years and more people survive everyday. Like the doctor said “it could be nothing”. Cons: my dad had cancer, which doesn’t bode well in my favour. I could have cancer, a disease that they don’t technically have a cure for. Treatment for this cancer (in extreme cases removing the uterus) could ruin my dreams of becoming a mother.

It’s a lot to think about and something I wish I didn’t have to consider on such a lovely spring day. However, knowing what I know now I want to initiate some awareness. If you are a lady and haven’t had a pap test, go get one. They’re free and could save your life. Also, if you have the funds, consider getting the vaccination for HPV (which can cause cervical cancer). If you are a man and have a lady that you care about encourage her to get tested like I did… just in case. This is all I can really do as of now. In July I’ll have my second test and will be able to tell you more.

Worry Warts Anonymous

“Hi, my name is Amanda and I… am a worry wart!”

“Hi Amanda.”

“I had my last worry at 11:30 this morning. I started worrying when I was young, just a kid really. Back then I’d worry about never seeing my parents again after they left for work. I always had daymares that they would get killed in a car accident and never come home. Nowadays I worry about pretty much everything, even things that don’t technically exist. I blame three things for my worrying ways: 1) my over active imagination, 2) my (undiagnosed) separation anxiety from my family fostered in me as a child by two busy parents and 3) my mother’s extreme love for me giving her the tendency to worry which I then learned to copy. These three factors, mixed together, make a vicious cocktail of worry wart syndrome.”

“Testify!”

“I have suffered. Worrying is not fun, nor is it easy! It takes dedication and a good dosage of crazy to make a true worrier and I have dedication and crazy in spades! I have spent long, sleepless nights worrying about imaginary scenarios. I have broken out into hives over a worry that has started out small and then grown to consume me (like most of them do). I have tried many techniques to try and suppress my worrying: deep breathing, finding my happy place, mantras and alcohol! None of these worked. Why? Probably because my worry wart tendencies are so deeply rooted that they have become part of who I am. They are what makes me tick (sometimes twitch) and the only real thing I can do about it is to accept it! This morning I had a worry that got so big I started to sweat. My boyfriend was supposed to go pick up a painting that we had received as a gift from a friend. I called him to remind him of this fact, but every time I called his phone would say “we’re sorry, the person you are trying to reach is unavailable at this time.” My boyfriend never turns off his phone, so this was cause for concern. I tried texting him; nothing. I tried messaging him on Gtalk; nothing. I tried calling our friend to see if she’d seen him yet; nothing! This is when my over active imagination starts to wiggle. I imagined him getting mugged on the street and thrown in a gutter while the robbers made away with his phone. I pictured him going into a store to grab a drink on his way to the subway, when the store suddenly gets held up and he’s shot by a masked gunman! I also thought of train derailments, car accidents, gang warfare and abduction. Finally, boyfriend shows up on Gtalk and casually messages me a ‘good morning’… he’d been sleeping the entire time! The reason his phone wasn’t working was because it had disconnected randomly from the cell network(my phone does that too sometimes, damn Rogers). Sleeping in + disconnected phone = one frazzled Amanda. With apologies, soothing words and promises of pampering me during the weekend, boyfriend was able to get me to stop worrying. I then apologized for my spastic behaviour; he said it was okay and that he understands. Understands! That’s what I’ve needed from myself this entire time, some fucking understanding. Hi, my name is Amanda, I am a worry wart and I understand this. I accept it and am attempting to move on!”

*slow clap*

Ennui: I have it. Do you?

I haven’t written a blog post in a while now. It’s not because I haven’t had stuff to write about. On the contrary, I've had tons going on: I got props at work from my boss for being so awesome, my beloved childhood pet died (she was 16 years old), I got sick with Norwalk, I got to cover a Paul Okenfold event for a website as a guest blogger and I bought a new coat (yes, another coat… don’t judge!).

I just haven’t been writing because I’ve been lazy.

In fact, I’ve been lazy about everything lately: Making dinner, going swimming, reading… all things I love that I haven’t been doing because I just don’t feel like I have the energy anymore. I just want to sit on the couch and watch The Wire.

Has anyone else felt this disenchanted, ennui-filled, lazy attitude lately? Or is it just me?

I am tempted to blame the weather, but I’m too lazy to go outside, point at the sky and say “this is all your fault!”

I am tempted to blame my job, but I’m too lazy to get into an argument with myself over my direction in life because then I would have to admit to myself how seriously lazy I am… even thinking about being lazy is exhausting and is making me more lazy… if that’s even possible.

I keep waiting for something to happen to drag me out of this funk, but nothing has happened yet. And quite frankly, waiting is making me want to be lazy some more. Before, I was in a creative funk, but this blog dragged me out of it. Now I’m in an “ennui” funk and I’m not sure what to do about it… I’ve never had ennui before; I’ve been disenchanted often, but never ennui! Like all questions in life I turn to the great giver of information… I Googled it. And for once in my life Google has failed me. There is no real cure for ennui… the best suggestion was to exercise *rolls eyes*. Like I said before, even swimming doesn’t interest me, and that’s like my favourite thing in the whole world! I write this blog post, not as a documentation of my lazy ennui (because that would be boring), but as a cry for help. Anyone with suggestions on how to make my ennui go away would be greatly appreciated. All suggestions must be submitted in writing for posterity’s sake. Thank you.

Wrong Numbers, How I Adore Thee!

My phone vibrated across my desk and an unidentified number flashed onto the screen. Curiosity prickled my skin and a smile inched along my face as I reached to answer the call… maybe it will be someone I know calling from a different phone, or maybe, just maybe, it will be a wrong number!

I love being on the receiving line of wrong numbers, mostly because I love reveling in peoples social awkwardness, but also because it’s just fun to get a sneak peek into other people’s lives. There are three types of wrong numbers: 1) the “ask and hang up”: wrong number calls and asks for so-and-so, you have to tell them that you don’t know so-and-so and they hang up because they have the wrong number. The second type is the “disbeliever”: wrong number calls, asks for so-and-so. You tell them that they have the wrong number and then they respond with “are you sure”? Of course you’re fucking sure! This is your phone, you answered, and you are not so-and-so! Duh! And number three is my favourite…three is the conversationalist: these people don’t even ask to speak to so-and-so. They just assume that they’ve got the right number so they just jump right into their convo, telling you things and asking you questions along the way. I love three the most because it has the highest risk of social awkwardness.

Today’s wrong number was brought to you by the number three!

“Hello,” I say when I pick up my phone.

“Ugh, so I’m late and I’m on my way to St. Paul’s,” says the girl on the other line.

I have no clue who this is!

“Okay…” I say.

“Is this Sandy’s cell phone?” says the wrong number.

“Noooooo,” I respond, trying not to giggle.

She starts to laugh and goes on a two minute rant about how she just got a new phone and spent all of last night updating her phone numbers and how she must have put Sandy’s (which she thinks is my phone) cell number under her home listing and that she must be calling Sandy’s home line by mistake…. “Are you Sandy’s mom?” she asks.

“No, I don’t even know a Sandy,” I say, laughing.

“Oh! Is this the wrong number? Oh, man, I am so sorry!”

I kept laughing and told Sandy’s friend to have a nice day.

Please Don't Tap The Glass

A week ago I caught a cold. You know the kind... one of those run-of-the-mill, common colds, that are so irritating you just want to die. The hacking cough, mucus snorting , sore throat inducing, sleepless night dealing kind of illness that they haven't found a cure for yet. I did the only thing you can do when you catch the "common cold", I treated the symptoms. I took three days off work to rest. I drank buckets of tea, bought two different types of cough drops, cold medicine and vitamins. I slept... a lot. And finally, after a week, I started to feel better... until yesterday.

Yesterday I was feeling so good that I was planning on going swimming on the weekend. I was pumped that I was starting to feel like my old, healthy self again and I was looking forward to the time when I'd have energy to burn when I felt it... a pain. It started out dull at first and only when I swallowed, but as the day grew long, the pain in my throat got worse until it felt like my throat was going to close up on me. I couldn't swallow and I was having trouble breathing.

At first I was scared and then, after I had thought about it for a while, I got angry. How the fuck did I get sick again so fast! These sore throat symptoms are different then the ones I had during the "common cold" I had just endured. What the hell had I caught now! I was so angry I almost cried. For a brief moment, literally only a 24 hour span of time, I had felt like I was getting better and now this! I have always had the worst luck when it comes to viruses. I always manage to catch whatever everyone else has in, at least, a 100 mile radius of wherever I happen to be. Clearly, my immune system has never been the best, but I have been trying really hard lately to remedy that. I've been taking a multivitamin, vitamin C supplements and even tried switching my yogurt to the one with the live bio cultures to see if I could help my body fend off disease. But due to this recent sore throat development I feel that my efforts are in vain.

I've had enough! Drastic times call for drastic measures, so I have decided it is time to take my preventative measures to the extreme! After this sore throat has run its course I will never have a cold again! How, you ask? Well, I'm just going to live in a box. A really nice, bullet proof glass box that will be fitted over my head to protect me from catching nasty, little germs. I was inspired by the masks doctors wear, and that you now sometimes see people wearing in the subway. These masks protect your nose and mouth from breathing in contagious germs, but they neglect to protect the eyes and ears. That's when I thought of the box. A nice glass box would protect your whole head from germs, much more effective then just a flimsy mask. I was running this idea past my friend Mel when I thought that maybe walking around with a glass box on my head would garner some attention, possibly unwanted attention. I thought of people coming up to me on the subway and asking about the box, maybe even touching the box... it wasn't a pleasant thought. So, I have devised a sign to place on the lower right hand corner of the glass box. It will say "please don't tap the glass". Original, no?

The Sweetest Surprise

My boyfriend is not the romantic type. He doesn't like holidays, he doesn't like buying cards and he's only ever given me flowers once. But the other day he gave me a surprise that made me swoon.

Before he left for school he told me that he had a surprise for me and that I would get it when he got home. Of course, being the insanely curious person I am, surprises drive me nuts. I spent most of the day trying to figure out what he was getting me. He had left me with only one clue: it was a three part surprise. Three parts! There are a zillion things out there that have three parts! I didn't quite guess a zillion things, but some of my guesses included: a cheese burger (buns, meat and cheese), a fruit salad (strawberries, mango and filler fruit) and a book (beginning, middle and end). So many guesses and all of them wrong.

When my boyfriend, Scott, finally got home he presented me with my surprise which was: a bouquet of fair trade roses, a love letter and a gift certificate for the Great American Back Rub. Now, all these things may seem random by themselves, but joined together and knowing me, they are the most thoughtful gifts any one has ever given me.

You should know I'm a hippie at heart. I'm always lecturing Scott about ways in which we can improve our environment and society by loving the earth and each other. So, when he gave me the roses he told me that he had chosen them specifically because they were fair trade flowers and that he knew that would mean something to me, which it did. He wanted to show me that he cared about things I was passionate about and that all my lecturing had a "little" bit of influence over him.

Secondly, he gave me the gift certificate for a back rub. You should know, that along with being a hippie, I am also a hard worker and have gained a bad back from past work experience. Scott gives me a back rub every day to help me relax and put me to sleep. The gift of a professional back rub was him showing me that he understood what my body needs and that he cares about my physical well being.

Thirdly, he wrote me a love letter explaining his gifts. His letter said that he chose a random day on the calendar that wasn't associated with a holiday or a mile stone in our relationship for a reason. He wanted to show how much he loved me by giving these meaningful gifts on a day when I'd know that they were just coming from him and him alone. That they weren't influenced by a commercial holiday or an anniversary, they were just influenced by his love and appreciation for me. He wanted to say "I love you" without a Hallmark holiday getting in the way of the gifts true meaning.

This last gesture made the most impression on me. It got me thinking about holidays, like Valentines Day, which is just around the corner. Why do we make such a big deal about telling people that we love them or that they are special on very specific days? Shouldn't we put more emphasis on those small daily gifts, like giving someone a back rub, or making someone dinner, on all the regular days of the year, instead of the big hoopla we surround holidays with? This all reminded me of when Alice in Wonderland celebrates her un-birthday! Maybe we need more un-birthday's and un-holidays in our day to day. Scott's random, surprise message of love made me think about not waiting for Valentine's Day to tell my friends and family how much I love them! It made me think about not waiting for Christmas to spend quality time with my extended family! And maybe, him getting me to think about all this, is the greatest gift of all.

If you're reading this and it's a random day, if it's not a mile stone in our relationship or a holiday, I want you to know I love you. I appreciate you and all you do. Thanks for being out there! Yours truly, Amanda Jerome xoxo.

The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus or How I Realized How Much I Miss Heath Ledger

I saw the Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus the other day, Heath Ledger's last film. I didn't think it would effect me.

I was so wrong.

I went into this movie expecting to see a beautiful and imaginative film, which it was. I went in expecting to be a little sad about seeing the late Heath Ledger on the big screen for the last time, which I was. But I didn't expect to still feel melancholy a whole 24 hours after the movie was finished, which I am. Today, I sat at my desk trying to work and all I felt was distracted and irritated. My coworkers noticed and asked me how my weekend was. I told them I had a great weekend, but I always ended with "I saw the Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus, it was a beautiful film, but it made me sad." After repeating this sentence at least 12 times I finally clued into what was wrong with me: I miss Heath Ledger.

I, like many others, was shocked and disappointed by his death. We weren't expecting such a young and promising talent to die so soon. I remember my roommate telling me the sad news of Ledger's passing, and I not believing her, I thought it was some sort of mistake. I was not a die hard Ledger fan, so I couldn't explain why his death made me so sad. I guess, at the time, it was because he was the first young hollywood star, who I admired, who had died. I respected his talent, loved his charm and was taken in by his adorable smile.

Seeing The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus brought Ledger back alive to me for a brief moment. There he was, on the big screen, acting like he had never left. He was charming, he was pretty and he portrayed his character brilliantly. I enjoyed watching him so much that I was sad when the movie ended. But the fact that I'm still sad a whole day after the movie has ended proves to me that I miss seeing Heath Ledger in movies more then I'd care to admit.

Hollywood has been watered down over the years. Rarely does an actor come along that truly inspires the imagination. I believe Heath Ledger was one of those rare people and I hope that one day someone will be able to fill his shoes and breath life into so many of the great characters we see on screen.

... When Suddenly They Broke into Song.

I just came home from a party where I had a "in the movies" experience.

The party started out typically, everyone was just chilling, clinking drinks and talking about the random stuff that can only be brought up when you converse with strangers at a mutual friend's house, when IT happened. Someone was acting as a DJ with the Youtube clips when they came across a song.... a song I had never heard of before, but apparently every boy in the room had. When Wonder Boy by Tenacious D came on every man in the room burst into song! It was like something straight out of a musical! They all knew the words and sang, miraculously, in tune. There was air guitars being played and dance moves invented! This was like Rent meets Jersey Boys and it was happening right in front of me in real time. No rehearsals. No scripts. Just pure male bonding over this apparent anthem.

After the song was over, the men dispersed and the singing ended, just as suddenly as it had started it stopped... but I wanted more! I sometimes wish that life were like a musical. That at a moments notice we could all burst into song, knowing the words and dancing in proper formation... that's what pretty much happened tonight with the playing of Wonder Boy. Looks like my wish for a real life musical came true! I hope it happens at the next party.

I have the soul of a penny pinching old lady!

I went out for lunch today. I also went out and saw a movie. Then I bought four boxes of granola bars. It has been an awesome day! Why? Because my lunch was free! My movie was free! And the granola bars were on sale!

Nothing makes me happier then saving a buck.

I make enough money to support my partner and I, so why is pinching every penny necessary? BECAUSE IT MAKES ME HAPPY! Happy to the point of ridiculousness. When I get coupons in the mail it's better then christmas. When I walk into a store and see sale signs posted on things my eyes light up and I practically skip down the aisle throwing stuff in my basket.

Today was an especially good day for saving money. My friend Ashley works in a restaurant and she pulled my business card (strategically placed there of course) out of a draw for a free lunch. The lunch was so big though that I had enough for dinner as well! My friend Mel works for a movie theater head office and she gets free passes, so she took me to see a film. Through friendly connections I had my meals and entertainment taken care of for the day. Thank you ladies!

On my way home from the movie theater I popped into Shoppers Drug Mart where, lo and behold, granola bars and bread were on sale for $1.99! GLEE! I giggled with mirth as I stocked up on Nature Valley bars... people were looking at me. I had one couple stare at me and then exchange "knowing" looks. I caught two women watching me as well, they laughed and whispered behind their hands. I didn't care that they were staring, although I was curious to know what they were saying about me. Even the cashier looked at me funny! You would think during this time of "recession" that people carrying armloads of granola bars and cheap bread would NOT be stared at, but congratulated for their thrifty efforts! I, however, was being judged and I could feel it. I wanted to turn to these people and say "you don't understand! I'm not poor! I make a good living...I just... I love getting a chance to save money! Is that so hard to understand?" I wanted to point out to them that I was wearing a three-hundred dollar coat, two-hundred dollar boots and an even more expensive brooch. I wanted to prove to them I was their equal and that saving money was something I took joy from. But as the cashier handed me my receipt and I noticed that I could redeem ten dollars in Shoppers points on my next visit all thoughts of judgement and proving myself vanished! Who cares what other people think? I've got ten dollars worth of Shoppers points weeeeee!

My name is Amanda Jerome and I like to save money!

Poetry Corner *snaps*

In my "Out of the Closet and On to the Floor" post I wrote about finding my book of poetry. I mused that I might put one of those poems on here one day. Today is that day... now please don't be to hard on me *stage whisper* I've never shared my poetry with anyone EVER before. Who knows, if those goes well, I might make Poetry Corner a One Woman Show staple.

Distracted

Thoughts of you pound through my head like the fists of a toddler having a tantrum.

They beat unrelentlessly against my better judgement, making me bleed common sense all over my desk.

I want to regain my focus, but I can not have it back until I forget the strength behind your eyes and the tenderness in your hands.

Out of the Closet and On to the Floor

I decided to organize my closet in an attempt to start the new year afresh, but I forgot that even though my closet is very small it holds many things... piles upon piles of things.

One hour, two cups of tea and four Electric Feel repeats later I sat on the floor surrounded by things I had not wanted to deal with in the past year. Because that, essentially, is what my closet is for. Things I don't want to see, read, touch and feel, I put away behind closed doors to deal with another day. Things that I love I keep out on shelves in my living room and cluttering the top of my heirloom dresser. This habit ends now.

In the process of clearing my closet I came across 24 bank statements and Master Card bills from 2007/2008 that I had never opened. Why? Because back then I knew I had no money and a growing debt, so why bother opening a letter from the bank telling me how sad my financial status had become.

I also sorted through three years of newspaper clippings. All of them had been shoved into a box. Why? Because I had written them when I thought I had a future as a newspaper woman and looking at them one year after graduating and still not having a cubical at the Globe and Mail to keep them in made me sad, so I had buried them away. Now they are neatly folded and stacked as they deserved to be kept.

I piled up clothes and broken elastic bands, little nick-knacks kept as keepsakes when the memories themselves should be enough to sustain me. I thew out a ticket stub from a concert I went to with a boy I liked. I chucked out pay stubs from the worthless job I had in the service industry which so frustrated me, but also introduced me to the love of my life. And all the time I wondered why do I always do this to myself? Fill my life with unimportant possessions hoping that one day they will come in handy, one day I will need them again. I realize I'm not the only one who does this. Maybe we all need to start over this year and clear out our closest; our physical and emotional ones. Get rid of the junk and free up some space for new experiences.

I did find one thing that I'm really happy about. A book of poems I had written. Why was it in the closet? Because whenever I get depressed I turn to poetry. I write down things in poems so they don't plague my dreams anymore. I'm happy I found this book in the closet because it made me realize that I haven't had to write in it for a long time. Finding it made me want to stop my useless hoarding habit and start a new habit; writing poetry whether I'm happy OR sad. Just writing it for poetry's sake.

Maybe one day I'll post a poem on here.