Home from my fairly typical "drove Sara to school and Mike to work" mornings. I usually drop them off and then go to Cafe 1842, buy a coffee and sit and write in my paper journal for about an hour. It's a good time for me. Quiet, alone, nothing to worry about or feel pressured by from any other source than myself.

I started doing it right after I bought my new journal notebook (very cool, hardcover yet coil bound so it lies flat and can be folded over) at Mike's urging. I was so worried that I would lose the memories, specific ones of my time with Matt, that they'd fade away as so much does to the tides of time. Which to be honest they have -- 4 months later. Mike told me to just go and write them down, everything little or small that I could remember. Get it down on paper and it would never disappear completely.

So I did. And for the first month or so, that's all that is in there. Memories. Stories. Then slowly it morphed into my writing about what was on my mind that day, and slowly what was on my mind stopped being about Matt all the time. It's become a routine for me now -- my coffee and writing hour. It's a balm to my incessant sense of urgency. For an hour every couple days, I just slow down to a space filled with my pen, my notebook and my thoughts. It's good.

I'll need a new notebook soon.

Driving home afterwards I had a clear memory of Matt asking me about my photography. The way he kept pressing me to say that it was my passion. I think my unwillingness to say it was a passion was my (now known) depression at the time. I hadn't handled my camera in months by the time Matt asked me about it. I guess the thought was if it was my passion, there was no way I'd be able to just abandon it for as long as I had at that point.

But he was right. It is my passion. I'm not technical about it. I once knew the language of F-stops and aperture and depth of field and sweet spots and... I once knew how to play with the chemicals in a darkroom to end up with beautiful images. Now I just shoot and tweak and play until I end up with something that is simply "good".

I know my ignorance does affect my final image. I know I could be a much stronger artist if I took the time to educate myself about what I am doing when I do shoot. I found some articles in a photography magazine about digital workflow and sharpening. I figure I'll take some time and experiment with the different ways of doing things. I'm kind of excited about it, to be honest.

I like learning. I like experimenting and touching new things and seeing how they work. Maybe that could be my course to try out -- digital photography "darkroom" techniques. We'll see.

*shrugs* Yes, my photography is my passion. I guess it's high time I started treating it like it is.

Won't be able to post this for some undetermined amount of time since it appears that my host managed to booch scripts pretty badly. Aka, my movable type is down. Bah.

So I've been home from DC for 3 days now. So much to write down to remember, so many pictures to get transferred from film to digital so I can put them up. I need to find somewhere that scans from negatives. My prints are absolute shit. They have digital artefacts on some of them. I know what grain looks like. This is so not standard 400 ASA grain, it's the kind of crap I get on my pics from my digital camera. I really suspect that they're scanning the negatives and printing the pictures digitally.

Which would be fine, if it didn't look like shit. I'm really annoyed by this. It makes the actual prints I got done un-scannable. GAH! I at least have some pure beautiful shots.

I think I learned a few things this trip. The most remarkable to me is how fundamentally different the states and Americans are from my home and myself. I think the culture shock was such a surprise to me because I expected something a lot more similar. I mean, we look the same, we talk the same (for the most part), we watch the same TV shows, the same movies, so much is the same, and should be the same. But it's not.

I remember one of my history teachers once showing (as we studied the American Revolution) that the beginnings of each of our countries set our national identities. Set the type of personality we had en masse as a Country. Now that I've had some time experiencing the US from within her borders, I really believe he was right. Canada achieved her freedom as a country with patience and diplomacy. The US through war and aggression. And it really does show.

It shows in the language, the slang used. The flags everywhere. Even remembering the undeniable tragedy of 9/11 is so in your face. The presentation and choices of quotes on the WWII memorial. Personalities.

I was so out of my depth. I'm honestly so glad to be home, where everything makes sense. Where I understand where people are coming from, because I come from the same place. Where *I* am the freak because I fly my flag on a pole (kinda) year-round.

I want to travel more. I want to experience more of the world around me, including the States. I'm just reeling a little from having my assumptions both proven and dis-proven; depending on which one I was holding onto at that moment. I had never travelled in the States as an adult, and alone. The world looks different from that spot.

I'm also very very hesitant to explore in depth my reactions to the states on here. It's just what's coming out of my fingers right now. *laughs* I know some come from a place of strong bias, even to the level of hate, many Canadians have for the states. I know I'm biased like that. But that's not all of it.

And there's my 30 minutes.

I'm screwed, well and truly screwed. In 48 hours I'll be on the highway with my sister driving to Buffalo Airport so I can catch my flight into DC (via NYC!). For the last 24 hours I've been fluctuating between "Ok, it hurts but I can manage." and using my cane to be able to walk. I'm so screwed.

Right now I'm in a manageable stage of the pain. I've been icing my ass and spine -- the point of inflammation of my sciatic nerve and taking things nice and slow. I called my physiotherapist this morning and she's going to fit me in early tomorrow morning, even though she was fully booked for the next 2 days. Yay! for awesome therapists. She'll most likely poke me with the acupuncture needles again. I hate the needles, but if it means I can walk, bring them on.

I'm stressing about the DC trip and all of this, and I think I've been clamping down on just how much I hate this. How much it scares me. Not being able to walk... oh my god. It's not even the pain that upsets me. It's the numbness, the muscle weakness and sometimes... the absolute disconnect between my brain and my leg. The memory of standing in the middle of my hallway in the middle of the night and just fighting with every ounce of my stubbornness to take just one more step and failing so completely keeps running through my head.

If it was just pain, I'd suck it up, drug it down and deal. And most of the time when I have a flare up, it is just the pain. What has me so worried about this flare up is that the numbness is there beside the pain. I know what comes next. I know that after the numbness comes the muscle weakness and my knee gets mushy. And then if I'm really unlucky... which, let's face it, I'm not exactly the most lucky person in the world... my brain and my leg just stop talking to each other completely. That's the way it works. That's the way it looks like it's going right now... this week I go to DC.

The bitter irony just cracks me up. I've spent all this time worrying about my appearance, about how people will perceive me, about my own sense of fun, about how it's all going to work out. I never worried about my nerve going. I thought my back would get iffy, but not my leg. Not like this. And all I did was go for a WALK! A nice, easy walk on a Sunday morning.

So I sit here, looking at my list of things that need to get done before I leave on Thursday and I don't know what to do. There's a part of my head that says, "Do it all, work through the pain, because it's all bullshit anyways. You're not actually sick; you don't have anything wrong with you. Whiner." and then there's the part of me that read over and over again last night that this is not a good thing, that the pain is very real, the muscle weakness is real, that if I don't take it slow and rest, it will get worse and then I'm really screwed. Sensible non-self-hating part will win because I'm not totally stupid and I'll get stuff done nice and easy.

And again, I'm faced with being a 29 year old with a cane that I need to use to walk. Go team. *sighs*

Just because it's been a while, I hate my fucking back and Sciatic nerve. I went for a walk Sunday morning and shortly before I got home, my sciatic nerve flared. It's been acting inflamed and irritated since then. Making me freak out a little, because if it gets severe, I can't walk and I fly out to DC on Thursday. God. Sitting in a hotel room for this trip because I can't walk is a nightmare -- here's hoping that I can drug it into oblivion and reduce the inflammation before Thursday. *knocks on wood*

I was driving around getting stuff done this morning and I started thinking about my relationship with Greg. I fucked up big time last week, and he's the one paying for it. (Standard Linda has a big mouth situation, but on acid insane.) I've apologized profusely, and meant it, but there's not much that can be done that wouldn't make it worse. How very masculine of me -- I need to find a solution, damnit! FIX! FIX!

*sighs* You'd think I'd learn by now.

Anyways, I was thinking this morning about how it all started out. I was in his crew when I started playing my silly pirate game, but we never really talked about anything personal. After I left the crew I lost touch with most of my crew mates including him. Then a bunch of things started happening all at once. Making greeter, getting back in touch with Greg and his expressed interest in bringing my crew and me into SD. God that was a crazy, crazy time.

What was funny is I developed *quite* the crush. I think that crushes are really not about the person, the object of the affection, really. Not who they are as people. It's more a hint that you'd like to get to know this person; that they appeal somehow on a basic level. Which could be utter bullshit, who knows. I got over the crush, mainly because Matt just blew me away.

And then Matt died. And there was one person that was there all the time with a "How are you doing?" and not the "How are you doing? Please god, don't answer that truthfully." version. I didn't have to walk on eggshells, watch what I said or how with him. I just talked and talked and talked (well typed, to be honest) my way through that hell. There are no words for how grateful I am for that... no words for what it meant and still means to me.

I'd have to say Greg's one of the best friends I've had in years. There's just something about how easy and random it is when we chat in the evenings. It kills me that it's so internet based too. The option of having a beer and shooting the shit in a bar just isn't there.

It's maddening sometimes, these friendships made online. You click with someone, you talk, you hang out, but it's all in some way, false. The ability to hug your friend when they're upset or lost just isn't there, and how much of our relationships with each other on a basic human level needs to involve touch? It is damn near impossible to recreate the quiet sitting beside each other times.

One of the best parts of my best friendship with Susannah in high school was our weekend afternoons. I'd bike over to her place, and we'd chatter a bit, but inevitably we'd end up with me on her bed reading something and her doing something at her desk. Together but silent. I think all my best friendships in my life have included that kind of time on a regular basis. So then what does that say about the friends I make, the friends I care so very much about, online? Do the relationships mean as much as the ones that are physically available?

I just don't know. All I do know is that I make (and have!) friends that I would love to spend the physical time with and I just can't and on a quiet, deep level, it really hurts.

It's 9 am, and I have a Tai Chi catch up class in 30 minutes. I've been up as usual since 7, and been debating since then if I should go to class or not. My back hurts down my left side, it's not good. But on the other hand the slow stretching and stuff would help... maybe?

Anyways, I realized that I'm not going to make my weekly goals if I don't do a journal entry today and tomorrow. 15 minutes on the timer and we're off. I keep thinking about something Sara Astruc used to say -- "Don't stick your hand in the crazy." I really think I've spent a lot of time over the past several months sticking my hand in the crazy far too often.

It's weird, like a compulsion. I'd read the forums for what was my flag (I quit! Yay me!) and the infighting, the bickering, the hypocrisy, the never ending bullshit would just be insane, and drain me. But I wouldn't leave, or even just not read it. I'd read it every day. Sticking my hand in the crazy.

And it was crazy. The level of obsession in the higher levels of the flag was un-fucking-believable. Everything is major, everything is life or death, everything must be handled in a proper manner with the utmost in anal-retentive bureaucracy. Over a game. I didn't play in the forums much, that's a stove I prefer to keep my hands off since I learned my lesson at Hissyfit. But I certainly bought into the obsession game with my Quartermaster role, and all that crap.

Oi. I spent days just floating ships to and from blockades... because it was my job. The hell. A job? In a game?!? Then there were people that would make comments that somehow my co-QM or I weren't doing enough. Again, the hell?

Add in that one of the most respected people in the flag was a lying, moral-less snake and I knew it for months before I did anything about it, and you really have to wonder about my masochistic tendencies. I spent money I don't really have on a trip to see these people, many of whom I don't really like and some I know hate me and then stressed about it! The hell?

(There went the alarm for Tai Chi. I don't think I'm going. Ahh well. I'll just have to practice for sure today.)

And I promptly ignored this entry for an hour. Time to post it, I think. :)

So, a welcome to 2005.

I apparently am unable to sleep anymore. I keep waking up at 6:30, 7 am... or in the case of this morning at 5:30 am. Fully, oh no you're not going back to sleep anytime soon, awake. I thought maybe it was because of my back hurting, so for the past couple nights I've been taking a painkiller before bed, but I'm still waking up early. I guess it's a good thing, gives me some quiet alone-ish time first thing in my day.

So I figured I'd get a keener start on my uberlist for this year, hence the photoblog entry and this journal entry this morning. If I get it out of the way early, then I don't sweat it later. I'm looking forward to showing Julie my uberlist and seeing what she thinks about it. She's a resolution maker, so she might like the idea.

I've never really been a resolution maker. It just always felt like setting myself up to fail, or giving myself another reason to beat up on myself. I like the idea of a to-do list. As an anal-retentive list maker from hell, I know that they're more guidelines and reminders than set in stone do or die items. I can manage that. Plus most of what I wrote down I've been carrying around in my head on my mental to-do list for ages. It's a relief in many ways to put it on paper. (Even though it hasn't actually been printed out on paper yet. *laughs*)

A little less than 2 weeks until my DC trip. This goddamned trip has been such a focus of my worry, stress, and excitement for months and months now. I think I'm going to be relieved when it's over. I have my weirdo American cash sitting on my desk waiting to be shoved in my wallet. I have my lists made of places I want to see, information I really don't want to forget, what to take, where to drink beer, and so forth. My sister will be driving me to Buffalo airport (Gah! Need a map on how to get there!) to get my flight out. I'm for the most part ready to go.

Except emotionally. The reason for the trip is, rather was, to go spend time with my "flag mates"- the people I play my silly pirate game with. But it's been planned, um, not at all and I've been growing more and more distant from the flag and the people in it in the time since I bought my airplane ticket. So there's been a lot of debate on what I'm actually going to do with my 3 days and 4 nights in DC.

Do I do the flag stuff and potentially dislike these people and lose out on experiencing this city I've never been to and probably won't see again for years? The lack of planning really bothers me. There are a lot of good reasons for it, but personally I look at the money I've dropped into it at this point ($700!) and my desire to potentially spend a single evening wandering around a major American city looking for a restaurant that will seat over 10 people without a reservation plummets. I can be spontaneous... on my terms and for cheap. This trip is not cheap.

The other option is making it a 'Linda travels the world alone!' trip, ditch the flag stuff, and spend my time exploring DC on my own. I could easily spend an entire day in the art gallery, I suspect. Or any number of the Smithsonian Museums. I already know that Friday will be about the Wars, the memorials and the cemeteries. The downfall with this option is it would get lonely. I've gotten used to having people around me.

I just don't know. I don't think I will know until I'm standing in DC.

Yay for indecision!