#happydays

For the days when I find myself sitting around in pajamas at eleven, deploring the end of civilization as I once knew it; I put down this list of the specific times when I won't miss being at work.

Monday mornings.

Endless Tuesday afternoons.

'The weekend's too far away on both sides, God has abandoned me,' on Wednesdays, at noon.

'Oh God, why isn't it Friday' Thursday mornings.

'4 o' clock, eye on the clock' Friday evenings.

'Argh, it's going to be Sunday soon' Saturday nights.

'Burrowing deeper in bed trying to pretend Monday doesn't exist' Sundays.

Winter

The library in our condo is always abandoned, and the gym's thriving at all hours. If the situation were reversed, I'd be happy to use either; but as it stands, I steer clear of both. 

Instead, I walk a kilometer to the next nearest library, and feel like I've had a decent workout along the way. 

Last Wednesday, it stormed furiously through the day. By the time I walked to the library at noon, the snow had piled up neatly, and no attempt had been made to rein it in yet. No salt splashes, no brown slush marks, just a sea of white for the entire kilometer. 

Midweek, midday, everyone else seemed happy to stay cocooned in their offices. The roads were empty, there were maybe thirty people out, and any noise they made was lost in the snow.

It was magical.

New girl who just happens to be in Toronto

I don't feel like I'm new to Toronto any more. I don't bother wearing gloves unless it's below -10 C. The only time I'm rude is when I hiss, "Thank you," meaningfully at whoever who didn't bother saying so unprompted. And I wholeheartedly see the appeal of patio time now, and will be the first one barbecuing when (if) summer finally arrives.

I do feel like a new person though. Long after everyone's moved past the 'new year, whee!' phase, I'm still jumping up and down. There's something about turning 27 that makes you realize there's a time limit on the number of crazy risks you can get away with. You're old, sure, but it's also your last real chance to be young. So I quit my job a couple of weeks ago, and plan to spend this year writing and travelling. 

Put like that, it sounds so easy. Kumbaya, etc. If only. My easy-going exterior is a total facade. This decision was at least five years in the making. It took my insecure, money-loving, uptight self a great deal of effort to put down my papers and walk away from the Job. I also don't recall protesting when my manager asked me if I could stay on for an additional four months after that momentous decision (bit of an anticlimax, that).

So what happens now? Well. A lot less whining about wanting to quit but not being 'readyyy,' that's for sure. 

I'm going to use all that spare time to... write at least one full length book, and many other things besides (such as long letters to old friends!) Cook loads, eat every single meal every single day, and fatten up my husband. Attend a friend's wedding, with all the happiness that entails. Catch up with people back home, in person. Travel through Europe, hoping for more of the 'woah' moments that Spain inspired. Take a summer holiday with friends. Do lots of long weekend trips. And those are just the things I've already committed to!

This year's going to be about no excuses, no compromises, just doing whatever I think will make me happy. And then being happy. Isn't that what we all wanted to be when we grew up?

Life's good.*

*If this post gives you an unsettling sense of deja vu, it's because I liberally borrowed from my personal blog. I apologize for the cross-pollination of this, and a couple of other posts, over the next week or so.

Saturday Singing

As odd as this sounds: growing up, everyone around me seemed to sing or at least play songs on their tape recorders. I'm dating myself, eh? Yes, I'm older than I look.

I like music, and so I picked up a fair number of songs about everything from springtime to world wars. In every language from Hindi to Hebrew, at that. I filled in some of the lyrics with what I thought made sense ("habuno-urenahaya-leeeeem,"), and bathroom-sang them blithely over the years.

It just occurred to me that I could Google the songs for the real lyrics. And zomg! 

Bruce Springsteen wrote Chicken Lips & Lizard Hips? Never Smile at a Crocodile is from Peter Pan? Johnny Cash wrote My Grandfather's Clock! So. Much. New Information. 

Google inspires heart-overflowing fondness when you've grown up in the pre-internet era.It's sad to think of a generation that'll take it for granted.

The Web

Did you read about that guy who quit the internet for a year? His tech job paid him to stay offline... and write about it. (In minor resentment over all my jobs doing the opposite, I won't link to his article here).

This guy says that even stripped of the internet, he didn't write a book, or travel, or do much (or any) of the soul broadening stuff on his bucket list. At the end of it all, he found the internet wasn't responsible for his procrastinating or anti-social behavior; he was.

Here's the thing. I know the internet isn't responsible for my laziness. Maybe it's partially responsible for my caring too much about other people's opinions - I'm exposed to them far more now. However, I don't use the 'net to procrastinate, I spend a fair amount of time in the real world, and I'm happier with a book than Facebook.

Overall, the internet & I are good. I recognize it pays me a lot. I admire its potential. I realize it's drawbacks. I spent a year recently with no internet access outside of work hours, and I can't say I missed it.

But if I lived in a world where I was paid richly to stay at home and work less than 8 hours a week... I'd, at the very least, jump at the chance to work my way down my travel wishlist; writing something, anything, even if a novel doesn't come out of it. This guy's a US resident, most countries don't even need him to pre-book a visa. He's single, so no worries there. And he spent a year going nowhere, and doing nothing.

Can you tell this story annoys me?