I am caught in a power struggle and I am constantly losing. He holds all the power. He is capable of inflicting hours of frustration followed by hours of uncertainty and hurt. For him, the post-argument call back is an option.

It isn't new. We have an argument (degree and severity don't seem to affect the pattern) and we hang up. I am usually crying, he is usually annoyed. Almost immediately I want to call back. I cannot simply leave the incident hanging. He, on the other hand, can leave it hanging and appears to prefer it that way. When the "talk" button is pressed or the dial button is pushed, and we are are cut off from one another, it is over. For him.

I want to, need to, finish it. If I call back I am giving in and doing what I always do, which is call back. If I don't I will be the only one of us feeling tormented. If I don't call back I will show him and he will know who's is boss. Nope. He won't even realize that I haven't called back. He will probably go and get something to eat. He will even sleep.

Depending on how long I can hold out, I will either spend an hour waiting for the phone to ring or wait up all night. My mind will start to play tricks on me. It will tell me that he is doing this intentionally. That he knows he has the power and he is wielding it with cruel indifference. I will worry and I will cry. It will reflect on our relationship. It will make me feel unloved and unworthy. Then I will get angry that he could be so mean and hurtful after something so silly. That he would put me through such anguish over something so insignificant...what kind of psycho IS he?

I will write about it. Think about it and ache over it's deeper ramifications. In the morning, he will call. He won't know why I sound so tired or what I am upset about. If I bring it up, I am being petty and holding a grudge...I am being silly.

I am trapped and he has won. I cannot see any way to win. If I call, I am weak. If I don't, I remain upset. If I don't care, our friendhip suffers. If I care my sanity and self-esteem suffers. He is all powerful. He wins...

Well, here I am in Edmonton. It was summer in London and it's early spring in Edmonton. I should have known that but for some reason I had forgotten how different it was here. It's great to be back though. When I was in Ontario I would get all excited everytime I saw an Alberta license plate. I haven't yet broken that habit and so I have been excited - a lot - since I got here. It's always weird when you live somewhere else for a year or two; when you return it's almost like you never left. I am in the same house, with the same people, that I was in this time last year only now I have a Master's degree. Very weird.

I saw Gina last night and today we are going to West Edmonton Mall...she's buying, I'm watching. Ian and Bobbi are both at the house so I have seen them and most importantly I have been reunited with my adorable, lovable Shabba. It's so great to hold him and hear him purring again. When he sleeps on my head at night and purrs like a little machine, I can't help but feel that everything is right with the world. That is until I start to sneeze. I am allergic to my best friend.

Today is my last day in London...I am leaving tomorrow to go home. I feel mostly good about it, relieved actually. I don't like it here. I like it even less with no job, few friends, no money and no possesions. I am on a first name basis with the guy at the Greyhound station (Jack - see, I told you.) who has been helping me ship my stuff home. Every day I lug five big boxes downstairs, to my car and out again at the station. My body hurts and my belongings are probably in the Manitoba vortex somewhere.

I got royally screwed up the ass the other day by the girl I am subletting this apartment from. I sold her some of my furiture, which was exciting because it's all I have to sell, and we agreed that she would pay me $185. We also agreed that I would pay $30 for the three days past the 15th that I have been stayed. By the time she got home that night and emailed me, she was charging me $150 for the extra three days and just calling us "even" with the furniture. Arrgghh!! I wrote her back, which felt great, and told her where she could go. So far, no response. I am giving my furniture away to the girl next door and leaving...I don't get any money out of it, but at least she won't get the furniture. Some people.

Brian officially quit his job yesterday. He was pretty nervous about it but I think he feels better now that it's done. Soon enough our little adventure will be underway.

I am up late again. The days have been really hot and at night the rain keeps me awake. Mostly because it is coming through the ceiling above my bed. Only a few more nights in this apartment before I leave.

I like this apartment, despite its dripping roof. I like the yellow walls. I like that it is so small - it's cozy. I like that you have to duck so you don't hit your head coming into the bedroom. I love the squirrels that play outside my window. I love that it is mine. This could very well be the last place I live in that belongs entirely to me. I can walk around naked, and I do. I can get up in the middle of the night to make waffles, and I have. I can take three baths a day. I can have a dance party. I can clean like a neurotic obsessive compulsive or let the dishes pile up to the ceiling. I can put on my music as loud as I like. I can set my alarm for whatever ridiculous hour I please. I can vacuum at midnight.

I have been packing like a maniac all day. I miss Brian and I am worried about everything. I try not to be. I try to stay positive and I feel pretty happy, but there is a nagging fear that will not go away. I could easily be mistaking uncertaintly for fear...I have done that before. I don't know where we are moving or when and he and I have been apart for so long. It is hard to stay together when, well, when you never are. It is hard to stay on the same track when you only see each other every few weeks. If Brian and I make it through this, and I hope we do, it will have been the hardest thing I have ever done.

I was watching Dr.Phil the other day (my addiction to him deserves an entire entry if not its own blog) and he said that the way he measures himself as a husband and as a man is when he can say that if his wife were standing in a room full of a thousand other women, he knows that she would feel certain that none of them are treated better than she is. I thought about that when he said it and realized that I have exactly that. That makes me pretty lucky and sometimes I am far too quick to forget how lucky I am.

Well, it's another grey day in London, Ontario. I can't believe that nobody ever warned me about this weather before I moved here! You would think that someone would have thought to mention..."Just so you know, it's wet and grey and cold there everyday for most of the year. Oh and it rains all the time. And you'll never see the sun. Enjoy!" You would think, wouldn't you?

So it looks like I am going to Korea to teach English. Or maybe Taiwan. Either way, I am not hopping aboard the train headed for career, family and security. Yay!! I have avoided it for at least one more year. It was close...I saw that train approaching down the tracks and for awhile it looked appealing. The shiny engine, the hypnotizing hum of the rails, the plush seats where you can relax and watch the world pass you by. Watch the world pass you by!?!?! Wait a minute - I don't want THAT!

Now I have a million decisions to make about moving, selling my car, buying plane tickets, choosing a destination, packing boxes...from the minute details to the big picture. It's kind of stressful since every decision seems to be leading to five more but that's life I guess.

Me again. So, that last post was so typically me I can hardly handle it. You know when I wrote it? October 2003. It's May, 2004. That's how long I left it between posts...

So what to do? Be honest, leave it standing or take advantage of my technological capacity for erasing the past and just start over? Change the date and pretend I just wrote it. That way I will look more responsible when the posts fall soon after each other. Responsible to whom you may ask? I don't know. I try not to ask too many questions about myself.

My goal is to start packing today. I am moving. I just don't know where I am moving yet. I might be going home to stay with my parents right now, I might go to Philadelphia to see Brian, I might go to Korea to teach English. Maybe I will go to the island of Tonga and sell pooka-shell necklaces on the beach.

I am embarking on a self-help project. I am usually opposed to these, partly because they sound so incredibly self-absorbed and egocentric and partly because they sound like a lot of work. I cannot shake the idea that self-improvement books and exercises are for froo-froo neurotics with too much time on their hands. But here I am, saying "self-improvement exercises", worrying whether this pursuit makes me a bad person and facing all the time in the world. I rest my case.

I need to stop being so hard on myself. And on other people. I need to learn how to relax and gain some perspective. I need to be happy and I want the people around me to be happy too. The 21st century's Ark of the Covenant...happiness. But Indiana Jones is hoped up on Prozac somewhere in Southern California.

So, here it is...my first Blog. After dragging my feet and fighting against the ever encroaching plague of technology I have succumbed. So now what? I thought I would start by telling you a bit about myself. I will disperse with the necessary but meaningless: I am a 26-year-old (gulp, dare I say it?) woman. I hate that word. I still think of myself as girl or a "chick" but never a woman. I wonder why that is? Anyway...

I recently finished journalism school at the University of Western Ontario in fake London. Where everything is named after the real London but nothing is even remotely like the real London. What this city lacks in creativity it makes up with its strangeness. Not quite big, not quite small, it is full of money and trees. It is situated on the banks of the Thames River. Downtown houses St. Paul's cathedral. There is Oxford Street, Piccadilly Square, Covent Garden Market, Middlesex College and Trafalgar Park. Pall Mall Street leads to Victoria Park. Wait, it gets better. On Saturday mornings in the summertime there is a red double-decker bus that drives people around. I am not kidding. I wish I were.

Okay, back to me. How do I go about describing myself? The problem with this is that people often do not see themselves how other people see them. If you know me will you even recognize me in my own description? Do I try to imagine what others might see? Maybe a little bit of both...

I see myself a little differently every day. I am sensitive and funny. In a twisted, irreverent kind of way. Jesus jokes are my stock in trade. I feel things passionately. This is both a blessing and a curse. Sometimes I feel so happy and awed by the world around me that I feel as though my head could burst. When I feel down it gets so bad that I have to try my damnedest not to walk in front of a bus.

I am extroverted in that I am outgoing and energetic. (Okay, some may call me loud.) In contrast I am also a homebody. There is nothing I love more than a hot bath, flannel pajamas and a good book. I love to dance and my favourite place to do that is in my bedroom in front of the mirror. That way I can go through an infinite number of "costume changes" if I see fit.

I cry easily but I laugh even easier. I feel passionately about everything and I love to explore the world around me. I have a Bachelor's degree in Neuroscience from the University of Lethbridge in Alberta. For my honours thesis I studied the effects of Prozac, Amphetamines and Ecstasy on dendritic morphology. I really love science. I love the rational nature of it. I love the scientific method and I am frustrated when other people fail to see its eloquence and usefullnes.. You have a hypothesis or a question, you test it with an open mind, in an honest attempt at finding the truth, you examine the evidence objectively and then you answer the question. Its perfect. It allows for errors and mistakes to be celebrated as advancements and I don't know anywhere else where that is the case.

I am tired of writing. I always have such high expectations when I begin to write, only to find that I soon begin to peter out. That's what is so great about blogging though - it doesn't really matter.