Oh...Canada?

Lately, I've been thinking a lot about the future. I've been thinking about what it is that I want to do with myself, where I want to be, and where I see myself. I've been thinking about Canada.

I realize that this may seem random, but let's chat about that. You see, I've always wanted to live in a more major metro area. I like the idea of a city that never sleeps, the idea of being able to go out at 4 AM and know that I'll find people and I'll have something to do. What I don't like about most cities in the United States is how unsafe they are. Plus, let's be honest here, Citizens: people in the U.S. are a little bit twisted. Canada is safer. Canadians respect each other. Sure, there are bad eggs, but Canadians don't really have the same kind of rudeness that we have here in the States. It's just different.

That's not the only reason that Canada appeals to me, and I'm sure that, at this point, I'm not really seeming any less random. It's just that Canada feels like possibility. Canada feels like America but better. I could see myself living in Canada. I could see myself being able to thrive there. Canada could be the place that turns my life around. I've been wanting to go there for a while now. We visited Niagara and Toronto when I was about 12, and they were amazing cities. I would go back in a heartbeat. I don't have to explain all the great reasons to live in Canada or why it matters to me. I guess I just really need to put it out there to the universe that this is what I want.

I really need to start over, and I think I'd like to do that somewhere completely different. I need things to change so much. I know I have a ways to go before I'll be out of school here in Ohio, so I'm thinking that maybe Canada will have to wait until I'm ready for grad school. Yet, I think grad school will be the perfect opportunity to make that happen for me. I've been looking at graduate schools in Canada, more specifically in Vancouver. The University of British Columbia is in Vancouver, and they have a pretty good rating in Canada. Not only that, but they have MA and Ph.D. programs in English.

The more I think about going, the more scary the prospect becomes, though. I'd be starting a life (or, at the very least, a new chapter of my life) in a totally unfamiliar place--not just city-wise, but country-wise. I wouldn't know anyone there. I wouldn't know the best places to shop or who to talk to if I have car or computer troubles. I'd have to discover everything. Completely. As much as that idea appeals to me, it's also terrifying to think that I would be--for the first time in my life--totally without a safety net. Canada is also a pretty expensive place to live, so it's a pretty daunting task to go there and try to make it on my own.

For some reason, though, I can't get the idea of moving to Vancouver out of my head. It's where I want to be. It's calling me. As unnerving as it is to face the idea of heading to another country, it's even more intimidating to have to face myself and my own disappointment if I completely ignore my urge to follow my dreams. Going to grad school, going to Vancouver, those are definitely my dreams. I don't want to wait until I'm 40 to have my self-actualization moment. I want to have the courage to do these things while I'm still young enough to love them and have plenty of time to look back on them and rejoice having had those experiences.

I just need to do something for myself. I need to do what makes me happy, and I really think that this would. Does this seem selfish? Should I care if it does? I mean, at the end of the day, this is my life and I'm the one that has to be happy with it. Ultimately, it's me that has to live with me. I don't want to regret not doing this for the rest of my life. I want to do it. I want to make it happen. Is that so wrong of me?

Writing the Future

I've been thinking a lot lately about my writing. I guess I'm trying to figure out what it is that I'd like to continue to do with my English degree. Let's face it, I'll probably never be lucky enough to have the Julie Powell-type serendipity of having someone want to actually do something with my blog. I'm not going to get a book deal based on my boring life. I'm going to have to figure out how it is that adults write things in the real world and manage to trade it for some type of money. Making money, obviously, has never been my forte.

In all, I wouldn't mind teaching. I love to teach. If there was one thing that Owens taught me about myself, other than the fact that I can manage to get decent grades when I put in the time and effort, it would be how much I enjoy helping other people to find their "Aha!" moments. I love that moment where a person actually understands a concept, and they understand it because of the way that you explained it to them. I know that I could be happy as a teacher, but I'd really love to get a doctorate and teach at the college level. I'd like to tackle hard concepts with my students.

Here's the rub: when I was a kid, I always had this fantasy that I'd be a great writer. I'd have a best-seller. It wouldn't be cookie-cutter tripe, either. It would be a deep, meaningful, moving novel, rife with symbolism and hailed by the critics as a brilliant piece of Literature--literature, that is, with a capital L. I'm actually closer than ever to having that silly dream come true. Well, alright, parts of that dream anyways. I don't think I'm the next Salman Rushdie. I'm not shooting for Dickensian talent, but it would be nice to be able to write something that wasn't completely foolish or crappy. I don't know if I'm ready to give up on the idea that I could be a writer yet.

 Permit me a moment of sibling rivalry here as well: my twin, marathon man that he is (graduated from Purdue with a degree in mechanical engineering, and was ridiculously close to having a double major in applied computational mathematics), also writes. He contributes to a Purdue-related sports blog, and he makes money off of it. His writing, which I had always thought was my domain, is fluid and cohesive. Considering familial achievements, I'm behind. But then, I was behind before I even started to consider this because my twin has been in college since 2004, whereas I didn't go back to school until 2008. (Yes, that's right, I fail at an abundance of things! It's not just writing!) Like I needed one more reason to be slightly jealous of my brilliant twin. The upside is that I can be very proud (and please don't doubt that I am completely proud of his talent and achievements) that he's a good writer.

I have time to figure it all out, of course. I have to get a basic degree before I can get a higher one. It's just been something that I've been thinking about. The future has been weighing heavily on my mind lately. I have a lot of decisions to make and courses of action to ponder.

Internet Dreamin' (To The Tune of California Dreamin')

In the interest of writing a real blog (which I seem to have yet to do since the letter-writing excursion), I opted to take a moment here to write about a dream that I just had. To be clear, a friend of mine invited me out for the first time since JJ and I separated tonight. Eager to get out of the house and have some fucking fun, I agreed. I'm sure I don't need to say it, but in the interest of clarity, here's the important fact: there was a lot of alcohol consumed tonight. In fact, I haven't gotten that drunk in quite some time. It's nice, but it's not nice at the same time.

When I got home, I got online to update Twitter and blog. JJ was online. Of course, talking turned into fighting. I'm not a very good fighter when I'm drunk. I'm also sad to report that it really kills any kind of pleasant buzz that you have going to be fighting while you're drunk. The downside is that then the alcohol turns on you, and you just feel pathetic, worthless, used up, and ruinous...or maybe that's just me?

So, resigned to my fate of being the worst wife and human being on the face of planet Earth, I lay me down to sleep. I awakened myself only a few minutes ago with pathetic dreams, and I do mean pathetic. For example, the first thing that I dreamt about was responding to other people's tweets on Twitter. Let me repeat that: I dreamt about fucking Twitter, for Christ's sakes. My next dream included me talking about my blog. When someone asked what it was about, I responded by saying, "It's a about a woman who wishes she could be someone else and all the lives that she destroys." Apparently, this is how I'm describing myself these days. Fantastic.

There's really something just the littlest bit pathological about describing yourself that way in a dream. That's deep-seated. I'm really uncomfortable with that. When I'm describing myself as a life-ruiner even in my dreams, we have problems. Big ones. Clearly, I can't keep doing this. I know why I keep feeling this way, and I can't keep it up. Something has to change. I really need to isolate for a little while.

For now, I'm going back to sleep. I'll try not to dream myself into any more self-esteem problems.

Day Five: Dreams

Dreams,

It seems a strange thing to personify and then write a letter to a concept as obscure as my dreams. Is this to mean my actual dreams, which would occur during the normal sleep schedule? Is this to mean dreams in the abstract, as in a manifestation of my personal desires for myself and/or my future? I guess I could address both...in some sort of way or another.

As to what I want for my life, I would simply say that I want to be happy. I realize that this may be a bit of a cop-out of an answer--I mean, who doesn't want to be happy? You never hear people note how much they'd just love to be utterly miserable. I just don't really know what happy means for myself. I'd like a job that can make me feel like I'm a part of something. I want financial security. I want meaningful friendships. I want a meaningful relationship with someone. Apart from that, I'm not sure. It doesn't really matter where I'm living or what I'm doing. I mean, I could even see myself being alone and being happy. Happiness is really all that I want.

As to my actual dreams, often they revolve around the stresses of my life. I dream about being rejected by the people that I really want. I dream about being pursued by people that I'm uninterested in. I dream about unplanned pregnancies. I dream about not having enough money. I dream about sex. I dream about trusting all the wrong people.

In fact, if I had one request, it would be that all my dreams be sex dreams. I'm a much much bigger fan of THOSE dreams than I am of the stress/reality dreams. In fact, I usually wake up pretty pleased with those results--just sayin'!

I'm not really sure what else to write to my dreams here. Stop disturbing my awesome blank sleeping states? I enjoy it when you're sexy? Keep on keepin' on? Don't stop believin'?

Last Night

Things have been busy lately, but I thought I'd sneak in a quick update before I get started with working here. I'm in the middle of eating left-over veggies from last night (peas and carrots--like the peas, hate the carrots), so  I have a little bit of time to stall.

While I did actually sleep last night, I kept having strange dreams. I had a dream that I was pregnant, but that I didn't find out until I was like five months along--which, clearly, is past the point of no return on some decisions. I think it's lack of options that panics me about it. I've always said that I'd never choose an abortion for myself despite the feeling that all women ought to be able to choose it if they want, but not being able to choose it if I needed to makes me uneasy. I also dreamed about fighting with AW. Then, I dreamed about fighting with my husband. My subconscious was in the middle of a mad struggle last night!

If I'm not stressing about money, jobs, grades, and whatever else, I have to start stressing about what my brain is trying to tell me deep down?! What's this crap, body? What?! On the upside, I got some decent sleep for once, so that's nice.

Dreams and Questions

So, as previously mentioned, the husband and I watched Iron Man last night. It was pretty good, all things considered. On the other side of that coin, though, I'd probably pay to watch Robert Downey Jr. insulting the handicapped. Yes, I love him that much.

Resistance is futile.

Anyways, I'm not sure if it was all the movie-watching or the popcorn or the two gigantic sodas that I had at the theater, but I had weird dreams all night last night. Not the least of which was one about being at some kind of convention for something and having my purse and laptop bag stolen. Of course, freaking out ensued. I was glad to wake up to find my laptop next to me at the side of my bed. Color me materialistic, but I'm broke and that shit was expensive, y'all. I can't afford another one, and my life is on this laptop, ya heard?! (That's right, two street colloquialisms in one paragraph.)

Anyways, on to my questions. First of all, I'd like to know how Blogger decides what blogs it will suggest to you when you press the "Next Blog" link at the top of the blog. I was surfing some blogs today trying to look at an interesting new blog. (Why I rely on Blogger for this, I'm not entirely sure, but sometimes it yields decent results.) I don't know if there's a selection criteria based on your user name and the contents of your blog or what, but the only blogs that it suggests for me are family blogs, comic book blogs, and geeky artsy creation blogs (usually about crocheting or decoupage or whatever crafty trend is in right now).

What do these blog selections say about me? Is there no blog out there to interest me beyond the Sassy Curmudgeon's blog? I mean, don't get me wrong, Una LaMarche is a tough act to follow, but I'm hoping she's not the ONLY creative mind on Blogger these days.

Come on, blog world, give me something!