Somehow, I managed to get evicted. Again. I have never been behind in rent, never damaged an apartment, and never, well mostly never, have I ever been loud to the point of disrupting the neighbours. And that one time the neighbours were really pissed doesn’t actually count since they were a bunch dicks anyways.

At the end of the day, none of the good tenant qualities matter in a situation where your domicile is the preferred unit of residence by the owner of the property, or one of their immediate family members. You may recall, the same thing happened when I lived with Gord on Spencer, but the landlord, who turned out to be this incredible artist, wasn’t such a jerk about it. He gave us a discount on our rent, and he was, in fact moving in to our place. He fixed it up real nice and is still happily living at 104.

This last experience we were not as fortunate, but it just wasn’t a good fit for us all around in the first place. The apartment was too small, it had bad energy, zero privacy, and I really wasn’t all that crazy about the neighbourhood. We had moved there to save money, as the place was a real steal, but it just really wasn’t going to work out for us in the long term.  And thus, getting kicked out was a blessing in disguise.  A huge blessing.

I’m back in Parkdale  We’re all in Parkdale.  Living in my Parkdale House of Dreams.  And while, frankly my life isn’t even remotely as romantic as that sounds, it really doesn’t matter because I am home.  I knew one day I’d find my way back here.  And it is a beautiful apartment.  I could live here for the rest of my life.

I haven’t been writing mostly because I don’t have time, but I really don’t even feel inspired to write anything. And such is the course of my life, there are big gaps in my diaries for years that I went without writing, and then something would just eat at me until I had to write about it.

I used to write about boys.  I used to write about how disappointed I was in my appearance, and how I wanted to be cooler.  I used to write about what I was watching on television and what my friends were doing.  I used to write about my relationships, and their challenges.  The regretful choices and decisions I had made.

I later turned to writing in celebration of the choices I had made, the relationships I maintained, and the joy that permiated through every waking and semi waking, moment of my life. Those times were a very happy time for everyone, to be sure.

A few weeks ago, someone said to me “you really have a hard time accepting where you’re at in life”.  It may have been more of a question than a statement, I guess, but not exactly the comforting words you were expecting to hear from your friend and confidant, who obviously didn’t quite grasp the weight those words could carry.

There’s always this constant struggle where my lazy, complacent side manages somehow to win the war of sitting on the couch versus doing something to make things better.  The just-get-by-at-work-because-I-don’t-have-the-energy attitude is fighting a battle against my once overwhelming desire to be the employee of the minute every gd minute of the gd day.

Yes, I am sad from time to time because I’ve gained 70+ pounds that cannot be construed as “baby weight” (the poundage came along long before Marigold did).  I am sad because it’s hard to kick ass at my new-ish job, because I am not a subject matter expert, and of course the job is still new-ish.  I am frustrated about relationships that used to be easy and fluid, which now, are basically non existent or strained because circumstances have changed and/or the common ground has dissipated.

Trust me, I’m not about to wake up tomorrow, start a fucking smoothie diet, quit smoking and have that first day of the rest of my life moment or anything, but I still want to keep trying to choose the better, the good, the more. I want to feel the sadness and the pain too, of the things that I struggle with and know that even though I may not have the time to accomplish the good the better the more, that it’s ok to miss it.

The distractions, and I use that term most affectionately, are temporary, but the rewards are invaluable.  The external demands on my life have a profound impact on who I am and how I spend my time.  And it will change me and strengthen me in ways I can’t even imagine.  So, those words were heavy.  Heavy enough to stop me in my tracks.  Heavy enough to keep me replaying the conversation in my head over and over. But, only in such a way that brings me to the conclusion that, no, it’s not that I have a hard time accepting where I’m at in life, I just want more.

I greatly admire those women who have incredibly successful careers running interesting businesses, doing what they’re passionate about, having all their shit together, children on top of it all, and seemingly still time to spare.  And I hope that one day, driven by my desire to live an extraordinary life, I’ll be able to accomplish a fraction of what I want to do in my heart of hearts and modestly fulfill the better portion of my purpose here on earth.