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Location: British Columbia, Canada

Yeah. I got nothin.

Friday, February 24, 2006

Never Looks Back. Loves Hypocrisy.

Well, it's about that birthdayish time of year again.

Twenty years ago I was: Young. Soon to be packed up in the family car with all our possessions, one sister, two parents, and two cats. Ready to embark on the three day journey to British Columbia, a place I'd been once before. B.C. had: an ocean. No coral, no sharks, no tropical fish. My first impression of the ocean had been rather disappointing, given that all the picture books included coral, sharks, and tropical fish. B.C. also had Cookies by George. This definitely made it worth while.

Fifteen years ago I was: Weary. Still young, but unwilling to admit it. Settling in to island living, where there are no Cookies by George. Also, no aquarium, no Granville Island, and no Greek restaurant adjoining a pet store with an overwhelming supply of puppies.
Learning that looks were becoming important, and that I did not have them. Developing a long term hatred of my chicken legs, which would eventually fade in to a mild amusement over their astounding length and scrawniness.

Ten years ago I was: Failing. At everything. Terrified of walking into my high school, about to be kicked out (for the first time). Watching people die. About to be kicked out of my parents house (for the last time). Chain smoking, drinking coffee, and still suffering the after affects of the overdose from the year before.

Five years ago I was: Fat. Pregnant, but not yet hugely so. Moved back home to run the restaurant while my parents were in Scotland for the year, except they didn't go to Scotland. Instead, working for minimum wage under my mother, while living on a mattress on her office floor. Angry. Furious. Ready to kill anyone who got in the way of my attempts to build a life for myself and my soon-to-be daughter.

Two years ago I was: Reveling. Loving the freedom that daycare provided, just finished a conference where I could have: beer with lunch, washroom breaks without child as witness, and clothing without oatmeal and snot smeared across the knees. Loving the fact that, for the first time in over two years, I could sit down and do nothing for an hour at a time. Using that to it's full potential. Sitting. Doing nothing. Counting down the days until I would be in Egypt. Loving the fact that I was counting the days until I would be in Egypt.

One year ago I was: Ready to move on. In my last semester of college, having barely survived the hellish semester prior to that. Ready to go up the hill, where SFU had finally processed my transfer. Ready to take on real (upper division) classes, convinced I was nearly done.

Now I'm: Me, I guess. I'm older, but not old. I'm still behind in the game, living the life of an eighteen year old college student, with the responsibilities of a mother, minus the benefits (sex on demand) of a relationship. Have I improved in the last year? Have things gotten better?

Well, I've solidified my knowledge of my daughter. I no longer think, Now, what would a real parent do? I'm not perfect, but no parent is. My daughter, on the other hand, is perfect, so I'll take some credit for not fucking that up.

I've gained people that I'm close to, and trust. And although I've grown apart from others since I moved down here, I haven't lost any friends. Which is good, because I hate wasting time on people that just aren't worth it.

I've got more music. Thank you, new computer. This might not seem that important, but I love me some good tunes, or bad tunes, or any tunes, really. It makes me happy.

I got laid. Hey, I don't get out much, okay? Okay.

I'm smarter. I know this because, when skimming through old essays I've written, I'm bloody embarrassed by that shit. Christ, it's not that hard to form a cohesive argument, is it? What the hell was I thinking?

I have a blog. That makes me cool, or something. Either that or it makes me procrastinate even more than before.
What the hell is the new cool? I've been trying to figure this out for ages now. Can anyone tell me? Send help.

3 Comments:

Blogger Maine said...

And this confirms my suspicions...

I have absolutely no idea who you are.

2/24/2006 11:42 AM  
Blogger Impulsivecompulsive said...

Maine: Nope.

But think: if I do this every year on my birthday, I'll have created a complete life story. A very concise life story. (And missing the first eight years.)

Imagine the possibilities.

2/24/2006 3:33 PM  
Blogger Impulsivecompulsive said...

Hey, wait....who were you expecting?

2/24/2006 6:16 PM  

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