Rules: Once you’ve been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with 25 random things, facts, habits, or goals about you.
(intentionally left un-numbered, but I assure you, there ARE twenty-five!)
Hallmark-holidays depress me. I always say I want to celebrate earth-driven holidays, like solstices, but I never seem to gather with the right people for such celebratory events to occur. Help?
I enjoy baking for other people. Cheesecake, muffins, apple crumble, zucchini bread, cookies, whatever. I recently discovered a recipe for double-chocolate cookies and replaced the chips w/ mint chips -- DIVINE!
I like to think that I think differently than other people. I've never been anyone but me, so I don't know how other people think. This creates a certain fallacy of my first statement. Tell me, do you think like I think? And if we thought the same, would we express our thinking in the same manner? What do you think?
The first boy I ever 'dated' was when I was 12. It wasn't until I was 15 that I had my heart broken and it wasn't until 19 that I was devastated by love. I often wonder if we ever truly recover from those wounds.
If I had to pick a favourite "great mind" it would be Arthur Schopenhauer. If I had to pick a favourite "artist" it would be Alex Grey. If I had to pick a favourite place, it would be inside a cuddle.
I've always wanted to write a book (since I was 9 at least). I've had poetry published and even some of my art, but it is the elusiveness of form that leads me astray from book-dom.
There is nothing quite as spectacular to watch as professional yo-yoing.
My favourite flower is a white calla lily. Roses are over-done, Carnations are my mom's flower and anything else just doesn't come close to the elegance of my favourite.
I often leave off reading the last chapter, or couple pages of a book, if I'm certain the author will end the story in a way I don't want to accept -- to this day I've yet to read the end of Cujo, Fahrenheit 451, and several others.
My favourite 'colours' are argyle, camouflage and paisley.
Kyla's middle name (Raeghan) came to me in a dream while I was pregnant. I wish I'd pushed harder for it to be her first name. I still hold hopes that she will change to it when she's older.
I watched the one movie that is guaranteed to make me cry every time (Untamed Heart) for the first time this year without crying, and I felt terrible for not being able to shed tears. Have I changed that much?
I often feel like the whole world is laughing at me behind my back, and if I were to leave the room just a moment later than I meant to, I might catch the first sniggers.
I love my daughter more and more every day, and yet the older she gets, the harder it is to be a single parent.
The most exhilarating high I have ever felt was after talking to 300+ grade 9 students about making good choices (and not choosing drugs!). It was better than any drug I've ever done (and I've done too many to list!) I am terrified to do a talk like that again, but I know I will.
I have a cat named Elvis and a cat named Trinity that live with me, but they are not my cats. I have a cat named T.O.C. (The Other Cat) who does not live with me, but he will always be my cat.
I feel guilty when I let my daughter's fish die (four times!) and really bad about flushing them down the toilet without so much as a farewell.
I haven't even applied to Ryerson yet (I will by Tuesday of next week) and I am already looking at the cost of living in Toronto.
I've always been a high 80's or 90's student, without ever truly applying myself. I am afraid to actually apply myself to something, for fear of failure -- I have never failed at anything serious in my life (except relationships).
I forgot my dad's birthday for the first time in my life this year.
I value my alone time. In a world so full of people and commitment and responsibilities and appointments and rush-hour and dead-lines and, and, and! I value the ability to sit, alone, in a quiet space, with a cup of (Chai) tea.
I give. I give to the point of my own detriment. I give so much that people just expect it of me and don't even notice. I wish sometimes I could stop giving, but half the time I don't even notice that I am!
Twenty-five seems rather arbitrary. The last one I read asked for sixteen, which also holds no significance. Would eighteen suffice? Would thirty be too many? A goal of mine might be to find the exact number that holds enough information without being overwhelming and yet not quite enough to be filling. (Is it a baker's dozen?)
I'm OCD about many, MANY, many things. The problem is -- I can always "get on" with the rest of my life, so it is not classifiable as OCD. But I will dwell on the things left un-done ... if I didn't get to stack my used creamers inside one another, with the sugar packets rolled and stuffed inside the top one, I will feel slighted and focus on the loss for extended periods. If I can't check the time when I wake up, I will feel completely disoriented until I catch a glimpse of clock.
I used to rearrange the items in my fridge before a date would come over, on the off chance he might be looking when I offer him a drink, and will think "wow, she has a very tidy fridge" which, to my mind, would score bonus points in his mind. (Now do we understand why I have relationship problems?!)
