A chance to sit and write verbatim

An exerpt from an email to my sister that became a self exploration…

Suffice to say that I have been doing other things-  things that to some extent remove me from the computer space and time and instead deposit me with my hands digging a small trench around my back garden, patting the bushy thing that seems to be defiant to Edmonton’s long, lingering winter in its lush miniature leaves- when I pat it, the thing bounces back and you can feel how close and cooperative its leaves are to your intrusion. A fun plant, in my eyes. I call it the bushy thing because I am actually so green to gardening that I don’t remember what I planted last year that would grow back as a bushy thing. The butterfly bush, the one I thought looked like a Dr. Suess plant with it’s green foliage and looooong stems with bright fluorescent pink flowers and yellow centres- I’ll have to send you a picture- it too, has defied its location below the eavestroughs to grow despite the runoff, chill and snow that stretched into late April.
 
I’ve been enjoying my time with Jack- it seems so, precious. There is no dagger above my head, but he is on "31 days to move" -their words for "we own you and can send you anywhere in the world, a la the dangerous desert, with that many days notice"… and me the planner, knowing what I’m doing in September decreases that strange sense of anxiety that somehow permeates what I do, choose, plan for- where is it that this anxiety comes from? As you speak of your ?panic attack, I realize that maybe we share something in common. Although both high achievers, there are times when I *really* question my what am I doing here and why is all this energy being spent in this direction- and sometimes those questions come up in such inopportune times, that I find myself afraid, deeply, to try and answer them in any complete way. But I digress. What I’m trying to say is that I’ve moments of introspection and thinking about truly *being* instead of just trying to find the *doing* that feels like, but isn’t, being… and have often been unsuccessful. One of the traits, senses (?), abilities I *love* most about Jack, those close to me is this ability to be at peace and be happy- which is not to say that I am unhappy per se- I just often feel that I am on the edge of being *that* happy but I never quite reach it- perhaps this discovery of self I am on, in being a student (again), in learning how to be intimate with someone (which involves much more than taking your clothes off!) in learning how to fit into this crazy world where so many people are fuq’d by the who, where and what that makes up their past, present and future influences- perhaps I am just confused by the many questions this world poses me in this life. Suffice to say, I’ve felt, hm, disconnected is a bad word- more like, forcibly distant from life outside of that which I can touch, feel, eat, dance around. Like your stove and grease analogy I realize, that I do enjoy when the house is not a mess, but at the same time I also enjoy being free of that pressure to keep it in such a state (interrupted now by a furry paw chasing my fingers on the keyboard, I laugh out loud with a single *HAH!* Thanks kitty…) You get to the heart of a question that has been whispering in my head lately, mostly since finally taking a break from the pace that kept me getting my marks up in school but not having time to sit and listen to that little voice asking these kinds of self defining questions- and I wonder, why is it that sometimes I fantasize about just owning a little bakery with yummy desserts and pasteries that I could enthrust lovingly upon the world at large? Silly dream, or greater purpose in life? *sigh* Do you need a Masters in Nursing to run a bakery?
 
In my search for a job where I can earn money to pay bills to have house to go to school to get different job to earn money to pay bills (you see the theme your composition has started??) I wonder the why’s- I do enjoy being a nurse, the parts of it that I can pick and choose to live in or just have to live with (code brown comes to mind) and it is a good fit for me, a good way to make a living too, but is it the best way for me? I feel the answer is yes, and yet no- so then, given that, what is? Obviously the Waterloo, Toronto experiences have driven me onward (forward?) yet still I don’t know where I’m headed, only that it is elsewhere and yet in the same vein as here… so why does it have to be so complex? Why is it that some are born knowing what to be, what to do, and then spend their energies elsewhere, whereas we are both left not always knowing these answers… is that what were are to be, to do- to question?
 
*intermittent pause to distract computer cable chasing kitty with string in living room… hate it when entries like these are erased by the unreliable plug to outlet connection in our office thanks to kitty hijinks*
 
So back to the point- Jack might leave for a time, he might not. He and I are very much in love, happy, living alongside our dreams and taking strange pleasures in playing with dirt yesterday- both in the basement and in the garden- in this strange teamwork mentality that has us both just wanting to spend time together, in a comfortable way, like the hoodies and comfy pants that have signalled our nights in snuggling on the couch, nights in beautiful places in the mountains trying to keep out just a slight nip of chill. And I think, time with this man is so precious, not just because of the possible macabre endings to this love story that haunt me from my parent’s past (and my father’s repeated relationship disasters) but also his job situation… he recently was offered a promotion (lateral move) of sorts that would have him in a brand new, sexy helicopter- the Shinkook- which would be great, but also require him to be in training for one year in Quebec, then live one year abroad, then (???). Knowing my dedication to school from watching me suffer through papers for two terms, and knowing my desire to start having children in the next five years- he had some soul searching nights with the guys in the mess (millitary pub) and decided that it wasn’t for him at this time- that there were too many things in that sexy job which would take him away from me, from ‘uS’ (CAT ON CAPS LOCK KEY, THANKS) and so has chosen me and us and to continue being a sexy Griffon helicopter pilot as was one of the original plans… I say one of because he and I are luckily both able to see that mapping specifics beyond five years in time has not been something we have accurately done in the past five years, so why spend too much time mapping out beyond the next five? *sigh* Suffice to say, being a dude with my man has been my priority as of late. The suggestion from coworkers that I ‘do school during the week and work weekends’ for the next two years just seems ludicrous- I do not think Jack will be sent to his death in Afghanistan, but he may be sent away for more than half a year with only 31 days notice, so how could I conceive of a plan that would have me waste those precious days ‘working’ when I could be in the sun, in the air, doing something, anything with him?
 
Again I digress. What I mean to say is that in both trying to maintain the "I" and trying to gravitate towards the things I exist for- namely, peace in spirit and content in life- I find myself wanting to spend a day doing fun shopping for camping gear, or grabbing a coffee alternative beverage and just driving around, or just being a dude- instead of being in the intense environment that my workplace has become. This doesn’t taste like burnout- it tastes more like really going after things that make me happy, instead of things that help me make money to pay bills to… you already know that thread. Hence, the idea of the little bakery- wouldn’t it be nice to run a successful bakery though without having to be concerned with ordering the things to bake with and watching the bottom line? Do such ventures exist? Haha, I should move to Belize and perhaps there would be less North American pressure to supersize my business venture ;0)
 
I am *glad* to have taken the spring and summer terms off of school. I sleep better. I am reading fiction again! Three books already and I’ve only been finished term less than 30 days. My garden is still a bit of a dream not yet put into the ground, but I have high hopes. My time with my man is precious, this week fit into spurts between waking post night shift and heading out to repeat the pattern- I’ve been in an isolation room for close to three weeks of shifts… gets to be quite the self talk experience in the middle of the night (the automatic water faucet turned on last night when I was across the room- guess the angels have to wash their hands too…) so reading your composition, and your questions and your sharing of thoughts- has somehow opened my own ability to first know those kinds of thoughts in myself and then also be able to share them- oh, how I wish I could see you and hold some time together a la my TO apt- such free, easy laughter at times. Those visits and that time together, along with my times with Jack (and intermittent times with other friends and family when they can do this… but that’s another tangent) are the things *I* live for. Not greaseless ranges, or matching dishes, or order and cleanliness. This despite my need for complete, almost OCD order in my workspace- perhaps a defense as you might point out, to the fact that my patient’s heart is failing and he has lost two legs to the same disease. Isn’t it easier to cope with these things that we can barely understand by making all of our labels clearly printed and similarly oriented along the pumps? Why not rewrite the Kardex and then admire the… lack of brain thesauraus here… sameness of the handwriting along both sides (is there a diagnosis for this? ICU nurse-itis?) People at work are suprised to hear that my computer desk at home is generally a mess, that I often have hair strewn about my home (both cat and my own long, curly strands) for lack of desire to really clean on a regular basis- in comparison with my time spent organizing and reorganizing things in my workspace. I threw out two bottles of saline last night, after having a debate about their use for suction catheter clearing now that they were no longer sterile for dressing changes, then looked for them later for just such a purpose only to realize I must have decided otherwise in my debate as they were not on the counter anymore… too many night shifts, or just too many activities focusing on *doing* instead of *being*?
 
Wow, this is probably one of the most bizarre emails you have received from me- but yet I feel that it is a conversation of sorts that I need to have, with myself, to share with you- and I loved, and will read and reread your composition for what it has buried within and between its lines of text.
 
The imagery you share, the connection of ideas (midwives, to sea shells, to iguanas, to ?) towards that one idea that the moment taught you- how fantastically wonderful to be able to communicate such an experience in the first place, and second, to choose to share that communication with me. I heart you :0)
 
It’s your birthday tomorrow. I haven’t gotten you a gift on time, which is to say I will be mailing what I chose earlier (got the address from Mom) but it will be some time before it arrives. I have been anticipating what form my e-bday wishes might take- then I wake up post night shift, read your email and this is what comes out in response. I hope you know that I love you, think of you and support you with love always.
 
So things with me continue. Doing, in an attempt to move closer to being. Thankyou for your letter. I have a lot of conversation to consider.
 
Love always,
Heather