What, me worry?

wor-ry: (verb) to torment with cares, anxieties, etc.; trouble; plague.

Yes, me worry. Me worry a lot. About everything. Seriously, EVERYTHING. Past, present, future, me, my family, my friends, everything.

Sure, some stuff is pretty standard: money, job security, debt, my health. The funny thing is that I have probably the most worry- and stress-free life one could have. I not only have a good job, but I actually like it; I make good money for where I am in my career; I'm slowly but surely paying off everything I owe; and I'm relatively healthy. But being carefree is for chumps.

But I can't just leave it at worrying over non-worriable things. Nope, I worry about the future, too. Specific things about the future. Like what school I'll send my kids to. And what neighbourhood I should raise my kids in. And whether or not I should get married in the church my mom wants me to get married in. And who in my family I should invite to my wedding. (It should be noted here that I have no children, am not with child, am not married or engaged or even in a serious relationship and I am really not anywhere near achieving any of these things.)

I worry about things long gone by, like the time in grade four I accidentally swung my arm around and punched this kid, Michael, in the neck and he started crying and told me he had tubes in his ears and me punching him could do something to them and I was so upset and afraid to get in trouble, even though it was an accident and I worried about what he thought of me then and if he still feels that way today. Seriously. This was 17 years ago.

And I worry about my mom and my dad and my brother and all the rest of my family and all my friends. I worry that I said the wrong thing to this person and that I wasn't friendly enough to that person and that I overstepped with another person. I worry about the environment and the Middle East and if I coloured my hair evenly and that the Conservatives will win another term federally and that I don't have enough black socks and that I don't read enough. It really is exhausting.

So I think I'm a little crazy. Something else to worry about.

Short bus, long jacket

par - a - dox: (noun) any person, thing, or situation exhibiting an apparently contradictory nature.

I've always been a bit of a keener, that bookish girl in the back of the classroom with her nose shoved into the latest Nancy Drew mystery, the one who almost cried if she got less that 98% on a test, the one who never spoke, not even when spoken to. Some people are athletes, some are the popular crowd, some are the band geeks; I was the academic bookworm. And I took the short bus.

In grade two, I was tested. No one told me what it was for; I was simply taken out of class and given a bunch of reading, writing and word puzzle things to do. And I was graded. And from that, it was determined I should attend Extended Enrichment Class, or EEC. I was eight. The teacher told me to. So I went.

To get to EEC, I was subjected to a commute much longer than a girl who always walked to school had ever known. The most horrible, terrifying, dreadful part of the journey was taking the HIGH SCHOOL BUS. I mean, I was eight years old and taking the bus with some of my baby-sitters. When you're on the HIGH SCHOOL BUS, you don't want to have to deal with the kid you took care of the other night. So I would just stand off to the side and hope no one noticed me and wait for the bus. (This was not the short bus; that comes later.)

I have two vivid memories while waiting for the HIGH SCHOOL BUS. The first one, I can't remember how old I was, but I was young. A girl who lived down the street from me, Diane, had walked up to the bus stop, drinking coffee and wearing a green wool jacket that came all the way to her ankles. I was amazed because only my mom drank coffee and she certainly wasn't in high school. And only my grandma wore coats that long and she certainly wasn't in high school. This was in the early nineties so the coat was a brighter green, with black dashes and pleated-not-quite-shoulder-pads shoulders. In retrospect, Diane was probably one of the smartest high school kids because she certainly wasn't cold while waiting for the bus.

The second memory is from when I was in grade four. This I'm certain about because it involved Mr. Warby, my grade four teacher. Mr. Warby was driving to my elementary school, which was across the street from the HIGH SCHOOL BUS stop and he stopped his truck in front of me and all the high school kids and rolled down his window and said, "Take care of my daughter!" His daughter, Meagan, was also attending EEC and me being in his class, he now knew someone who could "take care" of his daughter. But what I really remember is wishing the ground had just swallowed me on the spot.

Once I was on the HIGH SCHOOL BUS, things weren't that bad because I usually pulled out a Nancy Drew or Baby-Sitters Club book and hid behind that. But once we got to the high school, I had to transfer to the...short bus. Herein lies the paradox: the short bus took both the ever-so-bright EEC kids and the special needs kids to the same school. Of course, there was nothing wrong with this, but I wonder now what the older kids thought of this. I mean, it was just a shuttle bus.

I also remember being in the playground at EEC and this kid Ryan standing there with a stick and poking a pair of tightie whities around in the dirt. Still don't know who's underwear it was.

Remember the '67 Leafs? Me neither.

boy - cott: (verb) to abstain from buying or using

It’s the fans fault the Leafs suck.

There, I said it.

The media can ballyhoo all they want about Leafs ownership and who’s really running the show and how Richard Peddie should go and how John Ferguson Jr. was so awful, yadda yadda yadda. Simple fact is that the ACC sells out for every home game, regardless of where the Leafs are in the standings. The Toronto Sun recently reported the Leafs have a 3% chance of making the play-offs this year but that won't stop the droves of people. Want the Leafs to do better? Then stop paying for them to suck.

Would you go back to a dry cleaner that ruined your favourite sweater, but offered no compensation? Would you go back to a restaurant with terrible food and rude employees? Would you go to a coffee shop that served burnt, weak coffee?

Oh, and while you’re at it, stop buying the jerseys, t-shirts, boxer shorts, pens, lighters, flags, license plate covers, throw pillows, mouse pads, tube socks, shoelaces, sticker books, teddy bears, Christmas tree ornaments, slippers and anything else emblazoned with the Toronto Maple Leafs logo. Why do you think Tie Domi was there for so long? How many “Domi” jerseys do you see out there?

The Leafs won’t get better until they have to. And they won’t have to until the fans demand that they do. And it would be a pretty bold statement if the fans just stopped anteing up.

A girl sure can dream.

I just don't know...

un-de-cid-ed: (adjective) not having one's mind firmly made up

I saw Cloverfield today. They say there is a fine line between genius and insanity and I think Cloverfield walks that line.

When the movie ended, there was this vacuum-like effect in the theatre; no one knew what to do. Then someone said "Wow" and we all left. And all I can say is "wow". But I don't know if that "wow" is for the genius of the movie, or for the insanity of it all. My initial reaction was not a positive one but the more I think about it...and really, any movie that keeps you thinking once you've left is a good movie. So in that way, it is a good movie.

Beyond that, I just don't know what I think. Yet.

I've lost my sheep

in-som-ni-a: (noun) inability to obtain sufficient sleep, esp. when chronic; difficulty in falling or staying asleep; sleeplessness.

Can't sleep. Ugh. For whatever reason, I can't seem to shut off my brain tonight. Sigh. Although, in writing this, I realize I may actually suffer from insomnia, now that I've read the definition. I'm sure there's something ironic in there but, even though I can't sleep, I am rather tired and my brain has stopped working.

So what's on my mind? Can't believe Heath Ledger died. Still doesn't seem...right, somehow. Can't understand why the Leafs went from the frying pan into the fire (see, I am tired; I used a cliche...shudder) by firing John Ferguson only to hire Cliff Fletcher. Can't determine the lesser of two evils (AGAIN!): bad haircut or looking bad in a hat. CAN'T. SLEEP.

Sigh.

If it ain't broke...

re-so-lu-tion: (noun) a resolve or determination.

And they're made to be broken, right?

Sigh. New year, new resolutions, new promises to myself. So far I'm doing pretty poorly in the resolutions area, even though I never really made any concrete promises. One of them, though, is to blog more - but not to turn the blog into the journal of my resolution successes and failures. Really, I just need to put more effort into putting stuff on here.

But the big one for me this year is the broad-spectrum "life reorganization" resolution. Oh, life. So what does this entail? Let's see...

1 - Eat better. This won't be hard, at least to start, because I'm still in the gluttony-of-the-holidays stage. I should have fixed this sooner, but I got sick after the holidays and then people had birthdays (note: I am no longer accepting friends with January birthdays) and I got (stayed?) lazy. So time to not be.

2 - Get in shape. Join a gym? Still undecided. There's this neat thing they have now called "walking" and I hear it's quite easy. One foot in front of the other and such. And cold is really no excuse, what with scarves and mittens and hats being socially acceptable nowadays. I do have a groovy Gryffindor set that I don't wear nearly enough (read: at all), which would look quite good on my evening jaunts.

3 - Clean out the closet. Literally. I've been told that if I haven't worn it in the past year, get rid of it. Seems easy enough. So why do I still have that Roots sweatshirt from grade 12? Get. Rid. Of. It. NOW.

4 - Budget. *shudder* I've got a bit of a grace period here, as I've just started a new job and have yet to get the first paycheque. But once that happens, no excuses. Tighten those purse strings! Or I at least need to learn to spend with less wild abandon. *shudder*

5 - Fill my life with things that make me happy. Like butterflies and fluffy kittens and sunshine and bubble baths. Not to be too Oprah-esque or anything, but I do want to purge things in my life that don't make me all warm and fuzzy inside. So that means more reading and less mindless TV. More pen-on-paper (and blog) writing. Less waitressing. More knitting. Stuff like that.

So that's what I've lined up for myself. I'm looking forward to seeing where it goes.