So as I'm staring around my room wondering where to even start packing for that upcoming, 9-days-away move to Nova Scotia, a horrible realization came into my mind.
I think I've created roots. Unknowingly, but a small part of me is still dug into Montreal.
That's terrible. I've always enjoyed never having roots. It's my mantra. My claim to fame. My persona. Never rooted.
But as I'm wondering how the hell to pack up my life for 3 months, I can't help but feel worried. I wouldn't call it dread, it's not that serious, but maybe apprehension is a better word.
What if I don't make friends? What if I get lonely? What if I can't find a job? What if I miss my friends here?
The whole point of moving away this summer was to get away from everything and everyone in Montreal. And I'm still game for that, but I'm also just realizing that I'm about to move away for three months, to a province where I don't know anyone. My roommates are probably not going to be home when I get in, so I'll have to find my room in the empty apartment and haul all my stuff into it at night. Alone.
I may be 23 years old, but I'm still just a lame little kid when it comes to things like that. It's really terrible.
It's the little things that are haunting me. My friends are my rock. I'm not sure how I'm going to react if I have a bad day and I can't call one of them up last minute and squeal/flail about it over coffee. Skype just isn't the same for shit like that.
I'm just a little...perturbed at the idea of being launched into the unknown, when my support system is 14 hours away. And I'm doing it completely voluntarily. Am I allowed being scared of something I wanted to do?
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
letting go ain't easy
I am so very tired.
Never in a million years would I ever complain about working for Hockey Night in Canada. It is a dream come true and I enjoy the hell out of every day that I get to work for them.
But it is tiring work, running around all day like that. When you wake up the next day feeling as if you're hungover and you didn't even drink, that's usually a sign that you're hauling ass.
So tired.
17 days until I blow this town and leave all the drama and heartache behind. 17 days until it's my summer.
Never in a million years would I ever complain about working for Hockey Night in Canada. It is a dream come true and I enjoy the hell out of every day that I get to work for them.
But it is tiring work, running around all day like that. When you wake up the next day feeling as if you're hungover and you didn't even drink, that's usually a sign that you're hauling ass.
So tired.
17 days until I blow this town and leave all the drama and heartache behind. 17 days until it's my summer.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
taking it day by day
I never really considered myself naive. I'm a lot of things, but naive definitely isn't one of them.
And for all of my distrust in men, most of my best friends are guys. And I've known them since I was 3. Sometimes, my level of comfort around the male gender can lead to things that were not at all on my agenda, but were carefully plotted out by the crafty opposite sex.
At one of the games last week, the strength and conditioning coach for one of the teams askedme for a copy of the notes I was running to the CBC journalist. The notes were readily available on a table in the next room, but I figured this guy probably has a lot to do, so I gave him a copy.
I am naturally a very smiley person. I can't pull the sour puss face without it looking ridiculous. In general, I find girls who scowl constantly to look ridiculous anyway. Everyone looks so much better when they smile. So, being me, I flashed him a big grin and puttered on my way.
Next time I breezed by, he jokingly tossed a football at me. I caught it, ;put my things down, and tossed it back. Thus ensued a 20-minute game of catch. We talked about a lot of stuff--school, where we were from, what I was doing working for CBC, summer plans, etc. At one point, he said to take down his number in case I was ever in ____. When I couldn't plug it into my phone (because I am technilogically inept), he asked me for mine.
Everything about the interaction, to me, was platonic. I grew up with boys. Tossing a football around is nothing out of the ordinary for me--it is not flirtatious, it's not seductive. It's "I really don't have anything pressing to do right now, and OOO! A FOOTBALL!" That's how I viewed it. I interpreted it for what it was. Two people playing a game of catch in the boring time between pre-game warm ups and the actual game.
Even when he asked me for my number, nothing in my mind sent up a red flag. In this industry, your phone number is one of the firs things people ask for when they meet you. It's a form of communication, and more so, it's a way of reaching you when there's an emergency. Because in journalism, there's always some form of emergency. When I met the two hosts last Monday, the first thing we did was swap phone numbers. It's just common practice, it's NETWORKING. So I thought nothing of it.
And I was naive.
It wasn't until I got a rather suggestive text message from him later on that night, that it clicked.
I'm mad at myself.
My reputation is everything to me. As a 23 year old girl in a brutal, chauvinistic guy's world--your reputation is all you've got. It's what earns you their respect. I have worked so hard on my reputation, to keep it pristine. And that says a LOT. I have travelled with a varsity men's team, across Canada, for 3 years. I have gotten propositioned crudely and genuinely asked out more times than I can remember. I have worked in the NHL for 3 years. If a person can go digging for dirt on me and come up with nothing--NOTHING--then I know I've kept my rep in tact. And I'm proud of that. I'm proud of not having a spec of dirt in my past with anybody related to this world. It earns me respect and it puts me on a level that other people aren't on.
And it's not like I never wanted to. I have had genuine connections with guys in the past--I have truly liked some of them. And I would never let myself give in, not even a millimetre, because I knew somewhere down the line it would bite me in the ass. I made it a point to never become involved with anybody in the hockey world.
Now I feel as if I've tarnished my reputation by sheer accident. This guy seemed nice enough, but who knows what was said on the team bus. He could have claimed I was a puck bunny and he scored my number just by asking. I know the truth, but that doesn't mean much when I'm not even there to defend my honour.
And that's not fair. When I gave him my number, it was innocent on my behalf. There was nothing in my mind except a platonic interaction. But to him, he probably zeroed in on me and scored big time when I so easily handed out my number.
It could all just reflect very, very badly on me if the word gets around. I know people on that team. And I can only hope that they know me well enough to know that whatever he's spreading around isn't true. That I'd never give out my number under that pretense.
I shouldn't be so naive.
And for all of my distrust in men, most of my best friends are guys. And I've known them since I was 3. Sometimes, my level of comfort around the male gender can lead to things that were not at all on my agenda, but were carefully plotted out by the crafty opposite sex.
At one of the games last week, the strength and conditioning coach for one of the teams askedme for a copy of the notes I was running to the CBC journalist. The notes were readily available on a table in the next room, but I figured this guy probably has a lot to do, so I gave him a copy.
I am naturally a very smiley person. I can't pull the sour puss face without it looking ridiculous. In general, I find girls who scowl constantly to look ridiculous anyway. Everyone looks so much better when they smile. So, being me, I flashed him a big grin and puttered on my way.
Next time I breezed by, he jokingly tossed a football at me. I caught it, ;put my things down, and tossed it back. Thus ensued a 20-minute game of catch. We talked about a lot of stuff--school, where we were from, what I was doing working for CBC, summer plans, etc. At one point, he said to take down his number in case I was ever in ____. When I couldn't plug it into my phone (because I am technilogically inept), he asked me for mine.
Everything about the interaction, to me, was platonic. I grew up with boys. Tossing a football around is nothing out of the ordinary for me--it is not flirtatious, it's not seductive. It's "I really don't have anything pressing to do right now, and OOO! A FOOTBALL!" That's how I viewed it. I interpreted it for what it was. Two people playing a game of catch in the boring time between pre-game warm ups and the actual game.
Even when he asked me for my number, nothing in my mind sent up a red flag. In this industry, your phone number is one of the firs things people ask for when they meet you. It's a form of communication, and more so, it's a way of reaching you when there's an emergency. Because in journalism, there's always some form of emergency. When I met the two hosts last Monday, the first thing we did was swap phone numbers. It's just common practice, it's NETWORKING. So I thought nothing of it.
And I was naive.
It wasn't until I got a rather suggestive text message from him later on that night, that it clicked.
I'm mad at myself.
My reputation is everything to me. As a 23 year old girl in a brutal, chauvinistic guy's world--your reputation is all you've got. It's what earns you their respect. I have worked so hard on my reputation, to keep it pristine. And that says a LOT. I have travelled with a varsity men's team, across Canada, for 3 years. I have gotten propositioned crudely and genuinely asked out more times than I can remember. I have worked in the NHL for 3 years. If a person can go digging for dirt on me and come up with nothing--NOTHING--then I know I've kept my rep in tact. And I'm proud of that. I'm proud of not having a spec of dirt in my past with anybody related to this world. It earns me respect and it puts me on a level that other people aren't on.
And it's not like I never wanted to. I have had genuine connections with guys in the past--I have truly liked some of them. And I would never let myself give in, not even a millimetre, because I knew somewhere down the line it would bite me in the ass. I made it a point to never become involved with anybody in the hockey world.
Now I feel as if I've tarnished my reputation by sheer accident. This guy seemed nice enough, but who knows what was said on the team bus. He could have claimed I was a puck bunny and he scored my number just by asking. I know the truth, but that doesn't mean much when I'm not even there to defend my honour.
And that's not fair. When I gave him my number, it was innocent on my behalf. There was nothing in my mind except a platonic interaction. But to him, he probably zeroed in on me and scored big time when I so easily handed out my number.
It could all just reflect very, very badly on me if the word gets around. I know people on that team. And I can only hope that they know me well enough to know that whatever he's spreading around isn't true. That I'd never give out my number under that pretense.
I shouldn't be so naive.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
what you see is what you are
Have you ever had somebody look at you--just look at you--and it was strong enough to electrify you? I'm talking hair-raising, balled-fist type of shivers down your spine that made you close your eyes and shudder?
I am in some kind of trouble.
I am in some kind of trouble.
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