Penny.

Today my teenage angst, follows me to my cat's eighteenth birthday. 

Penny came to us as a three month old kitten on the (Canadian) Thanksgiving weekend of my sixth year. Though we had had cats before, Penny was the first that I was old enough to know as my pet. That weekend, I was pleased as pie that she was coming to stay. She got her fill of loving from Beth and I over the weekend and cried her little kitten head off when we went back to school on Tuesday. She grew and had her own kittens; all of which we gave terrible names. Then she got in a fight with some dogs and they broke her leg. That's when she became sensitive. She didn't like her grand kittens and she didn't like me. I have scar on my cheekbone and another under my right eyebrow from claw bearing swipes she's taken at my face. 

She did like my dad though. He was her favorite and he still is. She follows him around the house, she depends on him for feeding. She knows that if she accidentally goes to the bathroom in the house that he'll be there to clean up after her. She is the one that prevented my parents from ever truly experiencing empty nest syndrome. 

She's lived with us in four different houses and we expect this will be her last. We've been preparing for her passing for years but then comes another August and here she still is. In January, I took her to the vet for an old age check up (really just to find out how quickly she was dying. She isn't, apparently.) and since then she's taken an odd liking to me. I appreciate this late in life friendship. 

Today, my teenage angst finds me on my cat's eighteenth birthday. The length of our lives spent with this cat has caused us to create a non-existent, but none-the-less hilarious personality for her. Everything she does is noteworthy. And for all her old age maladies, she is indeed our family and worth more than a lot of other things in life. Strange as it may seem, I praise the Lord for her.

I am sporting a beyond fabulous side-pony.

Not that I dislike my side-pony - I might even find the courage to wear it out someday - but what brought us to the conclusion that this was really where-it-was-at for hair? 

Hang-ups.

Today in my teenage angst, I pitied my germophobic sister. I always say I have no qualms and this applies most directly to germs. I'm not afraid to pick up my food off of the floor when I've dropped it. I'm not afraid to use the public toilet. I'm not afraid to turn off the faucet with my hands. And I honestly don't understand those who are. I found a 5 pack of toilet seat covers in the travel section of Superstore and immediately grabbed them for my sister. She lived in the states for a while and toilet seat covers are apparently in abundance there. Not so in Canada. This was a useful find. 


While I might not understand the specific fear of germs, I can understand the anxiety that seemingly unimportant things can produce. Everyone has a hang-up, you see, and these hang-ups can stem from anything. Work, stress, that one story you heard about a kid who ate a corn nut off the sidewalk and died, etc. The Diagnostics Statistical Manual of Mental disorders is a four inch thick textbook that gives every hang-up imaginable a medical name so people will legitimize your issue and your insurance will cover your counselling. The main problem with the DSM is that it gives people a place to hang their mental hat so that they don't feel guilty about not being able to function properly. It does not, however lead people to seek solutions for their issues. It has also led to the over-medication of America, but that's another problem for another time. 


For those of us who don't read the DSM though, hang-ups are just hang-ups. Phobias are just phobias. And everybody's got one. Just because we don't understand other people's hang-ups doesn't mean they aren't real. Let's do unto others and leave the hang-ups alone. 


Oh! and click here to read a story from the biggest germaphobe I know.

Love is Blind.

Love is not blind.
Lust is blind.
Lust is naive.
Naivete is blind.

Love is aware.
Love is open.
Love is honest and for no good reason at all.
Love is very, very much aware.

Why hello, Blogger!

Well its been over two months. I think. Where have I been? No where, really. I've been working and playing and running and festival-ing and gearing up for Harry Potter and feeling defeated and sad after Harry Potter and other such summery things.

I found out last week that for a week in August they're turning off the A/C at the Library for a whole week to fix it. Kill me. I am an incredibly warm person. My blood is as thick as an Eskimo - or whatever is politically correct these days. So I'm already sweating like a horse with the A/C on - working though it barely is. I'm terrified for the day when there is no air circulation. At least I'm losing my water weight.

All this to say, I'm back. I think. I hope. I only left in physicality - as physical as the blogger-sphere can be. I was thinking about my little home on the internet the whole time I was gone. I just couldn't get here. Sadly.

In not very long, I'll be posting several movie reviews that I've been saving for months. You'll know I've been saving them because their dated nature - aka these movies did not just come out. All however, are worthy of a good review and I hope mine might persuade you to watch, if you haven't already. Which you probably have. Like I said. These movies did not just come out. OH and these reviews appear on my review blog evaluativeexpose.blogspot.com.

Well that's that for now. Please welcome me back with open arms and lots of comments. Also - find me on bloglovin' here! 

The gym.

Today in my teenage angst I reflect on the gym.
The gym is a strange concept. It is essentially a place we go to be active because our lives don't include that naturally. Most of the rest of the world cannot survive on lethargy and inactivity; but for us, we fight to identify closely with a healthy lifestyle. Sitcoms often base an episode or five on it, mocking its extremes and exaggerating the unaccomplishable* goals it forces upon us. Lethargy is easier, tastier and more enjoyable. A heart attack isn't, but we won't know that for another thirty years. Another crueller? Yes please.

I skipped the gym today. My time yesterday and the day before had been more than profitable. I felt strong and accomplished; like I was reading Runners World for good reason. I even bonded a little with trainer Jaimie, whom I love and scorn at the same time. I have this whole philosophy of the different gym personalities and their purposes at the gym and how they influence your exercise experience, but that's not what this post is about.

When I woke up this morning all I wanted was to relax because I can. I'm meeting some friends for lunch and knew that if I went to the gym, my morning would be rushed and anxiety stirring. So I easily decided I wasn't going. My father woke up expecting me to go with him. He wasn't disappointed but it's an undeniable fact that going with someone is easier. As he stretched and anticipated his impending exercise, he groaned - as he does every time he stands ready to go to the gym - "It's going to hurt!" I commented on the consistency of this statement and he further explained that while it 'hurts so good' it seems like everyday you have to start over. This is basically true. While you're not actually starting over, until you've been consistently going to the gym for . . . .  okay I don't actually know if there is a timeline on this, it feels like a year, everyday is going to feel like you've never been there before. I don't in the least dread exercising. I look forward to it. I love seeing myself get stronger and I don't loath the fact that my body isn't changing because I apparently refuse to change my diet. That's another issue. The reality is that exercise, in a society that does not require it for daily survival, is entirely psychological.

Every habit takes a set amount of time to form; to become something you must no longer consciously decide to do. While every habit is different, one that requires so much energy is undoubtedly going to take a lot longer. The point of this all is, is that until I'm willing to eat better and have been doing this for a lot longer, every time is going to be hard.

It just seems to me, the sooner I accept that, the sooner I'll get over it and run even though it hurts.

Regrouping.

Today in my teenage angst, I feel as though I've added to America's dying ability to read. It's been a while since I posted anything that had any writing accompanying it. I often find that reading online is a lot harder than on paper. My eyes don't like the screen and end up skimming the document like its a theology textbook.

I've been sitting on a couple of vlogs for a few weeks now, unable to complete them because I bought a new computer and don't have the software to do so; as of yet. I'm returning to student life in the fall (from a distance that is) so I have to buy it soon or I won't be able to complete my assignments. So that's the word. That's the purpose for my distance. I think about my blog every day but fail to give anything to my readers because I'm to lazy to compose anything with words. That's the day for you. 

Well happy long weekend, all. Americans, happy weekend before your long weekend.

Also, I thought it best to print a retraction considering my vlog Sickness Central. That same day I went to take care of a friend's boy for a few hours and she gave me the most incredible cough medicine. I kid you not, I felt immediately better. I bought it and within 24 hours was 90 percent mended. I've been good ever since. So thank you for all your concern but no doctor was necessary. I told you so.