TCN

Isn't it amazing that you can be completely incapable of writing more than a cursory text or e-mail to me, compared to a few years ago when you would write 'loving' messages out of the blue. Now those thoughts are a three word maximum at the end of a short message, if there at all.
Yet you are obviously able to write texts over a longer duration to someone else, albeit someone you don't see everyday. I guess it is easier to make some magic there because there sure as fuck isn't any here.

Frustrations of motherhood

I am wondering how you deal with a baby when they don't sleep much... I find myself getting so frustrated when L is tired but only naps for 20-30 minutes in the day before waking himself up. I try to get him back to sleep and succeed, only for him to wake himself up again minutes later, even though he is tired. We have to still swaddle him as otherwise he flails his arms around and wakes himself up - but he is starting to roll and I am worried he will roll onto his stomach and not be able to turn himself over with his arms swaddled. However, half the time he'll manage to get his arms out of the swaddle, which is partly what wakes him up I think.

He can and will nap for 1-2 hours in the morning, and is much better rested when he does, but seeing as I cannot get him to fall back into a nap for a long period of time once he's woken himself up and just get more and more frustrated that I can't, and that he won't, it becomes a futile, horrible activity where I end up getting all cross and then feeling absolutely horrible.

I hate being this irritated person and don't know what to do about it. I hardly have time to shower or eat and I get mad at J who is very helpful but I see him as this 'hero Dad' who only gets all the good bits of parenthood and few of the bad. He gets to be the calm person who puts L to bed after I've been trying for ages, or after I've had to deal with him not sleeping all day. He is the rational voice that says to go outside even though he is not the one who has barely eaten anything all day or had time to have a drink or a shower and he doesn't have to take the pushchair then L down 3 flights of stairs and have to cope with a crying, tired child wherever he goes. That is unfair, L doesn't cry all the time and he is not always tired, just it feels that way to me (maybe because I am tired)?

Also, J is incredible - and I know it is my brain that has the problem of seeing myself (and thus thinking others, including him see me this way) as a useless mother who doesn't know what to do for her child and, even worse, raises her voice with her 3 month old baby sometimes. Furthermore, I feel like this boring shell of a person who looks like shit and has nothing to say about anything other than whether L has slept, eaten, been happy or not, because that is all my days are occupied with. That and feeling either crap about myself (when day has gone badly), or ridiculously pleased with myself as though I have accomplished an astounding feat when the day has gone almost as planned/well.

I wish I was a more positive person, and I am sure I used to be. I just don't know what has happened - I have reverted to needing things to be as perfect as possible to be able to cope with them. Which I also dislike, which ends up in a spiral of dislike of myself. The smallest things that deviate from this perfection I crave piss me off, and I end up going round a circle of annoyance at everything but most of all myself.

I know that I have to do things that make me feel better and that the only way out of feeling like this is to take action. But what action? I decide on something then the next day feel better so don't bother - because everything seems so much more complicated to get to or to do when I know I will have to bring a baby with me, plus all the paraphernalia that entails - pushchair, car seat that fits in the pushchair, changing bag, a drink for me, a snack so I don't fall over or have to try to get into a shop with the pushchair when so few shops or cafes have easy access, not to mention that everything here is in French so if I want to take a class I have to think doubly hard. I am sick of living somewhere where I cannot get access to things in my mother tongue, where I have a job I don't really want because the job I do want is virtually impossible. However, I know the alternative is to move to a place I would probably like less that is far less tolerant of alternative lifestyles, is far more violent, far more chavsterish...

I think I needed to moan and to try to feel less bad about not being perfect, about getting frustrated because I don't know what to do about having a tired baby and not knowing how to cope the way I would like. I don't want to get mad and raise my voice at him, I don't want him to have to experience me like that on a near-daily basis. Every day I tell myself that I won't get frustrated and every day I fail, and every day I dislike myself more for it.

From an October meeting

We all looked up
when the stars fell down
but now all eyes are on the ground
picking up diamond shards

Accidents have already occured
Fingers slashed, hands torn
Stars used as weapons
for further misdoings
Clean stab wounds, even blindings
So bright and beautiful yet
so dangerous

Bereavement

When you cannot stop thinking of someone or something that was there, and now isn't. We experience it every day, to different extents. The thought of such missing scares me, as I can barely handle this one, and it is just a few short days (in the grand scheme of things).

Missing something that may have been there? That is more the feeling of a possibility, an avenue that is lost. But just because it is closed now, doesn't mean it's closed forever. Because, to paraphrase Nina Simone, forever is a long, long time.

Am I, Aren't I?

Place your bets. Results will be in next week.

I want to know...

When a dog is doing a pooh, is it more or less likely to be attacked by another dog? Is there some sort of moral pooh code whereby dogs will never attack another when relieving themselves of that number 2, or is it seen as a sure-fire win as the attacked dog will be off-guard?

Not that dogs ever really attack their kind that often, but as they say about gifts, it's the thought that counts.

Election day

My home country is on the verge of a political change, but will that change anything? I always think it is funny how foreigners applaud the UK for its social policies and programs, such as the NHS, Income Support, etc., and yet how the British living with the realities of it see the system as either dysfunctional or giving to the 'wrong' people (read non-Brits). I wonder if this comes about from a difference in how international vs. national/local papers portray events. Leading up to an election, of course, certain stories are sure to abound, and this election was no different.

A lot that I was attracted to were about parents who decided not to work - in fact, it seemed to be that they would have more money if they didn't. Think about it: if you have a fair number of kids (say 4 or more), and the government pays you money every week for each one, and they pay for your house (meaning no rent or mortgage), and they pay you Income Support or some such thing because you don't work, and if you have some sort of disability (apparently personality disorders and skin conditions count here - the latter would have to be bloody severe imo), then really you are quids in and have all that extra time to spend with the kids or watch TV or whatever it is you do to stop yourself from going insane from having a lack of goals, a lack of achievements (other than perhaps watching every single episode of Coronation Street), and showing your children that not working pays.

What really gets to me about these stories is that yes, they may be better off financially than if they were working (which is of course fucking ludicrous), but doesn't it matter that they are just festering away, doing nothing much all day? Even if they studied or did craft classes or something, at the end of the day some sort of action is needed to feel satisfied with your lot. At least, that's how I thought most people function, but I guess I'm wrong.

My hopes for the next government that gets in to power:

- That they will radically change the social welfare system. It is a great idea to have a net in place should some tragedy or hard times fall upon you, but being on the dole should not be a possible career choice.

- That they shake up the NHS. A wonderful institution, it has become clogged down by inefficient management, over-inflated hospital administrator salaries, etc. Pay nurses more, have more in-home care, and get tests done sooner so reduce the risk of costlier medications and surgeries.

- On a similar note, why not have some incentives for people who try to be healthy? Like offer gardening classes at the local village centre or whatever for cheap prices, fund urban gardening collectives, make unhealthy food more expensive.

- Get rid of most of the quangos. Massively stupid waste of money.

- Give people who have kids and earn under a certain salary (not as ridiculously low as it currently is) a break... Just because a family's joint income is £40K doesn't mean they can afford to send both of their children to university.

- Get rid of student loans, instead have fees based in a true means-tested fashion, not the farce of a one that is currently in place. There are scales of grey, you know.

- Be more efficient, and lose less secrets and important documents. If you MPs actually gave a shit and may have some comeuppances for blatant stupid behaviour and wrong-doing, then the public may have more faith in you and actually trust you with running their country.

- Stop your smarming ad campaigns. We really don't give a shit if you never do the washing up, like to cuddle, think you are the next best thing since tetra-packs. Just give realistic election promises and carry them through as much as possible, or at least show that you are fighting for them.

Seems pretty simple to me.

Wearing heels

Never having really been one for foot discomfort, I have always viewed high-heeled footwear as something of a torture - necessary at times, but so long as I can keep those times minimal, I'm happy.

How then, on a Wednesday afternoon, am I walking down the street in a pair of heels?Although I could say with certainty that my outfit just didn't look right with much else, somewhere in a corner of my mind is this sneaking thought that keeps tapping on my consciousness; the idea of a fully-grown woman. In some ways I miss my more girlish ways (not that they're all gone), just I know that the person who returned to Montreal last July is different from the one who was living there before. And she wears heels.

I never thought that footwear would have such an impact on how others view you. But wearing heels on a more every day basis (as in not just for an occasion) has given me a whole new perspective. Colleagues comment on either how chic/sexy I look (which I find hilarious, as I have worn the exact same outfits before minus the heels and no-one says a thing, so it MUST be the heels), whereas one co-worker seems to think that the heeled me is a different person from the usual flat-shod Ellen. Reminiscent of the days when I would point to the mirror and say 'Baby', not recognizing, even after I was 5, that that person on the other side of the glass was me, this colleague's comment got me to thinking - do I feel different when I wear heels?

The decision to wear them is usually based on , what clothes I decide to wear on a given day, and the lack of any flat shoes that would match. I have an abundance of great trainers, but they just don't cut it with a smart outfit, especially not with business-type skirts. You can hide nearly anything under trousers :)
Although I don't pick the outfit for the shoes, I'd be lying if I didn't say that I feel more womanly and in control when wearing these new heels of mine. It could be the attainment of height - could it be that my diminutive stature causes me to have something of a complex? At the same time, heels are noisy. It might be fun to hear them click and clack occasionally, but once those heels are on there is no much choice but to be heard by everyone. No sneaking up on anyone now! Also, heels keep your foot in a rather unnatural position and you have to use very different muscles to walk. I know I'm a novice, but walking down stairs is a huge challenge for me when I push my weight down on two thin spikes, and forget about running.

Reading an interview with Christian Louboutin the other day, it struck me yet again how high heels are like shackles, shackles that interestingly make me feel more powerful, sexier, in control of my life. Though I didn't pay over $700 for my pair, and regardless of the fact that I know that this is more of a social construct informing my thoughts than any magic therapeutic benefit of wearing them (other than the Napoleon complex!), I can't help but feel different when I put them on. After a whole day my feet feel different too - painful!

Strangely enough, after years of eschewing them and the discomfort they produce, I walk through it with an odd sense of pride, in overcoming the various barriers that made me scared of heels and also in awe (not to mention a tad jealous) of their power. A power that, however rooted in bullshit and sexism and preconceptions as it can seem to be, is nevertheless a power that I can have come control over if I wield the mighty heel to my needs and use it to my advantage.

Now to just get that same feeling as quickly and sure-firedly as wearing an unstable construction to bear my weight seems to!

It might as well be spring

I remember that when I got back to North America, I was overwhelmed by the amount of signs everywhere, signs telling you what to do, what not to do, when to do it (or abstain from doing it). I felt like I was bombarded by directives, wondering where my freedom went. As with the excessive amount of sugar and salt I initially tasted in everything, this sensation slowly dissipated, and now here I am, living in a city that, albeit not as full of such signs as Hawaii is, is as full of the rules that pin modern life down nonetheless.

Months of traveling and being free to go and do almost whatever I wanted, I now spend most of my days sitting at a desk in front of a computer. I have a wonderful view (for now) over the 'mountain' and have a rescued geranium on the window sill that has heralded me with flowers since January along with two spider plants sharing a pot that I think need to be separated. After years of wanting a job where I write and edit and help to make the world a better place, I finally have it... It is much like other 'desk jobs' other than that I can keep in mind, on those days when it all seems like my efforts aren't getting anywhere, that the end result is hopefully changing someone's live for the better.

So, the rules... These rules I mention seem to tie me down to comfort more often than not, tie me down to the ideas I 'should' have, perceptions of who I perceive society suggests I be for success. Not being one who's ever been all that good about doing what other people think I should (not that I'm all that original, more that I have a fickle sense of others' opinions). And what is this success? The one I would like is fulfillment (which can only come from challenges we face, some will be successes in the traditional sense of the world but others won't, however we learn from them all), and happiness, which pretty much comes from a similar arena - pushing yourself a little beyond comfort zones, constantly exploring the world around you and trying to be the best you can be.

I know this probably all sounds like cheesy platitudes taken from Chicken Soup for the Soul (there is one for Nascar now? Whaaaaaat?) but, however often we hear them, the test is in whether we try to actually live them.

To be honest, I think this is where my recent sense of lassitude has come from: I am lacking that challenge and in that way am also letting myself down. I have let myself stagnate somewhat, have got caught up in winter's hibernation, but watch out, now I am ready for spring!

Hot naked Sunday

I am hot, outside it is beautiful (but cold) and I feel like lying around naked listening to music.

What could be better?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n_aNG6Uz9u8

The wish that came true

Early on, it feels like Christmas morning. Everything is quiet, magical. Your heart jumps a little, your breath calms a little, with each step. Your eyes play tricks on you, your body wants to forget the day ahead, forget consequences.

The second day, it is harder, down-trodden with an icy edge. Glints spark off surfaces, everything seems new, just slightly used. The urge to play, to slide, to throw, tweaks your insides, twitching at every street corner.

By day three you're sliding backwards more than going forward, or simply cold feet. Wet too. The winds are not so much of change, but of mind-numbing dread each time you poke your head out. Fresh - think frozen.

You may have wished for this, make sure you appreciate it, and know when hibernating from your own desires is the best thing.

Top Chef

There's this song on a Back to Mine album that my sister and her boyfriend got me for my birthday one year that keeps going through my head. The first track of the Underworld one, 'B Movie' by Gil Scott Heron.

It seems fitting you see, because, in the kitchen at least, I have gone from being a creator to a cleaner. In the time that I was away, my boyfriend went from being an outer gourmand (enjoying others' culinary creations), to one who enjoys making their own as much as eating them. Montréal's famously cold winters, combined with a healthy diet of The Food Network - not to mention pining for me, of course - have resulted in a new-found fascination and delight of all things kitchen. Not that this means he loves vegetables any more than before, but he is certainly more interested in food, where it comes from, and how to cook it.

Don't get me wrong, I really enjoy savouring the new recipes he tries and it is refreshing to have someone else cook (and cook well). I think what I find hard is that the kitchen was always the one place in the house where I had control, where I could create or mulch around, where I felt most at home. Relinquishing this area to another has been surprisingly...not hard, but it has brought up a lot of mixed emotions.

Unlike lots of hard-up backpackers (in all honesty I'm not sure that there are that many out there anymore), I hardly ever cooked on my trip. At the beginning (in North America), yes. Sometimes at my sister's in Australia... but most of the time, especially in Asia, it was far cheaper, not to mention easier, to enjoy local food cooked up at the market, a roadside stall, or restaurant. By the time I got to Japan I was so used to this lifestyle that, instead of shopping for ingredients to cook something up at whichever hostel/friend's house I was staying at, I would normally go to the 100 Yen Shop and get myself a rice triangle (soon realised the light blue ones were the best) and some fruit.

When I first got back, it was quite shocking to be reunited with my apartment - a whole 4-room space just for me!! - let alone the reality of a fully-equipped kitchen to cook in. But cook I didn't. It just didn't seem natural, after all that time away. And Josh...well, his cooking skills had got rather impressive by this point and he was often offering to whip something up. Yummers!

However, now I must admit to wanting that space back. Not that I don't want him to cook, just sometimes I want it to be only me in there, and only me making the creative choice and putting in the work and reaping the rewards of my labour with him. I miss having the kitchen as my zone, and the meditative nature of chopping, slicing, and cooking things in various ways. It is not that I don't appreciate his efforts nor the meals he makes, but his eagerness to be involved in so many aspects of kitchen life can, at times, feel a bit like crowding.

The other night he was working late and I decided to make a simple dinner for us to enjoy, ready for when he got back. I was starting to prepare everything when he arrived, earlier than anticipated. I kept cooking as he told me about his day and offered to help...call me self-conscious (I am, very much so), but there was something almost intimidating, knowing his leaps and bounds in the kitchen and the simplicity of the meal I was creating before his eyes. Perhaps it had been far too long since I'd been in front of the stove, but I felt almost as though I had forgotten how to stir things properly. Unless it was nerves.

As the song goes: "...And all the consumers know, that when the producer names the tune the consumer has got to dance. That's the way it is. We used to be a producer...and now we are consumers, and finding it difficult to understand..."

16 and Pregnant

So, why am I sitting here, watching this show on MTV that seems to be on continuous loop? Partly because I am sick, home from work and my brain isn't working enough to do anything constructive other than fill the washing machine and tumble dryer sporadically, and numb my brain even further from its headache with TV. Partly because there is nothing else on.

The other part? I guess it is fascination into a slice of someone else's life, and the horrible truth that I want to have a baby of my own. Not now, but then again not years and years into the future (by then I'd be too old anyway). This strange lurching between plugitude and enjoying the freedom of being child-free is starting to annoy me. As more and more friends start to grow bellies that are not linked to ice-cream or beer consumption, I veer between fascination (babies are amazing - the whole process of how they're made (I don't mean the sexual act so much as the millions of possibilities that combine together from conception to birth), how they grow and learn, that they develop into their own person...), deterrence - fuck having kids, growing up, being responsible for someone else FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE - and a tinge of jealousy. Yes, my friends, I have to admit to having green gills sometimes at the sight of you with your wee little one on Facebook or your big pregnant belly at work.

This dichotomy of emotion can be confusing, like a roller coaster I never wanted to get on. Hell, I didn't even buy a ticket. I blame it on what I blame everything on: hormones. I have no idea if there's something that changes hormonally when you reach your late 20s/early 30s, but I was mainly saved from the whole baby thang until I came back from my trip in July, when this whole yo-yo started. I know that your hormones decrease as you get older, which could perhaps explain these signals that are starting to get on my nerves. Not to mention feeling tired so much more often and getting weird spot outbreaks. Damned horMOANS!

So, back to 16 and Pregnant. It is, in fact, rather boring (like most TV these days, especially reality TV), but it fuels my spazzing while making me even more aware of it. Do I regret decisions from my past? No, and watching this show concretizes that knowledge even more. If I woke up tomorrow and found out I was pregnant, would I be happy? Another no. I am enjoying getting to know my boyfriend in a far deeper way than before, have just started a great new job and not ready for that commitment yet. If it happened, then we would deal with it. But for now, it is on neither of our radars. Just my hormone's.

Dear Videotron

Thank you so much for over 6 years of service, but it is time I bid you farewell. Yes, this has been a pretty uneventful long-term relationship, but I am not really seeing the need to continue with it. For some reason you treat your new friends with far more respect and interest than a faithful old dog like me; paying my bills on time, sticking with you through address, partner, work, and other life changes.

So why this sudden change in my sentiments towards you? It is not as though we've had a huge argument or I caught you in bed with my boyfriend, more that I am sick of this one-sided relationship and your inability to see me as someone whose custom you are interested in keeping.

I am sick of paying more money than new clients for the same services, sick of your greedy prices, sick of your vast monopoly over Quebec's TV and internet. So, my old yet not really good friend, I am cutting myself free of your strong grip and heading off to your biggest competitor: Bell. After years of claiming that they were monopolising bastards (much like you! Maybe you should get together and conquer the world) I must admit that, at the end of the day, their prices are far more attractive than yours, not to mention no yearly contract (without the higher fees you charge for said service).

I am sure your other friends will happily keep your plate full and you'll continue to dominate Quebec with your fibre-optic cables and ugly vans. Bye-bye!

Plugs

I've been thinking about them a lot recently. Blame it on the biological clock, ticking away without my permission or desire, changing the way I look at babies and couples with them from horror and fear to something more akin to some kind of ... yearning that doesn't fit at all with my current financial or life situation. Don't worry, I'm not about to pop one out, it has just been rather odd to feel this strange emptiness inside me, a desire to be full with a creation of love. Icky I know. Nothing like reality, I know. Blame it on those rose-tinted spectacles my Dad always accused me of wearing.

However, various discussions and news reports have made me wonder, like many others before me, (there are various blogs on this topic...) if there should be some sort of licence for childrearing. Or, more simply, mandatory parenting classes at secondary schools. I understand that there are many disturbing implications involved in the government or society at large deciding who can have children and who can't; but then seeing as we all end up paying for everyone's biological experiments gone wrong (not to mention the emotional and physical pain that many kids go through), shouldn't there be some sort of ... precedent to be set before people can start churning out the wee little'uns?

I have not really thought this through all that much, but in light of recent (and recurring but mercifully not that prevalent) cases of severe child abuse ending in death - Baby P., Victoria Climbié and a few others spring to mind, not to mention the British government's recent decision to install CTV cameras in some of the homes of 'problem families' (at a cost of £400 million ($668 M)!) it seems like an increasingly important consideration to me. You see, I really think that parenting classes (and a shift in social services, including income support etc.) could help reduce the amount of children born into families who don't know how or don't even really want to look after them.

Let me clarify something here. I am not advocating that those who 'fail' the classes should not be allowed to have children, or that the government should put agents in place to constantly check up on the raising of some (or all) children over others. More that...well... in all honesty I have not researched any statistics but it does strike me that the British government will give you a house and money if you pop out a child and are unemployed (then give you more money and an even bigger house if you have more: where is the incentive to work?) and have more teen pregnancies and 'problem families' (am not making a correlation between the two; more that I think certain behaviours are generational - as in become the norm as are learned from those around us) than most other western countries.

*A quick Google search - what would we do without it? - shows that the UK and US are top on teen pregnancy rates in the developed world (guess Hungary is not counted as developed then).*

Don't get me wrong, I think it is great that there is help available for those who need it; and having lived on that sort of help myself at various points in the past, I would be hypercritical to deem it unnecessary. What really gets to me is the people who abuse the system: most people who grew up in the UK know of at least 1 person in their peer group whose sole desire when they left school was to get pregnant and get a house. The crazy thing is that that is how it works. This is where seemingly contradicotry statements appear.... You see, I hate the idea of the nanny state, but at the same time think that a lot of heartache, pain, time and money could be saved by making some small changes.

- Give teenagers real advice on bringing up children. Give them alternatives to getting pregnant at 16, being given a house and living their lives in unemployed sloth from thereon in.

- Make all teenagers and prospective parents take some sort of parenting class, from the basics of changing nappies and feeding, bathing etc. to more complex things (that are somehow transmitted as objectively as possible) such as child development.

- Reduce income support and jobseekers allowance payments for those who don't show any effort to find work (for those who can work) over a set period of time.

Meh I dunno... just sometimes I wish I could change the world and help it become a better place somehow. However, I should really be starting with myself. As Mahatma Gandhi said "Be the change you want to see in the world".

Other noises

So, I live on a largeish street in Montreal. Avenue, to be precise. Van Horne has quite a lot of loud (read heavier) traffic on it, mainly in the morning and evening. However, for some reason that has yet to be explained to me, it also seems to be home - or passing place - for people who seem to feel the need to talk as though they're in a very noisy bar at 2am.

I know I live in a city. I am not stupid. I don't expect people to spend their lives whispering so as not to disturb the 'hood. However, I don't like being woken up on a week night (not that I have much to do, but it's the principle of the thing) because some people are unable to think that maybe they shouldn't be yelling to each other across the street or having a raucous discussion in the wee hours of the morning.

Speaking of morning.... builders are often accused of waking people up earlier than may be desired with their incessant banging, hammering and other loud noises that you can't escape from, even in another room (when the floor starts shaking in time you know you should just get up and invite your friends over for a party). This morning, after being woken by the strangely chirpy yet insistent meowls of Mr. M wanting to be fed I decided to crawl back into my comfortable bed for more shut-eye. As previously mentionned, I have no reason to get up, also a bit more sleep than the 6 I got before being so hungrily awakened would be nice.

To no avail. The people across the back (to be perfectly correct side) alley from me have decided to bring their party outside... or maybe just start it early. Luckily this is far more auditorily pleasant than builders. Guitars being played, people talking, whistling and joking around. All I need is to get M to sing more and be invited over!

Time travel through my mind

there are moments when you could decide to fling yourself away from everything in your life and jump into something completely unknown. I crave this while I crave to settle down and have all these elements of security that I think would make me happy (in a more conventional sense).

I am feeling useless, again. What accentuates it, and thus makes it even more frustrating, is that it is such a throwback to another time: spinning in the same cycle in the hope it will wring more out of me. Instead I feel, yet again, like my brain is spiralling out of control.

I am forever amazed at its power to turn against me (and itself) when it is not otherwise occupied. Perhaps I am just a pessimist at heart, or lack serotonin in the right levels for my brain to be happier overall, to analyze less and stop thinking ridiculous paranoid thoughts that I then sickly seek to discover are true, negative thoughts that I self-perpetuate through misunderstanding situations, jumping to yet more negative conclusions and generally doing all I can to sink further into the abyss.

A very large part of the problem is my lack of employment. Being unemployed is great in many ways, especially during the summer. You can do whatever you want with your days and only have to worry about having enough money to pay your rent, the bills and buy food. That is simultaneously the problem with being unemployed. Further to this though, is that employment, however dull, gives one a sense of purpose along with which comes a feeling of usefulness.

So, while I continue to look for a job, what else can I do to inculcate a sense of worth? At the moment I fill my days with looking and applying for work, going for walks/bike rides and letting my brain run away with itself. Laziness, therefore, is a key factor in my problem. I need a giant kick up the arse. Given by none other than myself, otherwise I will view said kick as someone telling me what to do.... even though sometimes I long for that - the secret password for me to get that life I dream of.

As I know though, this situation is exacerbated by my mind. It can improve with some 'physical' changes (employment, keeping my mind occuppied in meaningful, positive-reinforcing ways) but the main changes that need to be made involve myself. I have to make myself think differently... this has led to me looking back over my life and trying to find out where this huge lack of self-confidence comes from, and how to deal with it now.

This is a project I will not enjoy starting, but I feel will reap many rewards. Something to jump into, I feel.

I don't want

any of your beauty products
t-shirts for $20
shoes at half-price
phone plans for 50% less

all I want
is

for things to be better

. . .

there's a feeling I get
when I'm falling in
my dreams

but I am always jolted awake before I hit
the bottom.


Like the slight pause before a song changes pitch
or key

my heart leaps that way


lately I've been feeling like
I am missing an integral part of life
with another.

integral for me
but maybe, I've been thinking
make-believe.

Doctor, Doctor....

...I think I'm suffering from Deja Vu!
Didn't I see you yesterday?

If only it was as easy as that.

I apologise, Montreal. You did not deserve such a vitriolic hammering yesterday. Put it down to the anti-climax of returning home and so many other cities filling my mind's eye. 10 days is the longest I have been anywhere since Sydney (over 5 months ago!) so I should only really expect to feel strange and disjointed.

However, I am unable to apologise for my next rant. In fact, I think it is very well placed and don't understand why more people aren't making a fuss about it (unless they've simply realised that there's no point - thing is, it's the same story with cell phone companies (although I admit they are improving) and banking (quite why I have to pay a bank every month when they make money off my money is still strange to me, let alone the extortionate ATM fees that they are all allowed to charge - whoopsy, did I think that money was mine? Silly old me!) unless Canadians simply too good natured to bother standing up for their consumer rights?).

Prepare yourself...

So, today I had to go back to the doctor after going to a walk-in clinic last week about an ear infection. Why did I have to go to a walk-in? Well...in Quebec, and Montreal in particular (probably Canada as a whole) it is virtually impossible to find a doctor who will accept new patients on appointment. There are these places called CLSCs (free clinics run by the government) where you should be able to get medical care also, but guess what? They don't accept new patients either. So, your only option is to go to a walk-in clinic, where you have to wait anything from 30 - 240+ minutes to see the doctor, who has no idea of your medical history and is often overworked (having seen tonnes of patients before you, day after day after day). Should you be unable to wait that long...tough luck. Should you have a job and cannot get the morning (make that the whole day, just in case) off work, tough luck. Should you have a medical problem and want a GP to follow it: yeah, you guessed it. Tough. Luck.

As you'd expect, this wonderful predicament means that a lot of people end up going to the A&E department of their closest hospital for very minor ailments (or alternatively ones that were minor but are now rather major). This in turn puts a strain on the hospitals that they could do without. So, what is wrong with primary care in Canada?

Some would argue that it's not just a Canadian problem - it is one of social healthcare. Australia and the UK have long had issues with their national healthcare systems, but at least you are able to find a family doctor in those two countries who you can see on appointment and who has some knowledge of your medical history. Could it be that simple - that if we were all willing (not to mention able) to pay more, then healthcare would suddenly improve? How much do doctors get paid anyway, and is it enough? A few articles have been written about it, but none seem to give many conclusive decisions on what can be done, so I decided to come up with some of my own.

1) Pay hospital administrators less and doctors and nurses more. I don't think there is anything wrong with unions per se, but when hospital porters, administrators etc. can strike when the actual care-givers can't, then maybe it's a good idea to give them less power.

2) Something that's been suggested before, but worth repeating. There are lots of qualified immigrants in Canada who could work in the medical industry, but they have to take equivalency tests before they can practice. I can understand this with medical professionals from second and third-world countries where care is completely different, not to mention some of the equipment available, but when those professionals are coming from other western or modern countries? What a waste of potential! Give them some integrational training, put them under the wing of another practising professional (like a mini-internship of sorts, or when you get your hair cut by a student and the senior stylist is on hand..I mean this more for GPs than surgeons etc.) and voila - an influx of doctors who are already here, and qualified.

3) Furthermore, open up more residency positions. More on that and the whole doctor immigration debate here.

3) This thought came to me while my buttocks moulded to the plastic chair beneath them as I sat (for hours) at the clinic the first time: If I were coming here for an immigration medical, I could choose when to see the Dr (though I would have to pay the $195 fee for all the 'tests'). Maybe that's the going rate to get an appointment - should I bribe the receptionists? Joking aside, maybe less doctors should be able to do immigration medicals - which are a huge farce anyway: they check reflexes, blood pressure, weight and eyesight (no matter if you're wearing contact lenses), whether you can walk straight, do a urine and blood test for communicable diseases and a chest x-ray to check for TB. It is up to the individual to divulge any long-term medical problems they may have. Needless to say most people don't.* Then there would be more doctors available for those who really need to see them.

4) Educate. If people understood their bodies better, knew what was good and bad for them, could better comprehend how various systems work (I eat this = I feel sick, get fat, have cholestorol issues; I have a cough, runny nose and sore throat = keep hydrated, rest, get vitamins and see if it improves in a day or 2; I cut my finger slightly with a knife = apply pressure and bandage it; I keep getting dizzy for no reason = go to doctor right away instead of waiting for something terrible to happen, etc.) then they would not need to seek medical attention as much as they do. Prevention is better than cure, as they say.


Really I am just frustrated at always having to wait hours to see a doctor the rare times I have to go, and them having no real clue about my health, medical history, allergies, etc. Not to mention patient-doctor relationship! I did find one thing that made me laugh though when trying to get more information on finding a doctor in Quebec, right here.

My favourite line? "Check out the waiting room and doctor’s offices. Is the general atmosphere comfortable?" Good luck finding that chic new clinic where you can sit for hours, probably even years, waiting to see the doctor.




*I found this page about immigration to Canada. It is of course possible (minimially so) that each doctor treats their immigrant medicals differently, however, I cannot help but scoff about the medical records and 'mental health' bit. Unless you were obviously insane, as in muttering, plucking at yourself and shouting obscenities, talking from my experience (applying for residency in 2004) the designated medical examiners have NO CLUE of your medical history or mental health. They ask if you have any long-term problems and ask about mental health in your family etc., but they would have NO IDEA whether what you were saying was true or not since they only ask you to bring medical records if you have a lifetime-type illness. It is up to you to decide what that may be and whether or not to bring the records - furthermore, how on earth would you find them if you've been living in Montreal the past X years and have no family doctor?