Christmas wishes for myself. At 13.

Thank you to the 20 Something Bloggers’ December blog carnival, for helping me write a blog post today when all creativity has eluded me. The following are four things I would sneak under the Christmas tree for myself, age 13.

1. The Bell Jar, by Sylvia Plath. I did my English independent study on Plath for OAC (Grade 13… it was an Ontario thing), and was inspired by her, her independence, her brilliance, her reluctance to choose a path just because it was the one society said she should choose. It would have been beneficial for my younger self to learn about women like her sooner. Plus, by this age I had pretty much plowed through every written word in the house, so it would have been good to have something better to read than new cereal boxes.

“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet” (Plath, The Bell Jar, 1963).

2. A pretty journal. Sure, I had many loose leaf papers and books around, but it would be good to encourage younger me to write more. I used to love it so much, and it’s something that has dwindled with age, mandatory academic essays causing a serious lack of creativity, not to mention times of forced creativity. It would have served as even more of an outlet during a time in my life when I was not a happy person. A time when I didn’t know how to communicate with anyone who could help me be a happier person.

3. A game of some kind. Something along the lines of Girl Talk, a game that I never, ever owned. Something to encourage me to bond with my sisters during a time that I did not appreciate how awesome little sisters really can be. Something to make me cherish those last five years with them before I headed off to university. Something to remind me to stress out less, that the world doesn’t end at the drama of being a teenaged girl. Something to get me out of my room and my cover of books and pages scribbled with angst.

4. A promise for some kind of activity with my mom. Movie tickets, shopping, whatever. With three siblings, one on one time was rare with a parent (unless you were my brother, who could only be found following around my dad). It was even more rare that that time, if it happened, would be spent doing something other than cleaning, getting in trouble, or being forced to do homework. Any real, quality time you get to spend with a parent that age is a good thing. It took a lot for my relationship with my mother to become a healthy one, and it's something that I wish would have happened sooner.

If there was something you could give yourself at age 13, or even say to yourself at age 13, what would it be?

You know who I am, wanna know who/what I'm not?

I am not necessarily proud of all the things I have done, or the ways I have acted, but I have no regrets. Good or bad, everything I have experienced and the mistakes I have made have brought me to the here and now. I am pretty proud to be this person.

I am not a morning person. I am not able to do much without coffee. I am not able to work for a corporation, selling or marketing a product. I need to believe I am making a difference. I am not working in a non-profit now simply because I can’t afford to, paying off my debt is more important to me. The way the staff at my old job supported each other and directly affected so many lives of others, made me feel like I was a part of something awesome. I was not happy to leave, but I am not sad that I am here and not there. The women I work with are amazing and I am learning a lot from them. I am not selling out; I find ways to find that feeling in my job. I do help people, everyday. Just in a different way. This is also why I volunteer.

I am not terribly interested in achievements, acclaim and accolades. At the end of the day, I care about relationships – how I impact the lives of others and how they have affected me. I am not against acknowledgement of a job well done; I just prefer it to be one on one and not in front of others. I am not bilingual, though I wish I was. I know the basics of three languages (other than English) – Italian, Spanish and French – but I don’t practice and therefore speak them rather poorly.

I am not good at letting go. I am not a push over, anymore. I am not able to cut people out of my life. I am not able to give up. I have gotten better at this, cutting out those who are truly destructive. I am not able to say no, easily. Usually, this means that I take on far too much and have no time for myself. Sometimes it means I burn out a little and becoming a raging pile of tears. Regardless, I am unable to change my ways. I am not one to give in to peer pressure, I never have been. I am not a fan of liars, cheaters, people who are fake, ignorant or arrogant.

I am not always the best sister, daughter, friend, or girlfriend. I try to be, because these people are an important part of who I am, where I came from, and where I am going. I am not able to put myself first. I am not able to stand idly by while someone I love is hurting. I am not able to fix everything, I realize this, but I want to be able to fix everyone else’s problems so desperately. I am not good at speaking up when I am hurting or when I need help. I am not able to just brush off hurtful comments. I am not able to deal easily when I feel attacked.

I am not, nor have I ever been able to, settle for a boyfriend. I am not a girl who loses herself, and her previous life, when entering a relationship. I am not a girl who forgets her friends. I am not someone who is afraid to be alone. I am not dependent.
I am not a nail biter, anymore. I am not able to sleep when I am stressed out, worried or upset. I am not exactly sure what I will be doing in 5 or 10 years, but I know who I want it to be doing it with.

I am not good at making inane decisions, such as where to go for supper. I am not necessarily indecisive, if I can’t make a decision it just means I don’t care either way. I care more about who I do those things with. I am not high maintenance, though I am developing a taste for more expensive wines. In my defense, I buy them myself. And I still like the cheap ones, too.

I am not a girl’s girl, or I didn’t use to be anyway. I do not like shopping in groups, or shopping at all very much. I am not one to really want to go out and dance, though it can be fun once in a while. I am not against dingy, hole-in-the-wall pubs. In fact, I prefer them. I am not very spontaneous. I am not anti-spontaneity, but I like to have plans. I am not a girl who watches football for the men, nachos or beer, though I also enjoy these parts of the game. I watch it for the game, which I find intelligent, fun and delightfully macho.

I am not always awesome with money, or directions. I am getting better at both. I am not able to shop at thrift stores. I am not good at finding awesome finds, which causes me to feel frustrated very easily.

I’m not usually good at making small talk with strangers. I’m not as shy as I used to be. However, I am not ever very good at answering when someone asks, “So, tell me about yourself.” I am not one to ever want to be the centre of attention, it embarrasses me.

I am not as sweet and innocent as I seem. I am not someone who will compromise who I am for anything. I am not always confident in myself, even when I have the right to be. I am not able to talk myself up in job interviews as much as I’ve been told I should. I once had an HR person speak up on my behalf, adding to the interview that it has been noted that I am too humble. I am not able to remember that I have more awards in my field than the number of years I have been working in aforementioned field.

I am not the best chef, though I love to bake. I like to knit, though I can’t seem to find the time for it anymore (see: I am not able to say no). I am not very good at keeping plants alive, lately, though I love them oh-so much. I'm not as green as I'd like to be, ideally. I am not a music snob. I will listen to anything, then decide whether I enjoy it or not. I am not above listening to something merely because someone else really enjoys it; even it’s not my personal favourite. I am not done learning. Though I may be taking day-long workshops or courses for work for a little while, I love school and would like to go back eventually.
I am not one who doesn’t give credit where credit is due. This post is spawned from similar ones penned by the lovely Kyla and Brookem.

Gonna eat my banana, gonna be alright

“Oh Lordy! Oh Lord, what is dis? Dis is COOOLD!”

The lady in the seat across from me grins and pipes up, “It’s Edmonton, buddy! Get used to it!”

“Oh no, no, no. Gonna eat my banana, it’s gonna be alright. I’m vegetarian, you know. A bad vegetarian. I like to smoke.” Huge smile.

Snickers from the spectators. The same lady comments, “You’re going to need to smoke. This is just the beginning. And you’re going to need a better coat, a warmer one.”

The tall, lean Rastafarian struts up the train aisle, caressing his thin, gold jacket. “Have you seen ma coat? Ya can’t do any beddah than this! Dis is all I need! Dis will keep me warm!”

“Poor choice, buddy. You need a coat like this,” she says, pointing to a young boy whose face is just barely visible through the hood of his full-out parka.

A male voice further down the train shouts, “Think of this as summer!”

“Summa?! No, no, no. Dis is no summa. I’m gonna go back to Jamaica, and there’s gonna be a band playin’.” His hips start to move back and forth as his words become song. “Pray for me! Pray for me, Edmonton! Pray I’ll get back to Jamaica, chill out, smoke a big spliff.”

Giggles.

He turns to a red-faced blonde behind him. Asks where her people are from. Her voice doesn’t boom across the train car like his. She’s embarrassed by the attention he’s brought on her corner of the train. She tells him she’s Ukrainian.

“PIEROGIES!" He shouts. "Maybe those will keep me warm!”

More giggles. Shock from the poor, embarrassed blonde.

He notes her embarrassment and points to a spot barely visible through the fogged up windows. “See dat? Dat’s da spot I could see from ma window at da Remand Centre!” He goes on a rant about how he’s sick of injustice. Sick of lies and distrust. Sick of the evil and the badness in the world.

“I’m gonna eat my banana, gonna be alright. Right now, I’m gonna go dance!” He slides off the train at Churchill station, moving his hips and singing a song to his own Rastafarian beat.

Nothing to see here!

The button holes on my blouse are too big for the buttons themselves. Therefore, today has been like a game of "lets hope my shirt is still on". Seriously. It completely unbuttons. Good thing I brought a cardigan.

In other news, in addition to her usual overburdened workload, the Mothership is now in charge of the county I grew up in. Huzzah.

In fun coalition news, the news all Canadians love to hate right now, the National Post has posted the potential cabinet for what a coalition government would look like. Like any cabinet, some posts make complete sense and others are big question marks. I also heard a rumor that Elizabeth May would be made Environment Minister, which is interesting since the Greens aren't even part of the coalition (though she has come out in support of it).

At least we now have a little snow here in Edmonton, so it is beginning to look a little more like Christmas. Only 14 more days of work. *sigh

Why you should fund your organization's media department

When I decided that I didn't want to pursue a law career, that PR was more my thing, my mom constantly hounded me with the "but what can you do with public relations?" question.

The answer, mommy dearest, is that we can prevent companies from doing something like this.

Worst media interview EVER!

Canadian politics... interesting, but not in a good way

Michelle Jean: Sorry, Europe, I have to go back to Canada... the children have messed things up again.
Harper: They're being mean to me!
Dion, Layton, Duceppe: He started it!

We have this article announcing the coalition, this one outlining how Harper can prevent it, and this one describing Michelle Jean's options.

It's all a little ridiculous. I don't necessarily support the current party in power, but I don't support the coalition either.

They haven't even seen the budget yet! Canadians just saw a huge waste of $300 million dollars with the last election, one where support was given to the Conservative party! Deal with it. Work together. In this time of economic crisis, we need leaders. We don't need the playground drama.

And Harper's radio PR campaign is a big waste of money. Not that they care. The Conservatives have been wasting money all over the place. They have never stopped campaigning. They started campaigning against Dion and the Liberals way before the election. It's getting old. To me, anyway. I like to be able to make up my mind without turning on the radio/television and hearing the party tell me what I should think.

If, for example, Harper loses a confidence vote next week, he can ask Jean to dissolve Parliament so that another general election could be held. The Conservatives, in preparation for this possibility, have already put down a deposit on a campaign plane and buses.

Seriously?! Preparing for another Canadian election? Come on guys, this is ridiculous.

I wish the grown ups would act like grown ups.

Where oh where is the Christmas spirit? ...off with the snow?

It's hard to get into the Christmas spirit with the serious lack of snow we're experiencing. It was a balmy 2 degrees Celcius this morning, with a forecast of rain for later in the day. Rain! Not cool.

It's starting to hit me, the enormity of not going home for Christmas. I'll be spending the holiday this year with Boy and his family in southern Saskatchewan. It's not that I don't want to be with my own family, but at this time of year one must sign over their first-born in order to get a plane ticket across the country. This will always be known as the year I wasn't there, even if I manage to make it home every year to come. I'll be absent in the annual famly photo. I'll miss the "Christmas Tradition" (aka. sleepover) with Kaye and Kiki, something we've been doing since we were wee. I won't be there for breakfast, making fun of Brother and his wife for being late. I won't get to see the looks on my family's faces when they open the presents I've chosen for them. I know that everything will be okay, and Boy's family always makes me feel incredibly welcome, but it makes me a little bit homesick to think of all that I'll be missing. To think that this is one more memory the other five people in my family have without me in it. Ah the joys of being the only one living a province (or three) away.

In other news, who knew being oh-so bad could do so much good? Strippers from an establishment here in the city have raised over $4800 for Santa's Anonymous, a program that delivers Christmas presents to needy children in Edmonton. More than 30 exotic dancers donated their day's pay and tips to the cause on the weekend. They sure have the Christmas spirit.

My sister Kiki brought me a Skip-It when the girls came to visit this summer, as a belated birthday present. It's still in the packaging as it was more to serve as a reminder of my favourite toy ever. I loved my old pink Skip-It. I would spin it around, hopping over it, an eye on the counter to beat my personal best. I thought I was amazing at this game. My mother told me much later that she feared for my uncoordinated life every time I pulled it out. Thanks mom! Point is, I cleared it with Kiki to donate my new Skip-It to Santa's Anonymous this year. Hopefully some little girl, more coordinated than I, will love it as much as I did.

How are you going to get into the Christmas spirit?