On Saturday May 19th, thanks to the generosity of a friend, I boarded a plane to fly down to British Columbia for a period of about three weeks. I will be staying with my partner in the Fraser Valley; a beautiful area both on and within sight of many mountains, and within a reasonable drive to Vancouver.
Alyssa’s and my breakup took place right in the middle of my attempts to rebuild my office. I had to halt construction and rethink how to reorganize the smaller bedroom from being an office into being an office bedroom. Then as our actual separation approached, things were packed away and divided. I’ve been struggling for the past year to put everything back together; my room, my apartment, my life, myself. ‘
CN: Discussion of Statistics in relations to disability, other social issues, sexual assault, and abuse.
There are times when I am talking to someone about my life- about the fact that I’m scared of new proposed laws making it harder for me to survive in Ontario, or about how I’m one particularly unlucky day away from being homeless – when I get the feeling like the person I’m talking to thinks I’m exaggerating. They get this look on their faces that makes it clear they’re just humoring me by not pointing out how ridiculous I’m being. Meanwhile, I’m already minimizing how severe my situation is out of fear of being accused of exaggerating. Worse still, my circumstances are relatively minor compared to that of many of my friends and readers.
When they don’t automatically dismiss what I’m saying as being hyperbole, the people I speak with assume that my case is rare – an exception. A circumstance not worthy of planning against because it’s unlikely to happen again. And yet? Every day I meet someone new in the same type of situation I find myself in. It’s become so textbook, some people look at me as though I’m performing magic when I manage to guess the ridiculous circumstances they find themselves in or repeat almost verbatim what they’ve heard from doctors, therapists, or other people.
It’s a matter of framing, of perspective.
To someone in the mainstream, what is happening to me must be the result of either something I did wrong, or something extremely rare, or impossible. It seems like the probability of all the things going wrong that go wrong happening seem impossible.
What are the chances that every relationship you’ve been in is abusive?
What are the chances that so many of your doctors end up incompetent? That so many doctors end up holding biased opinions?
What are the chances that everyone around you is so terrible? Doesn’t it seem more likely that you are the problem? Statistically speaking that is?
As I mentioned at the start of this adventure, the faction consists of 7 weeks of round robin competitions followed by a championship competition.
Over the course of the 7 weeks, 15 people competed against each other in round robin competitions. During that time our scores, our win totals, as well as our tie games, were all recorded and tracked till finally on the night of the Championship, our standings were revealed in our match ups for the championship game.
To begin with, it’s worth noting that all skill levels compete together. It doesn’t matter whether you’ve been throwing knives your whole life or if you’ve been throwing knives only for the last 7 weeks, we were all competing together. There is a certain logic to this since getting to play against more experienced people helps us hone our skills, and ultimately all you can do is practice. Continue reading “Faction Night: Season 2 Championships, and the week after”
I’ve fallen behind on writing these posts, or rather in writing these posts down in word and posting them to the blog. I’ve been writing versions of them in my head for weeks now.
Faction Night has been one of the major ways that I’ve been keeping track of what the day of the week is. Over the last month, I’ve managed to get my hands on a bunch of power tools necessary for getting a lot of the major work done on my apartment, which I’ve been struggling with for the last year.
In the last week or so, I’ve rebuilt the bones of my room – which included among other things taking apart and rebuilding my bed, my desk, creating a drafting table on wings, I’ve learned how to gather, preserve, identify, and then build from wood of various stages of greenness, and I’ve been taking assorted pictures of the whole process, so that eventually I could write about it all.
…that moving things from place to place, isn’t cleaning.
CN: Unedited stream of consciousness.
I spent the few days before Thursday Night Faction this week, trying to decide whether or not I should even go. You see, last week after faction, the fact that my Remicade had been delayed made itself felt. Strongly.
Strongly enough in fact, that on Friday evening, I finally caved and begged my roommate to take me to the hospital. My pain was too high to manage on my own, and my constant trips to the bathroom made me start to worry that C.Diff might have decided to come back into my life… and guts.
The three days I spent in the ER were ridiculous. Due to a massive influx of flu cases, there were no beds available at the hospital. Despite deciding to admit me that same night, I never actually made it out of the Observation wing.
Because of the pain I was in, I decided to go to the closer hospital, rather than the usual one I was in. The GI staff on call at that time has their primary specialty be the liver, so they really weren’t sure what to do with me. Sadly, it showed. Had I known this at the time, I would have written out for them exactly what to do to get me better enough to send me home, but unfortunately, it wasn’t really till Sunday night, that I realized that I wasn’t really being treated… at all. They were just running tests but not actually taking care of what was going on.
I had the start of this poem floating around in my head, keeping me from sleep. I decided to write it down and see where it went. Continue reading “Blue Moon: a Poem”
Tonight was the second week of Season 2 of the factions.
Earlier this week, I received a proper 3-set of knives. They’re Cold Steel brand, meant for sport throwing, and made out of 1055 Carbon Steel: a slightly higher grade of steel for knives, better able to handle impact without breaking or chipping.
I can’t help always wanting to personalize things, so I decided to paint them. Since the place is called In the Air Guild, I decided to go for a bit of a Fantasy Elements theme: A siren for water, a fire elemental for fire, and Medusa for earth. The Air comes into play when they’re thrown. Continue reading “Faction Night the Second”