There’s No Place Like Home

There’s no place like home. A common catchphrase and when sung by Marianas Trench my favorite song for the last few years.

This phrase came to mind quite often as I visited home over the weekend. I live closer to my hometown than I have since leaving five years ago but still not so close as to make it easily accessible. I was unable to get home for Christmas this year but enjoyed my time spent here with my sister. Work was more than willing to give me a less in demand weekend off in January and my parents were delighted to have me for the first time since September. They have been up to visit but I haven’t been home so I was super pumped to see my dog again.

While a short visit it was enjoyable. My grandmother recently had surgery so visits with her were spent checking to see that she was okay as well as applying eye drops. I got to visit my home church and it went surprisingly well. It was good to see the older people in my church and let them know that I miss them. I stopped in to see old coworkers and visited old haunts. I spent the boat ride with two of my dear friends from high school and their infant son. I’m not a babies person but I find their son precious.

I got to pet SO many dogs, oh my goodness. My parents have two dogs, my best friend has two dogs AND a cat, and my honorary mother has two dogs. I was in heaven. My dog is 9 and still as silly as ever. She’s become better at cuddling though which makes sleeping easier.

While at home I had Adele’s Hello stuck in my head which just made me laugh really. I watched the Def Leppard movie with my family and listened to the hair metal channel with my dad. We took the scenic (mostly) plowed roads back to my current home and arrived in time for my evening shift.

I’m sorry for the delay in this week’s blog post and the lack of grist it contains. Right now I’m avoiding cleaning, listening to music, trying to remember how to cook proper meals, and piecing together a Young Adult novel in the making. I hope you are well and please let me know what you think of the new theme.

Take care,



This Is How To Talk To Your Son About His Body

Teach your son to be kind to himself. Teach him to be kind to other people. Teach your son that his body is good for all kinds of things.

Source: This Is How To Talk To Your Son About His Body

David Bowie

I was on break at work today when my sister and father simultaneously texted me that David Bowie had passed away at the age of 69 after an 18-month battle with cancer. I was crushed. I was shocked. I was/am in denial. He just released an album. He just celebrated his birthday. I was starting to build up hope that maybe he would tour again after all. I got into David Bowie after he stopped touring and while I respected that decision I still held onto hope for that once in a lifetime chance.

I’m not sure if there are words for what that man means to me but I will try. I was introduced to David Bowie in middle school by my favorite band My Chemical Romance. They brought up David Bowie frequently in interviews and had covered Under Pressure with The Used. On a trip to the mainland I picked up Best of Bowie as a logical introduction and my life was changed. Who was this magical creature that could sing of such fantastical worlds with such a grip on real conflict and emotions? Who was this unapologetic stage performer who gave the middle finger to gender roles and colouring inside the lines? He was everything I needed as a weird, angry, performance artist of a teenager and I dove in head first.

David Bowie was common ground at my house. My father loved rock and roll, my mother preferred gospel music, and I loved rock and metal (especially of the glam variety). While I never could get them into Demon Hunter or Semi Precious Weapons we could all agree that David Bowie was a musical staple in the house and in the car. The more I read about him and the more albums I listened to (The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars will always have a special place in my heart) the more I fell in love. David Bowie was my first example of someone I didn’t want to be but someone who showed me it was still okay to be me. Unapologetically and skillfully.

Caitlin Moran recently wrote an article 10 Things Every Teenage Girl Should Know and number 9 has been on my mind since his birthday just a few days ago. “When in doubt, listen to David Bowie. In 1968, Bowie was a gay, ginger, bonk-eyed, snaggle-toothed freak walking around south London in a dress, being shouted at by thugs. Four years later, he was still exactly that- but everyone else wanted to be like him, too. If David Bowie can make being David Bowie cool, you can make being you cool. PLUS, unlike David Bowie, you get to listen to David Bowie for inspiration. So you’re one up on him, really. YOU’RE ALREADY ONE AHEAD OF DAVID BOWIE.”

David Bowie gave us queer kids a stable rock in our small town seas. He showed us it was okay to be weird and to dance anyway. He was an amazingly talented and created individual. Part of me wants this all to be a stunt. If he came back two weeks from now I wouldn’t even be mad. No matter if this was really the end of a legend or just another Bowie moment, thank you.

To leave things on a light note, check out the website and type in your age to see what David Bowie had accomplished by the time he was your age. Go back to the Moran quote and know that we’re all in this together.

Take care,


Inviting People Into The Mess

As anyone who has ever lived with me before will tell you I am not a clean person. I will leave laundry on my bed until it gets worn, there is enough paper lying around my room to make your own journal, and if I don’t leave conscious and continuous reminders I am unlikely to sweep let alone mop until I come home and realize just how bad everything has gotten (again) and go on a wild dance party cleaning spree. Since university I’ve learned to keep it short of a toxic waste dump by staying on top of dishes or at least keeping them out of non-eating places and I keep a pretty good handle on laundry being cleaned if not actually folded and put away. So in this way and in many more figurative ways I can be a pretty messy person.

I have lived in the city for just shy of four months. In these four months I have made one new friend. I have been to her house on several occasions to watch hockey, cook together, borrow books, watch movies, and other things that friends generally get together to do. She has not been to my place and I have always given the completely valid excuse of “it’s a dump”. About once every two weeks I go on a previously mentioned cleaning spree but by the time I want to show people “look! I have done the thing!” it has inevitably fallen into entropy again. C’est la vie.

I have reconnected with a couple friends since moving to the city. One of them has been to my apartment a few times to pick me up and hasn’t been eaten by any Star Wars related garbage monsters. Yet. Recently we have committed a day of the week to getting together to catch up, make food, and watch movies. She is an excellent hostess but I always felt guilty for not having her over to my place. This last week we met at my place and for the first time she was there for longer than ten minutes. I had planned to clean after church but ended up not getting home until an hour before they would arrive. After a much needed shower I had about fifteen minutes to get the house in order. Needless to say it was not the most thorough job and I apologized as I walked them to my door.

And you know what? We had a great time. Yeah, the apartment wasn’t very organized and I had to get a little creative with dishes to make supper with. But we worked on colouring pages they had brought and watched Two Towers while eating nachos. It was a great visit. No one died in the Messy Apartment Sinkhole of 2016 and on my next day off I had sufficient time to make my house a home again and all is well.

It is only fair that I warn you that I am overly fond of making allegories and Life Lesson connections out of everything. I’m also really bad for getting into a rough spot in life and suddenly thinking of ten friends I want to reconnect with but not wanting to be asked “and how are you these days?” I genuinely want to know how things are with them without making it about me or divulging that things are less than great. I never stop to think “hey, maybe it isn’t all peaches and cream with them either.” I think there is a fine line to walk between only talking with someone when you need to unburden yourself and genuinely wanting to reconnect with someone who comes to mind when you’re at your lowest. For me, I try to make a list of people that when I get out of this slump I will reach out to.

To be honest though I’m still not sure if this is the best plan either. Maybe, like with a messy apartment, sometimes you need to welcome people into the mess before you are able to clean. I spent this summer working at a home ready meals and pizza counter in my hometown’s grocery store. The part I hated the most about the whole ordeal was running into old classmates and having to admit that I had no idea what I was doing with my life. I quickly came to learn that they were still trying to figure things out too. People I hadn’t talked to in five years were suddenly stopping by to chat and letting me into their fears and questions as well. On good days when I let myself reach out to friends I had made at university I found out that they were still confused as well. It didn’t matter if they had found their dream job, were in grad school, getting married, or just as lost as I was everyone had things they were still trying to figure out. Everyone gets tired. Everyone doubts themselves. Everyone has some good in their life they wanted to talk about as well (most days).

One of the things I’m trying to do in 2016 (and tried in 2015 and probably tried in 2014 as well) is to be better at intentional community and keeping in touch with people. This way it is like reading the book of my friends’ lives and not just the spark notes/greatest hits. It allows me to be there for them when things are going great, when they’re going poorly, and when they don’t really appear to be going anywhere. Like I said, I’m working on it. It also allows me to show them my life as I try to figure things out, experience highs and lows and all the plateaus in between.

What I think I’m trying to say and honestly might have said by now is to let people into the mess. If they let you into their mess as well see what an honour that is. Celebrate, cry, and let yourself have gray days together. And don’t forget that dancing is a great way to get yourself through many a cleaning day.



This is not how the story is going to end

2015. I can’t believe it’s finally over. I have lived in three different towns since I last posted here. As I moved from the university town I was given gifts from cherished co-workers at the coffee shop. One of these gifts was a journal. On the first page my friend had written “At any given moment you have the power to say ‘this is not how the story is going to end’.” Those words have stuck with me through a pretty bleak year.

In 2015 I moved back to my hometown without really knowing where to go next. I had struck out on grad schools once again and was broke from a recent road trip to Newfoundland. I got a job working at the grocery store back home and tried to figure out where to go next. Should I go up North to work in a youth centre? Work at a shelter in Halifax? A women’s shelter in Saskatchewan? I applied everywhere and nothing appeared to be working. So I worked at the grocery store and tried to keep sane.

That’s another thing that will always stand out to me about 2015. On Boxing Day of 2014 I had my first psychotic episode. I spent the night locked up in my bedroom convinced there was a demon in the kitchen waiting to suck my soul into hell. This was the start of the some of the longest and darkest months of my life. I was convinced that many of my friends and complete strangers on the street had been over taken by demons that were coming to corrupt me. I was afraid to look in the mirror, convinced that I was also a demon. After some tough love from one of my dearest friends I sought professional help. I also reached out to friends who I knew also lived with mental health issues and slowly but surely started piecing the world back together. Things are by no means perfect now but I am in a much better place than I was a year ago.

My sister graduated from university this past spring. She was looking for a roommate to stay with her in the city. My time on the island had been very healing. Many loose ties were finally resolved and I reconnected with old friends and family. When I originally left in high school I ran without looking back. This time it felt like I was choosing to leave with bridges still intact. I decided to go for broke and moved to a city on the mainland with her to try and find employment in my field. I ended up working at the same chain of coffee shops but also picked up a part-time job working at a comic book store. Both jobs have proved to be a wonderful experience.

Moving to a place with more than two streetlights has been an experience but one I am glad I decided to try. It has been learning experience after learning experience and a journey of self discovery and an eye opener of the world around me. If there are any other coming of age cliches you can think of please feel free to insert them here as well. I’ve been keeping a journal again and that is helping to keep my mental health in a more stable condition. I am editing my novel from high school and working on a new writing project as well. I have made a goal to try and write a blog post at least once a week so here’s hoping for hard work and lots of writing in the new year. I am applying to grad schools once again but this time in the field of social work. I hope everyone who comes across this got to see a cute dog today, felt the sun on their face, and read a good book.


Take care lovelies.