black-bunny
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A weekend back home
This past weekend was a lovely weekend. Went �back home� for some much needed time off. I know I went to Toronto recently, but as with most �breaks� I feel the need to take an additional few days off to recover from my time off. But it was not the case this past weekend. I did very little running around, very little �touching base�, in fact I did very little of anything. But I did do some stuff. I read, in it�s entirety, Coldheart Canyon, by one Mr. Clive Barker. Very good little read. Ok, not a little read, a big read. But completely absorbing, from beginning to end. In fact, I couldn�t believe that I got through it all in four days. I don�t read all that quickly, but I do have a tendency to skip paragraphs when the going gets slow (blasphemy, I know, but what can you do).
Spent a lot of time just puttering around Dee and Madman's house, annoying cats, poking teen-aged girls and sipping coffee, of which I way exceeded my limit. I figured I was somewhere safe enough to have a freak-out if need be, plus there was a plethora of beds to nap upon, in case I became exhausted from a �bout of the shakes. But, in the end, there were no shakes, no panic, no anxiety.
In fact, I spent a lot of time NOT feeling anxious, and that indeed, was something I needed. I needed to get away from all my usual triggers, and this city if fulla them.
I�m rather pleased these days with how I�ve been managing this whole anxiety thing. In the last year, I�ve managed to really change things for me. I�ve either eliminated a variety of stressful situations, or done my damnedest to change the way I think about stressful situations.
Mind you, it helps that I have a roommate/friend who has zero tolerance for bullshit.
But yes, back to me. I�m happy. Well, kinda. I�m getting there.
Who would of thought that the less time I would spend with people, the happier I would become?
It just pleases me. Greatly.
Also, this weekend, I learned to knit. Again, kinda. I can get a row started. And I can move that row to the other needle. But I pull too tight, there is too much tension. And knitting is all about tension, not too much, not too little.
Hm. I�m sure there is a metaphor somewhere in there. I�ll leave it to you to find it.
It�s a shame though. Every time I go back, I feel a little wistful. It�s a beautiful little Victorian town. It�s beauty is completely underrated, it�s not hell-bent on drawing tourists, and thus, not over-done and sickeningly quaint.
If it wasn�t for a few things like my job, nightshifts, the utter lack of a night life, family, �cousins� who want to sleep with me, my old high school, no pubs/high-speed internet/video store/record store (I�m sure there is more), I would, without a doubt, move back in a second.
It�s just that pretty and peaceful. If I could, I�d buy myself a little stone house, on a little plot of land, and call it �Hell�s Half Acre�.
A student in the Homemaking Arts, I am slowly becoming.
I should go, stop making such a vague entry, and get back to work.
Toodles!
2:46 p.m. - 2004-06-22
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