I bought blood oranges because they’re neat!
But also yummy!
Just the end of the May Garden.
Yes I know it’s June!
There are many phrases that stick in my head. Lodged in there as I repeat them over and over again.
Phrases that distract me from intrusive thoughts [A is for Apple] or phrases that remind me I am very small and no one is actually thinking about that thing I said and therefore there is no need to worry so much [Regarde le Ciel].
Some phrases pop in and only stick around for a little while but I love them just the same. This week it’s “What’s the worst that can happen?”
I am waiting for a dance class to start. Beginners salsa.
This means it’s partner dancing and I’ve signed up by myself, but “what’s the worst that can happen?” It sucks, I suck, I’m embarrassed, my partner sucks, I’m left alone without a partner? These are all possibilities. None of which will kill me.
I’m applying the same principles to dating. I mean, what’s the worst that can happen? A guy I like ditches me? Already happened. Multiple times. I embarrass myself? Yup, done that. He turns out to be seeing someone else? Check!
What I’m learning and what I’m trying to say is — it will all be ok. Because, what’s the worst that can happen?
More from mum’s garden. This backyard is always a slice of paradise for me.
Shit. I’m doing it again. I’m falling for someone. Haven’t I learned? Don’t I know this is not how you should behave?
I’m 31. I’m an adult who should know better than to get so attached to people. I know this will end. It always does. And yet I’m spending all this time thinking about someone who probably forgets I exist.
And there again, I’m lying. Being dramatic. But I’m freaking out because I don’t know how to handle myself because I am a romantic. I don’t want to be. I want to be practical and reasonable but I can’t. I get consumed. And eventually, I’ll just get spit out. Rejected and hurt and feeling foolish.
A Toronto tradition, where people from all over the city make the pilgrimage to High Park to see the glorious cherry trees in their Spring bloom.
I haven’t attended in a couple of years, but time — as with everything now — I participated. I sauntered into the park, snapping away. I lay down on the grass and enjoyed the warm weather and the people and most of all the trees.
Why are they like this?
I shouldn’t generalize, that’s not right and I’m not a hater. I don’t want to be angry and I gain no pleasure from such shallow thinking. This isn’t who I am.
I’m actually lovely. Funny, quick to laugh, passionate, nerdy. But regrettably, I’m also very, very naive.
I fell for someone who pursued and promised but then he hid. I put him behind me, pushed past the loss, and moved forward. But then I got a call. From his wife.
I wasn’t ready for this. I feel so small, so lost, and confused. I need to be able to trust myself and that’s all falling apart. I’m not coping well.
Forsythia from High Park, just bask in it’s glorious colour.
I promise, I will edit. I have so many photos, and no edits – yet!
I’ve been practicing! And I am going to be devoting more time to this. I enjoy it, it relaxes me, it challenges me. It is all good, all around.
How about you say that to my face?
How about before you decide my breakup didn’t mean than much to me — and therefore my relationship, which was my whole world, didn’t mean that much to me — you actually ask me how I’m doing?
You haven’t even tried.
You’re assuming I’m ok. And because you’re assuming I’m ok, you’re judging my response to my breakup. Saying that it couldn’t have meant too much to me because I’m so ‘ok’. That I knew it was going to end. That I had already accepted it. That’s fucking bullshit. I’m sorry. You have no idea.
You don’t know me at all. You didn’t even ask. You took your own pathetic excuse for life experience and applied to me.
Where is the time going? How is it Spring?
How is it April?!
Soon I will be be outside, with cherry blossoms and magnolias. But for now I will bask in the glory that is Allan Gardens.
Have fun right?
That’s my goal. Have fun.
I’m just trying to live, seek new experiences, and indulge in pleasure of all forms. You will not shame me.
I have set aside this time, an undisclosed number of months, for myself. I am committing to giving this time to me. To develop and heal and become who I am. Not only to be physically healthier, but mentally stronger. I am determined not to let arrant chatter pull me down. No one’s words are worthy of more attention than my own.
In the end, I am what matters.
I love a good green house. There is something so special about them, especially in winter — cozy, humid, lush. I visited Allan Gardens here in Toronto recently, here are a few of my fave snaps.
Guys, I did something crazy. I mean, that’s what you’re supposed to do after a breakup right? Cut off all your hair, party on a tropical island, eat all the bon-bons. But I don’t think this is business as usual.
Sure, I’ve done some of the expected post-breakup activities. A few nights on the town, a few new people if you’re hearing me. But what I really wanted was a splurge. To buy something for myself that I’ve always wanted. That cost too much money and was a little over-the-top.
Guys! I bought a chair! Last, I whipped out the plastic and treated myself to the sexiest leather chair I’ve ever seen. It’s massive and warm and I can’t wait to cozy up inside of it like an snugly Bond villain.
It’s what I’ve always wanted but could never bring myself to buy. I love me and I deserve this.
No slipping. No sliding.
No jazzhands. No smoking.
No joking. No midnight toking.
No blaming others.
No cynics. No keeping your feelings secret.
(But don’t just blurt them out either0
No picking our nose.
No garlic tonight if you are on a first date.
No looking at your phone.
No negativity. No pessimism.
No waiting for the future.
(Unless you are reading this sign outside the pearly gates)
No hanging out with unhappy people.
No reading any further.
Hey, no reading any further!
No clinging. No complacency.
No hating. No looking at the time.
No secrets. No jealousy.
Have fun. Hold hands. Keep warm.
No postings. No posters.
(Including this one)
No shouting. No cussing.
No nepotism. No jerks.
No sugar. No calories. No gluten.
No grudges. No lying.
(Except about your age or the reason you didn’t text back this morning)
No stink eye. No art critics.
No pretentious gazing.
No over analyzing the sculptures.
No dump pick up lines. No ghosts.
No foam or bubble parties.
No drugs. No puking.
No strutting. No loud music.
(Unless it is ours)
No saying “no” unless it is necessary.
No cannibalism. No headhunting.
No fox hunting. Actually no hunting anything at all.
No swimming. No complaining.
No shivering. No bikinis.
(This will not be strictly enforced)
No foul language.
No eating discoloured snow.
No taking second-rate photos.
(Or exchanging keys)
No shoving. No pushing.
No pets that bite.
No big PDAs. No acronyms.
No Christmas carols.
No peeing. No glass.
No peeing into a glass
No runny noses.
No being bored or cold.
No touching the sculptures.
Have fun. Hold hands. Keep warm.
Hey blog, how are you? Not bad, not bad — you? Fan-fucking-tastic, thank you for asking. 10 days ago I ventured out to the beloved Distillery District in the snow. I loved every minute of it.
I’m not sure if this is my best work, or even the best edit of this purple cone flower. But I like it, so here it is.
From last summer, Riverfest in Elora Ontario.