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This is a different kind of meme. Answer the questions as a comment. It will be good times trust me. Plus if you do me, I’ll do you. It’s late and I don’t care if that sounded dirty. I’ve been marking crap papers for days and need a little laugh.

01. Give me a nickname and explain why you picked it.
02. Am I loveable?
03. How long have you known me?
04. When and how did we first meet?
05. What was your first impression?
06. Do you still think that way about me now?
07. What do you think my weakness is?
08. Do you think I’ll get married?
09. What makes me happy?
10. What makes me sad?
11. What reminds you of me?
12. If you could give me anything what would it be?
13. How well do you know me?
14. When is the last time you saw me?
15. Ever wanted to tell me something but couldn’t?
16. Do you think I could kill someone?
17. Describe me in one word.
18. Do you think our friendship is getting stronger/weaker/or staying the same?
19. Do you feel that you could talk to me about anything and I would listen?
20. Are you going to put this on your blog and see what I say about you?

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Thank. Fuck.

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A couple of things:

1) Healthy Ezmy totally fell off the wagon last night. With a resounding crash: she ate cream cheese, she ate cookies, she drank beer, and she smoked five cigarettes. But!! She woke up this morning, made herself some oatmeal and was back on track in no time. I consider this progress; in the past, when I have done these total body makeovers, I have a) only lasted for one week and b) remained firmly off the wagon after one hiccup. Well no more. Today, I am going for an extra long walk, sipping ginger tea to calm my stomach after the cream cheese fiasco, and going to bed early. In short, I am going to pick up and move on. How grown-up.

2) L-dog has been gone for 40 days. And over the last few days, something has really been grating my vegan cheese…I can’t stop missing him. Everything is going well and all – I’m happily working my way through school, a pile of marking, and research work and I’m going out with friends and having fun and blah diddy blah blah. But it’s as though everything I do is less colourful, less brilliant than it would be if l-dog were around. All events are dulled by the lack of l-dog smarm. For example, last night I was getting all dressed up for Hallowe’en and rockin’ out with Fialonia and it was so much fun but I kept thinking about how much l-dog loves this holiday and how much he would like my wicked costume and so even though I was having a crazy good time, it was ever so slightly tarnished by the lack of l-dog. Sigh. In short, I miss my person and want him to come home. 325 days to go. Boo.

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A few weeks ago, a friend of mine was lamenting the fact that she could not find a good baby-sitter anywhere. She’d tried everything – facebook, craigslist, whatever – and no one really worked. I get that. I mean, yeesh, I wouldn’t leave the Z-bone with just anybody and she’s “just a cat” (I put quotations around that because the little Zoe is soooo my kidlet and as I may never get around to producing offspring, she gets all my motherly lovin’. But some people would say that’s silly – she’s just a cat. And to those people I say: pfft).

Anyways, I thought about it and really, what do I do at night? I read. I can read and look after a three year old at the same time surely. When I was in highschool, I babysat all the time for kids of all ages. And every time I did, the kid(s) would be in bed by around 8:00 and I’d have the rest of the night for homework/watching all the forbidden TV programs I could fit in. So I said to S.: “You know I could just look after Little J. for you. No worries, call anytime.”

Since that evening, I have babysat three times. And I gotta say, babysitting has changed. A lot. First, the pay is waaaaay better. When I was looking after kids at the age of 14, I got MAX $3 an hour. I’m not going to tell you what I actually get paid now, but let’s just say it pays for my cab there and back, and the next day’s groceries. Good times for Ezmy. Second, kids don’t have bedtimes anymore. I had noticed this with other people’s kidlets [aside from radmama – she’s old schoo’ like that] but these other parents had all been irresponsible types so I chalked it up to that. But S. is a responsible mum…and yet, no bedtime. Little J., get this, puts himself to bed when he’s tired. He’s three and at 9ish he just says “I’m tired”, puts on the pjs and falls asleep on the couch with me or at the very least curls up and relaxes. I used to hate putting kids to bed because these are the times when kids are their most manipulative. “Mum ALWAYS reads ‘Green Eggs and Ham’ 25 times before we go to sleep”. Sure she does.

All in all, I’m enjoying the experience. Little J. is a freakin’ awesome kid – the fact that he calls me beautiful and adorable and tells me that he loves me all the time really helps. But I’ll tell you this – I have a newfound appreciation for the single parent. I’ve always sort of looked at single parents in awe…I mean where do they find the TIME!? But this awe has been taken to a whole new level now. This kid is exhausting! And there’s only one of him!! I come home after a four hour stint and I feel like I’ve been hit with a truck. Four hours!! And the reading?? There’s no reading. I mean, I’ve read a few Thomas the Tank Engine stories. And, while I think I could make an interesting argument concerning the unhealthy relationship between Gordon (who I’ve always hated), Percy and Thomas for my thesis, I don’t think I should. Instead, evenings are spent playing ‘Treeman vs. Spiderman’ (guess who gets to be ‘Treeman’?) and showing off a new toy and watching a certain scene in the Spiderman movie 12 hundred times and playing with trucks and…you get the idea. Holy hellfire.

The other side effect of this whole babysitting thing is that my desire to have children has been thrown for a loop – on the one hand, when I’m chillin’ with Little J. and he says “you’re so bootiful” my ovaries go “OMG OMG OMG WE MUST MAKE BABIES!!”. On other hand, when I come home after an evening with Little J., flop into my computer chair with a cup of tea, throw on some quiet music, and chill with Zoe, I’m very aware of just how much I love being alone. So I guess that settles it. No kidlets for awhile. I’m cool with that though – Little J. is all the kidlet I need. And Zoe.

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The great thing about Unhealthy Ezmy’s life was that she was able to avoid her own ridiculous thoughts. The coffee-fueled madness meant she worked like crazy for hours during the day. This was quickly followed by lots of wine, cooking, and conversation with wine drinking friends. By the time she went to bed, there was no energy left for complex thinking/worrying.

Healthy Ezmy has waaaay too much time on her hands for thinking. It’s not that I’m not busy – I’m actually ridiculously busy. I’m a research assistant, a teaching assistant, and a thesis writer. Plus I’m always writing something to send somewhere so that someone can read, and promptly reject, said something. And I have to spend time with my cat, my new roommate and the wonderful ladies and gentlemen from school.

But I’m finding myself with more and more time on my hands for thinking. For example, part of the Healthy Ezmy routine has been trying to get to bed at a reasonable hour (read: not 2am). This means that around 11pm, I head to my futon on the floor with a little Dostoyevsky, a cup of chamomile, and a head full of ridiculous thoughts running the gamut of “Where will I work when I’m done the PhD?” to “Should I cut my hair again?” to “I wonder if people see the colour green the same way I see the colour green and how would I know if they did?” to “I wonder what time it is in A. land?”. I worry about how we’ll ever buy a house and if I’m going to be able to afford the doctorate and where we’ll put Z-bone if we have to move out of state. I develop complex plans for decorating my non-existent house. I put together guest lists for parties that I’m not even having and worry about the number of people that would have to be invited so as to not hurt feelings. I mentally go through my student debt and feel like vomiting.

In short, I don’t sleep. I suspect that once this new schedule takes hold, I’ll be fine. But I’m too alert for my own good these days.

-ezmy

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So my sister is having a baby. YAY! This thrills me no end. Lady H. is the perfect kind of person for motherhood: quirky, smart, happy and healthy. So horrah!

However.

That my sister is pregnant means that I, Healthy Ezmy, am going to be an aunt. Which is exciting…but frightening. I have heaps of aunts, you see, a couple of whom I’m quite close to and most of whom I hold in very high regard. The close ones in particular have always seemed so wise, so cool, so…grown up. Well you see where this is going. I’m on Day Four of the Healthy Ezmy experiment – Day Four of being an actual grown up person who does responsible things like look after her physical person by not getting smashed on Monday evenings, not counting vegan jellybeans as a fruit serving, and not shooting coffee into her veins. Day Four people! Granted, when Lady H. has Little H., nine (hopefully) successful months of the Healthy Ezmy experiment will have gone by but still. Furthermore, I’m not cool and I’m certainly not wise. Damnit, this fetus has forced me to realize that I am just not the kind of aunt I always thought I’d be. Aunt Ezmy, in my mind, lived in a cool house in the city (any city), had a cool job, was put together and wore cool clothes, and knew all the cool toys. I know nothing about what kids like these days. Sponge Bob? Pokemon? I’m going to have to do some research. I certainly don’t have a cool house – well, I live in a nifty apartment but it’s not mine. I think I have a cool job but no child is going to think that. I read books. On ethics. Yawners, says my little niece/nephew. And I’m certainly not pulled together. I’ve been wearing the same jeans since 2003.

And I know what you’re all thinking. None of this matters. The kid won’t care. And you are, of course, correct. But I don’t care. The idea that a small child is going to look to me for guidance and advice is frightening.

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So here we are. Day Three of Healthy Ezmy. Healthy Ezmy clearly has more time on her hands for posting. This is because Healthy Ezmy is not spending the morning hours nursing a slight hang over but is, in fact, wide awake at 730 and working out. I used to hate people like Healthy Ezmy. I still kind of do.

In an effort to curb cravings for wine/coffee/cigarettes/junkfood, I’m trying to find other vices. On Day One, I thought I could just buy a bar of uber dark chocolate and eat a square for a treat each night. My sister does that. She has enviable will power. I, on the other hand, do not – I ate the entire bar at once. Right, so that’s not going to work.

My next attempt was walking. Walking is not so much a vice as a distraction. And it’s working pretty well. I’ve gone on two hour walks each day now along with little walks to stop me from making coffee. But it’s going to be harder when winter arrives…plus I can’t get any work done when I’m walking. So I need something else.

My most recent attempt has been almond butter. I know that sounds weird but I friggin’ love this stuff. Way better than peanut butter. Add a banana and flax toast and it’s almost sinful.

Almost.

Day Three has also brought with it ever-so-slight relief from the caffeine headaches that have plagued me through Day One and Day Two. Thank. fuck. I’m still waiting for the greasy food/wine withdrawal to pass but that is far less painful.

see? I told you they would be boring posts.

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So this picture portrays what I would like to be doing right now. Eating pie and drinking a double tall soy half syrup pumpkin spice latte (what? I worked at Starbucks). Or at the very least some coffee. Or a fishbowl of red wine. With a side of french fries. And cake.

What I do NOT want to be doing right now is sipping herbal tea and picking at a pomegranate. On a Friday night. Not that there is anything wrong with herbal tea or pomegranates. They just aren’t what I want. They are what I need. Which is no fun.

You see, I had a little health scare/wake-up call yesterday. I’ll spare you the details – because they’re gross – but let’s put it this way: My double tall soy half syrup pumpkin spice latte and three pieces of pie for breakfast days are fast coming to an end. My body is rebelling against everything I put in it that is not healthy. And to be honest, I totally saw this coming. Since July, I have done nothing but feed myself pub food and an absolutely ridiculous amount of alcohol. Having the bf run off for a year did not, unsurprisingly, help this situation. I may or may not have been consuming a glass (read: bottle) of wine every evening. I may or may not have been digesting a couple (read: platefuls) of fries every day. The signs of shutdown began demonstrating themselves about two weeks ago. My efforts to stun them senseless with beer have clearly backfired. And see, unlike normal people, I don’t gain crazy amounts of weight if I eat crap all day long. My shutdowns are always internal. Which means it’s easier for me to dismiss them as stress/lack of sleep/sex withdrawal and avoid the problem. Until yesterday. Fack. Worse, this shutdown is different from previous ones in that it is much, much, much more serious. Which means that I’m getting older. Which I knew but had chosen to ignore. Again, until yesterday. Double fack.

So now I’m faced with little option but to cut out all of my favourites. Not permanently mind you. I’m not a fan of the whole cold-turkey-never-again way of doing things because of the inevitable disappointment that follows unrealistic expectations. But I’m actually going to have to make a concerted effort to minimize my intake of the following: alcohol, sugar, deep-fried anything, dairy, cigarettes, and (gasp!) coffee. These goodies, I’ve been told, will have to be replaced with the following: water, fruit, oatmeal, veg, clean air, and peppermint tea. Yawn.

I find my current pubfood/booze/coffee withdrawal very troubling. For example, I am now very aware of the fact that I come from a family of drinkers. On both sides, although one side would have you believe otherwise because the immediate ones don’t drink a thing. The other side is chalk full of alcoholics/pseudo-alcoholics. Parties are awesome. But I’m starting to wonder how many of them have internal health problems that I don’t know about. Am I just the weakling in the family, unable to maintain a pseudo-alcoholic lifestyle past 30? How depressing. I didn’t have a single glass of wine today and I gotta tell you, it sucked. That can’t be normal.

I’m also more aware of my addictive tendencies in other areas. There’s a reason I never touched hard drugs. In my short 28 years, I have been seriously addicted to the following:
1) chocolate covered almonds – I ate five boxes. At once. When I was 12. I was sick for days. To this day, I cannot eat just one chocolate covered almond. I never keep them in the house and when the band students are selling them door to door, I shut the blinds and hold my breath until they go away.

2) cigarettes – oh how I love cigarettes. If cigarettes were good-for-you sticks, I’d be the healthiest woman on the planet. But they aren’t. And I know that they stink and I hate when people smoke in the morning when I’m walking to work and I have to breathe the stench in. But there is something so wonderful about sitting on a balcony with a big glass of red, a good book, and a cigarette.

3) coffee – at my worst, I was drinking 5 16 oz cups of coffee per day and while drinking said coffee, I would start to get depressed when the cup was half empty because that meant the joy was ending. I have managed to get myself down to 2 16 oz mugs per day but I crave it constantly.

4) unhealthy relationships – this sounds ridiculous but I think this is an actual addiction. My last relationship was like coffee; even though I felt kind of sick all the time, I still craved more of it. Because I could remember a time when I loved it and it didn’t feel awful. I can remember a time with coffee when it did not give me heartburn or gut rot. In my last relationship, I could remember a time when I did not want to tear my own hair out all the time. Argh.

All of this awareness is just too much. I liked it better when I was able to firmly ignore all of these inconvenient facts about my life. Now, I clearly have a problem. And I’m being forced to fix it. And this post is going nowhere. I just needed to vent the fact that from here on, Ezmy is going to have to be healthy. Yippee. Healthy and irritatingly lonely. All posts from now on will be fueled by hemp, apples, and mint tea rather than cigarettes, coffee and red wine. I apologize in advance if they are boring.

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Right, so a number of things have been irritating me lately:

1) I’m applying for grad funding for next September. That’s right…next September. Apparently it takes a year to read over the proposals, and decide who’s idea is crap and who’s isn’t. Not that I’m complaining…they did give me a grant for this year. But my. good. god applying for these things is tedious. I have to provide a ‘plan of study’ (read: outline of my super special ideas and why they are more special than other people’s ideas and how I plan on studying these super special ideas), transcripts from all of my universities (that’s three), a list of academic accomplishments, a list of academic awards, a two page general information form, a summary form, a checklist that demonstrates that I have all of the things I say I have, and two academic reference letters. FOR EACH FUNDING APPLICATION. And no, you can’t use the same forms for each application because they are all slightly different. God. I could be working on my actual ideas – instead, I’ve spent the last month begging for money.

But believe it or not, that’s not the irritating part. Right before one of the applications was due, my academic reference backed out because he had to leave the country. So I went in search of another reference and found two. One of these individuals wanted to help but enlisting her would have meant a day of traveling out of the city and back to get said help. The other individual was able to do the whole thing on line. Guess who I picked? Right so he agrees, I send him the forms and instructions and all is going just swell. Five. days. later I get an email from the department asking where my second reference letter is. If I can’t find it by end of day, my application will not be complete. Consider that I have spent a week pulling this bad boy together, a week that I could have spent doing other things like crying over l-dog’s absence, or my lack of a sex life, or you know, working. So naturally I was cheesed. I email this fellow. Nothing. Sometime later, I email again….nothing. I am stressing. I call other potential references to see if they feel like writing a little ‘ezmy is so awesome and smart’ note in the next 30 minutes. These profs give me their condolences, but naturally cannot help me as they are teaching/on safari/etc. Then, miracles of miracles, the guy suddenly emails (1 hour before the deadline) and submits the reference. Some sort of family crisis. I should feel sorry for him. But I don’t. Really, really it would have been SO HARD to email me on the Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday to say ‘hey ez, so there’s been a bit of a crisis here and my letter will be late…could you let the department know’?? I wasted an ENTIRE day which I did NOT have frantically looking for another back up reference that I didn’t end up needing….@#$%!!

2) Zoe, my darling little kitten, has taken to destroying every piece of furniture she can pee on. In the past two weeks she has ruined the following: a couch cushion, a chair, and a futon mattress. In the past year and a half, she has ruined the following: a couch cushion, a chair, and three futon mattresses. Now, I’m not mad at Zoe or even really that irritated with her. I understand what it must be like in Boney land. Two weeks ago, we introduced a two year old male cat into the home. Her home. He’s twice her size (as all normal cats are), goes by the name of ‘Lucifer’, and hates her almost as much as she hates him. So she’s retaliating. Awesome. No, I’m irritated at myself for forgetting over and over again to get protective sheets for the bed. Never again. Tomorrow, I am spending $280 that I DON’T have and buying a new mattress and rubber sheets. Added bonus? I can pee the bed if I like I suppose. But that’s not really my thing.

3) Sarah Palin insists on talking. Seriously, can’t she just go away? The only thing good about her is Tina Fey’s impersonation of her and while I absolutely adore Tina Fey, I don’t need Sarah Palin in my life that bad. Indeed, I think she’s a hazard to my health and well-being. I would be irritated by her if I ran into her on the street and she was just your average ignorant jesus-loving-pro-life-anti-gay-baby-making-machine wench. So help me if she becomes VP…or worse, P. Seriously, what do we do if McCain kicks the bucket as people over the age of 70 tend to do? Hoist the black flag I say. @#$%.

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So l-dog has gone away for work, leaving me here to experience life sans partner for one year. Day three: it sucks. But it’s a different kind of sucks from say, just got dumped sucks. I mean, at least I know he’s coming back (unless some foreign woman manages to seduce him with her…foreignness. God now that would REALLY suck. Stop thinking about that). It’s the kind of sucks where I’m wandering about all lost. Which is not to say that I don’t have friends/work/etc to keep me busy. There’s just something missing….well, a number of things really. The witty banter for one. The continuous stream of inside jokes for another. Zoe dances for a third. Sex for a very important fourth. And the list goes on.

The funny thing is, there was always a time in my previous relationships where I just wanted them to go away for awhile. Who the hell am I kidding – in my last relationship I always wanted him to go away for awhile. And now here I am, with a free year all to myself, and I’m just not into it. And to add insult to injury, I am, for once, in a relationship that allows me certain…privileges if you will and I’m not taking advantage of it. I’m too busy moping about the house, watching cheesy movies and writing bad essays about ecological citizenship to be bothered with seeking out new adventures. Pathetic.

Right, so tomorrow’s task: stop moping. Friday’s task: get out of the house (groceries and exercise don’t count).