Tuesday, August 06, 2019

My Dream House

Do you ever imagine what your dream house would be like? Me neither, but I do have a recurring dream about a house (which belongs to me in the dream). It’s like a sit-com of the continuing misadventures in Megan’s Nightmare House.

[P.S. I don't own any property IRL, especially not a house.]

The first thing you should know about this house is that it isn’t even located in the city where I live. I just go there occasionally to check on it and make sure no disasters have befallen it (spoiler: disaster zone is its natural state). And every time, I wonder why I haven’t gotten rid of it yet.

One of the house’s primary distinguishing features is that the doors don't quite latch properly—and definitely don't lock—so they frequently creak open of their own volition, admitting all kinds of inclement weather, rodents, and burglars. (Why haven't I gotten this fixed yet?) For some reason, there's always a passageway that connects it to other housing units, or occasionally to a college dorm (I don’t even know… terrible design if you ask me). So at any given time, random strangers might flow through the creaky self-opening doors—but mostly it’s just a looming, unrealized threat. The interior is usually pretty barren, with moldy carpet that is particularly weather-worn around the wide open window (which is flanked by tattered gauzy curtains billowing in the stormy breeze).

At some point during the dream, I inevitably recall with horror that I have a cat, which I have forgotten to feed or provide litter for. [P.S. I don’t have any pets IRL.] Usually the next phase is for me to foray into a shadowy basement that is one enormous room filled with boxes and old housewares—basically it looks like if you tipped a Value Village on its side so that all the contents accumulated in a giant heap. Then it's a matter of tentatively poking around and discovering that the single cat somehow multiplied into about a dozen cats, all in a gaunt and rabid white walker-esque form. On one occasion, the cats were in a crawlspace above the ceiling (in the absence of a basement). Then, at least some of the cats escape out of a self-opening door, and I spend the rest of the dream trying to chase them down.

I don’t read too much into dreams, but my takeaway from this one is Never Own A House.

Monday, February 25, 2019

What I Have Been Doing This Decade

1. Slowly Purchasing a Home
What feels like forever ago but is probably about 2 years, I signed an Agreement of Sale for a condo in one of the many new developments that were underway at the time. Progress has been very slow going with painfully few [near-zero] updates, but they're currently claiming fall 2019 occupancy (that's this year!). Becoming one of the landed gentry is a huge leap for someone who's happily skipped through life without any kind of debt. I get nervous even talking to friends about it because almost everybody I know (of my wage bracket) scoffs at the idea of being able to buy in this city. Although I've been pretty settled for some years, there's always been at least the possibility of nomadism. So, I'm plagued with the kind of anxieties that probably all new home-owners suffer: can I actually afford it without cutting every non-essential expenditure out of my life? will I like living in a non-residential area? will I be happy with a downgrade in size, however slight? will the sales pitch—e.g. rooftop gardens, sauna, amenities—live up to its promise? will I like the condo itself once I see it finally constructed? will it even be well-built and free of hassles/repairs for a while? is this a huge mistake that I'll be trying to recover from until the distant future? Presumably, this year will resolve most of these.

2. Music
A couple weeks ago, I finally bought a new recorder to replace the defective Zoom H4N that died on me years ago. After an aggravating exchange with a few service reps that started with "well we can sell you a new one, would that work for you?" and ultimately ended in "oh, you're in Canada... forget everything we said, and try talking to our Far North Outpost—let me google their email address," I let the whole thing sit for about a year. But now, armed with a new computer that doesn't sound like a wind tunnel, I'm hoping to do some more recording in future (possibly not until after I move... Upstairs Guy has stepped up his noise game). If nothing else, I hope it will motivate me to play more now, as I went at least a year without so much as uncovering my piano.

3. Work
Since my last post, I've been working at a different office on campus in a temporary capacity, first covering a maternity leave, and then a second secondment (a thirdment?) in the same position. I had to return to my "permanent" job in between, and in fact I had intended to go back (and stay back) after the first stint. But a concatenation of many factors made me realize that it was a toxic place for me, and the new office was working hard to serenade me back. With the combined push from Old Office and pull from New Office, I felt cornered—albeit serendipitously—into a decision. This week I officially locked in my permanent stake in New Office position, so that's a load off my mind.

Things I Am Totally Into These days:
  • The Boghouse Podcast about my favourite composer (and all-around inspiring human)'s epic adventure in buying a theatre. Beyond epic.

  • Bullet journalling. Let's see if I can turn myself into a productive (and economical—gonna have a mortgage to pay after all) human through writing lists.

  • Not that I'm particularly into it these days, but for some reason a couple years ago I found it necessary to start an Etsy shop and sell things made out of paper scraps. It never really seemed like a good idea, even at the time. Really all it's accomplished is fill most of my living space with crafting stuff.

  • I've also been pretty into MOOCS on edX, specifically some nutrition courses and one on the science of happiness. Highly recommend!

Wednesday, March 30, 2016

No Laughing Matter

There are two things that I will never joke at someone's expense about. (There are generally more than two, but these two are nolle prosequi material.)

1. A person's name. Even Drumpf. (Perhaps especially Drumpf; after all, it's not like you need to go excavating the ancestral past to find criticisms of that guy.)

No matter how unique you think your humour is, I guarantee you: the person has heard that joke before. Dozens of times. Maybe they even still give you a pity-laugh to stifle the sound of their eyes rolling.

2. What Bertie Wooster would call a person's "outer crust." Unless it's something foreign, like crumbs or something (which, you'll note, people never mention, and just leave you to discover it hours later in the mirror. Thanks.), you can rest assured that a person is much more intimately aware of what is on display than you are. There's simply no tact or sense in pointing out someone's unibrow, mole, acne, tendency to turn deep vermilion when embarrassed or just after the dreaded 20-minute-run PE class, birthmarks... the list goes on. I include tattoos in this, if the comment comes from a total stranger who would otherwise comment on the weather. For everything on this list, they know about it. They know you can see it. No need to verbalize.

There's something private about a person's body—even the visible parts—that merits respect.

Friday, November 20, 2015


I just discovered that my writing tablet (or perhaps the stylus) has stopped working, so I had to haul out pen and paper for my annual drawing post. Then I discovered that I don't have any blank paper so I had to make do with cardboard, and then I discovered that I don't have any decent pens. At least it's still better than those very first MS Paint moments of my comic? Somewhat?
literally verbatim (one of those words is probably redundant)

Actually, I've been living in a slum of broken down electronics for quite some time, so it wasn't much of a surprise about the tablet. More of a gd... why is everything I own crap moment.

Despite being the legitimately best thing I've ever owned, my computer is very dated at this point and chugs away like a steam engine winding down its speed for an upcoming station stop. Add to that my "high speed lite"—which I honestly think my ISP is making liter day by day—and it's either impossible or frustrating to try to do any of my computer-related hobbies these days. It's like the old days of dial-up, but without the beautifully moving song of the handshake (no sarcasm. I'm nostalgic like that).

Most distressingly, my Zoom H4N spontaneously and thoroughly died due to a known bug death (you could call it a "feature") when I ejected it from my computer a couple months ago. I'm not sure it's worth sending it to the company to fix, which is apparently the only option. This means I can't do any more YouTubing until I get new equipment, which I was planning to do anyway because I've been wanting to do some vocals as well. But then I've also been stuck in the middle of a couple transcriptions for about a year, lacking the motivation to move forward in them. And what's the point of posting them anyway?

So then I had an ubi sunt moment. You know what I'm talking about: that how did it come to this kind of feeling. (Btw, if you didn't know, ubi sunt is a poetic device that basically communicates "where did the golden past go, and why is everything ruined forever?" Théoden knows how it's done.) Maybe studying elegiac Anglo Saxon poetry laid that tragic foundation in me. More likely it was a long process of myriad contributing factors. None of it makes particularly good drawing fodder, but if it ever does, I promise I'll start posting more.

Tuesday, October 20, 2015


The other day, I was reflecting on how very different Canada is now from the nation I grew up in. My family was staunchly (almost rabidly) pro-Canada to the fault of being anti-American. Canada was the best country in the world, and being Canadian filled your heart with all kinds of pride, warmth, and hope. The border was less than a 2hr drive away, but I didn't set foot in the US until a whirlwind conference trip when I was 23.

Fast forward to two weeks ago, when I spent an entire day trying to figure out how to emigrate to the US, wondering if Harper getting reelected might be passable grounds for a refugee application. Granted, there were myriad other (real) reasons I wanted to move, but nothing could sever my remaining shreds of patriotism quite like watching our own government cannibalize the body it inhabits.

(Turns out it's basically impossible for someone like me to live in the US, barring a complete upheaval of my life, which I'm not opposed to, but is full of complications.)

I'm not much interested in sports, but the thing that I find most infectious about them is the rivalry between fan groups. It's one of the arenas of our society where enthusiasm and energy seem to generate and perpetuate themselves. And when a team faces off against its biggest rival, there are only two possible outcomes, both of them extremes: crushing victory, or humiliating defeat.

Federal politics is rivalry at its most intense. Although there are a few teams at play, everybody won this round, because regardless of who actually won, the main thing is the rival—everybody's rival—lost. Gotta be honest, I seriously doubted Canada would come together successfully, but boy did we ever. There's nothing but hope right now, and relief. Congratulations to us all.

In other news, I've decided that my main goal for the present is to travel.

It's a shame traveling costs a lot, because I just returned from Las Vegas again a few weeks ago and was basically in need of a vacation from the moment I deplaned.

(For the record: traveling is more expensive if you can't get your shit together and end up fiddling with your flights multiple times. It's even more expensive if you spend 30 minutes suppressing your nausea in the taxi before you manage to croak out a request to turn around and take you home. Yep, it was the most ridiculous, needlessly complicated escape of my life. I'd do it every week if I could.)

Thursday, March 26, 2015


Once in a while I find myself remembering something that I haven't thought about in a decade. I would like to linger over my memories more often so, to that end, I thought I would start writing them down. I've created a repository for tales from the past, which is mainly intended to be a memory lane in digital space for myself. This Tales blog is one of several writing projects I began this year, and I've been far more prolific in it than in the others.

Sunday, March 15, 2015

Remember the Ides

The Ides of March is one of the only days I remember to write. For four years it's been a melancholy anniversary for me, but finally this year I think I've come to terms with it. What has happened in the year since my last post? Well, lots of ups and downs—as usual, and as typical of everyone I expect.

In the fall, I participated in a (not quite complete) month of intensive yoga challenge. Maintaining that kind of momentum is hard, but it's also not particularly appealing to me. I like my downtime, and spending up to 3 hours at the studio every day doesn't allow for much.

I didn't take much time off work during 2014. The weekend before Canada Day, my parents drove out to visit me, bringing the granite endtable that my dad built. Dad's tables are gorgeous works of art. I tagged along on their drive back east, which took two full days. It was a wonderful road trip through the Okanagan during cherry season, and I spent Canada Day weekend on the farm before flying back home.

In the fall, I took another brief trip for my cousin's wedding in Banff. It was a whirlwind trip, as I didn't take time off other than my regular flex day. My own family wasn't able to attend, so I wasn't overly eager to spend much time in Banff by myself, especially since the altitude difference added a migraine through the whole weekend.

Christmas in Saskatchewan was cold, malingering somewhere between -20°C and -30°C during my whole trip. Indoors was cozy, but I've never been much interested in being outdoors in the winter. This suits me just fine, and I'm content to while away the days indoors; but I always get the impression that this is unacceptable in my family, so it's tinged with guilt as well.

Christmas always leaves me with an unidentifiable feeling—kind of like wistfulness, and kind of like melancholy. My flight back west chased the sunset on New Year's eve, and I remember wishing we could just keep chasing it. I didn't want to land, to return to Victoria. New Year's is more on the melancholy side of wistfulness.

The big derailment at the moment is another burst pipe (same one?) in my apartment, much like the issue almost exactly one year ago but more alarming from the outset. I'm currently in the stage between the chaos of stopping the leak/drying out the carpet, and the wall repairs/painting.

I'm starting to keenly feel the lack of a vacation, and I'm close to the point where I simply need to get away. Somewhere with a white sandy beach and warm, clear water. Or somewhere with a wild, pebbly beach, crashing waves, and a warm cozy view. Somewhere with balmy evenings, neon lights, and 5am cheesecake. Somewhere with rolling thunderstorms and warm evening rain. Somewhere to recharge and let my emotions settle back to a milder level. Somewhere away from this town. Vacate rather than staycate. I spent a recent weekend in Houston (ah, warm evenings), but a weekend is pretty short—though it was a wonderful trip as always.