it’ll come into being. Just through sheer will power. How could it not? I’m willing it so fully, so forcefully. I wish that was a thing too- if I were just to focus all my energy on this one thing, really focus, it would happen. But nope. Still can’t teleport.
I’ll pick it up for them and jokingly say “Finders keepers!” before giving it back. I’m only kidding, but no one has ever laughed. Not even a pity laugh. Just stone-faced looks staring back at me. A lot of people who shop at my store are immigrants so I’m not sure if they just don’t understand the expression, or if they just don’t find it funny. Either way, I feel hurt.
There was a whole page on Facebook dedicated to them. I was fascinated. I had to Google it to find out more about it. Basically, they’re just giant dimples on your lower back, like two giant thumbprints above your butt. And they’re cute as hell. After finding out about these, I was instantly enraged that I did not have them. And I mean instantly. They are seriously beautiful. I never wished I had something different on my body so badly, I was so mad I would never have them. I was fine before I found about them. But after that, whenever I thought about them, I always felt a little pang of sorrow that they would never be a part of me. There were people out these who had these wonderful huge dimples just floating around on their back, and I wasn’t one of them. Those people had no idea how lucky they were to be blessed to be born with these beautiful giant natural imprints.
… And guess what….an entire year later, while trying to check out some tan lines, I discovered I actually do have back dimples. And they are awesome. But I also felt incredibly dumb for being so mad that I didn’t have them. When I did. This whole time. And I didn’t know because I never actually bothered to check. I guess I figured that if I had them, I would already know about them. Not the case. I went twenty years without knowing I’m a little bit better than everyone else. That is incredibly humbling to find out about myself.
I think that if I pretend I’m not sick, I really won’t be sick anymore. And it works. It really does work. I believe it entirely. But positive thinking only works for a little while, and then I have to get a new strategy. But it’s good for when I just need to make it through something.
One of my insecurities is that I’ve never shovelled snow. Sometimes, I feel like people can take one look at me and just know I’ve never shovelled. They know I’m not a real Canadian. How can I be? I’ve never shovelled the sidewalk after a snowfall. I think I’m missing a classic Canadian experience. I’ve heard it’s really hard.
I really don’t like the cold either so I can’t say I’ve put in a solid effort to do it either. There’s always been all my other family members who’ve jumped up to do it before me. Every time. There’s been my mom, dad, older brother, and then little brother. I think they enjoy it. I’m the only one who’s never shovelled the snow. What if I’m in a life or death situation that involves me shovelling snow? I won’t be prepared. I’m lacking this life skill that could potentially be really important one day.
What if I’m living on my own one day and I have to do it? All my neighbours would know I’m a noob. You can’t fake shovelling the snow. At least I don’t think so. No one will want me as their neighbour. They’ll think I’m useless. I’ll have to really show them all my other better neighbourly qualities to redeem myself, like hosting a great karaoke party or being really quiet (but not at the same time). I feel like those are things neighbours could potentially really care about, besides if you can shovel your part of the sidewalk effectively. What if I look like a jerk one day because I didn’t volunteer to shovel my elderly neighbour’s driveway because I was just waiting for someone else to do it because I don’t know how? What if I do start shovelling the snow and have to quit half way through because I’m just too tired and can’t do it anymore? I’ll look even more stupid. I’ve been getting away with this for too long. It’s just so public. What if the people judge me?
See, I’m over thinking it. Only a first-timer would. There’s nothing else to do but to get over this crippling self-doubt and shovel the goddamn snow. Just shovel the hell out of it. Just get in there, and shovel and just shovel and shovel and shovel until I’ve lost control of my body and I’m spazzing out and I don’t know what I’m doing anymore and I’ve blacked out from the mixture of the intense physical activity my body has just experienced via this intense winter exercise, and also from the sweet euphoria of overcoming this deep personal insecurity.
Big mistake. I had to fold the page in half so I wouldn’t be able to look at it anymore, even by accident. I had reservations too about printing it and I still did it because I thought I’d be mature and not ignore information available to me. This was a mistake. I wasn’t ready and I immediately regretted it. It’s going to be a while before I’ll let myself look at it again. I’m not mentally ready yet. I was going in with a ‘knowledge is power’ kind of mentality. I was trying to be big and brave, like what I’ve seen in the movies. It’s not for me. Least not yet. Knowledge is scary. I get points for trying though right?
I was taught from a young age to be self- reliant. I’ve had a job since I was thirteen. Why would I need you to buy me something? What could you possibly buy me that I would want that I can’t afford myself? And then you have songs about women who expect men to buy them things. I really don’t expect you to buy me anything and I will be deeply uncomfortable if you do. Where’s the song, sung by a girl, that goes “I don’t mind splitting the bill/ We both work hard for our money/ I don’t see why you’d pay for me/ Is it my birthday?”. That would be my song. But with more rhyming. It’s got to rhyme or I won’t listen to it.
Fun Fact: Searching “Songs about men who buy women things” on the internet will not yield you successful results. Apparently those aren’t the kinds of songs the public is actively seeking out. Least not according to Google.
There’s a scene in it where Seth Rogen is smoking a joint in his car at the side of the road. He’s looking over at house across the street and sees a female cop in the window talking to somebody else.
“What an adorable little cop!” Seth Rogen says.
That’s how I feel about the security guard at this library. (Yes, library. Welcome to the ghetto.) She really is an adorable little security guard. Her uniform kind of looks like a sheriff’s. All she’s missing is the big tan cowboy hat. I hope she doesn’t think I’m disrespecting the law. Just her tiny sheriff’s uniform.
If I could have one superpower, it would be to have every song I listen to sound like the first time I listened to it, no matter how many times I had already heard it. Every time would sound like the first time. It would be new and exciting. Songs only sound good when they’re new. Or that’s when they sound best anyway. Forget invisibility or flying or time travel. No song would ever grow old or stale. Just hopeful and shiny and new. That’s what I really want.
But I’m afraid. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I think I’m actually more nervous about the logistics involved in the run than the actual running bit itself. Running ten kilometres in a row is a breeze compared to the nightmare of arriving on time, finding the starting line, finding your bib, tying the bib on, tying the bib on properly, being warm, being hydrated, staying warm, staying hydrated, finding your friends, finding your starting place, making sure your stuff is in a safe place, finding your stuff after the race, finding your friends after the race, AND looking cool the entire time. It’s exhausting. For a chronic worrier of seemingly small and insignificant details, I would be willingly letting a giant ball of anxiety be thrown at my face. Which I will have to catch. With my arms. And hold, for a while. I’m having flashbacks to field trip day when I was in Kindergarten. I hate the chaos of not knowing what I’m doing or where I’m supposed to be. I was always afraid someone was going to forget me. I’m pretty small. Maybe that’s why I’m so loud.
The girl who just can't play it cool 