A weepy, self-righteous, depressing post. You’ve been warned.

My job is becoming the death of me. After all, there is a reason I choose to work with animals and not humans. I hate Texas. I miss Canada. And before you suggest I leave, remember, it’s Texas’s failing economy and low rate of pay keeping me too poor to pack my bags and leave right now. Corpus Christi in particular seems to breed a new, unrefined brand of stupid unparalleled by any other place I’ve lived.

A good friend of mine is getting married in less than a month, and I’m flying to Oregon to attend the wedding. I’m very happy for her, and highly anticipate leaving Texas (this’ll be the first trip I’ve taken since leaving Canada)… this will be good for me. I hate being stagnant, so I have planned a hiking trip at the end of September (budget-permitting) that will take me to Bid Bend National Park. A month and some change later sees me in San Diego with an old friend, Shannyn… we’re going to camp out on Coronado Island, overlooking the beautiful Pacific Ocean. If I can muster the funds, maybe another trip at the end of December… not too sure where. I think the only thing keeping me sane right now is knowing this toxic environment isn’t permanent.

Consistently miserable. I try not to let it get to me, but every day I’m more and more depressed about living here in Texas. I absolutely cannot stand it to the point that I hate listening to the radio, just because it reminds me I’m in Corpus Christi.

I do know for sure, that I would be much happier with a new job. I’ve applied for a position at the local aquarium (a public speaking position) and with my contacts, I’m praying above all else I get it. I just don’t know what I’ll do if I have to work for this coffee shop 40 hours a week much longer. I might break down.

Don’t get to see a friend here very often because she has a new boyfriend. Makes me sad. C’est la vie.

Ostracised and misunderstood a friend today over a series of text messages. Now she won’t talk to me. It’s my fault, but I’m too proud to admit I’m wrong. Damn technology, damn Y-chromosome.

I apologise for the negativity in this post. I try, I do try to stay upbeat and positive, but everyone has their secrets, everyone their burdens, and for me… this is my only way of letting it out.

Oftentimes, I wonder where I’m going with my life. What am I doing? How am I going to get there? How long will it take? Answers seem to come and go, like the seasons. Well, not like the seasons here in Texas, but you get what I mean.

I’ve spent the last week of my life wasting time. Doing nothing. A week ago today I was in Canada, preparing to leave. Here I am, over four thousand kilometers away, in this hellhole they call “Corpus Christi”. By far, one of the worst choices I’ve ever made was moving here. But such is life, we live, we learn.

Since December or so, I find myself questioning everything (as if you couldn’t already tell). Who am I? Where do I belong? What do I believe? Do I even believe? Every facet of my whole existence has been called into question, and I can’t seem to solve any of these mysteries.  Countless nights spent thinking and wondering what exactly is happening in this small, small world.

When I was a small child and into puberty, I don’t at all remember any of my dreams. I slept, I woke, I breathed. In the months prior to this post, I find many of my dreams becoming more and more vivid. Hell, I can remember three dreams (and numerous details) in the past week. Last night, I dreamt of my suite in Canada, preparing to move, and I was sad. I kept taking things to my car (because in my dream, I had a car in Canada) and every time I returned to the house, the grass grew longer. Every time. I also remember in the adjacent house an ex-convict who tried convincing the world he was innocent, but no one believed him. I saw pain in his eyes, as he longed for a life of innocence, but every time he stuck his head out his window, his tears were drowned out by grass, growing from inside his window. The beautiful Saint Augustine took over the lawns, filled the man’s house, and grew to over thirty feet tall. No one could speak, no one could hear, no one could see. We could only cry, because it was our tears that fed the monstrous grass.

No idea what any of that is supposed to mean, if it’s supposed to mean anything at all. It just feels good to get that off my shoulders. 

My last night here in Canada. How bittersweet.

I’m staying the night with a friend in West Point Grey (a nice change from Kensington-Cedar) and leave on my train to Seattle in twelve hours, to not return for a while.

I don’t know when, but I’ll be back.

My old assistant manager texted me to let me know I’m on the schedule this week, two days after I arrive in Corpus Christi. This makes me happy.

I’m scared.
Tired.
Nervous.
Sad.

Not ready.

Downtown Vancouver as viewed from Jericho Beach - Photo taken and owned by Aaron Rosenthal.