Starting Over

I have exciting news, blogosphere. But I don't want to share it with you just yet, in case it doesn't go through the way I'm hoping it will. 

Oh, the mystery!  The intrigue!  Feel free to leave guesses in the comments. 

In other news, ASL 102 finishes on Tuesday.  I'm hoping enough people have registered for 103 that they decide to run the class.  I'd hate to lose my backup option.

I still need to get in touch with the U of W.  If I can't get a hold of them by Monday, I think I will just skip the phone call and throw everything I have at them, whether they need it or not. 

Not much else to share on my end, except of course for the Big Exciting News (that may or may not come to fruition). 

I look forward to your comments! (Did you catch on to my hint there?)

Much love,


Been feeling sick lately and noticed something a little worrisome.  Called the doctor last Tuesday and left a message, but do you think they've called me back?  Hmph.  You're a NEPHROLOGY clinic, I'm not going to be phoning about about a damn SPLINTER here!   

So whatever, guess I'll just have to call them back tomorrow, along with the University. 

I really hate using the phone when there are other people in the house.  Anyone else like this at all?
First off:  Yes, I realize it's been over a month since I've written here.  Sorry about that. 

It has recently been brought to my attention that there actually are people who read this little blog of mine.  So hello, mysterious readers!  I hope you are enjoying yourselves. Or rather, I hope you will enjoy yourselves if you're still sticking around.  

I just read an IAmA post on Reddit that was written by a person who has kept a daily journal for the last six years of their life.  I am so jealous of that kind of dedication.  

I discovered an interesting program at the University of Winnipeg a little while back.  It's an integrated Bachelor of Education degree; you finish in five years instead of six.  Unfortunately, it looks like I won't be accepted into it straight away because of my poor marks at Mount Allison.  Curse you, vasculitis!  Curse you, kidneys!  I'll probably still go to the U of W for a regular Arts degree, though, and maybe try to get into the integrated program the next year.  Being a teacher has kind of been a dream of mine for as long as I can remember.  

Tuition there is inexpensive in comparison to other places I've looked at, and they offer one bedroom apartments in the Lions Manor for housing.  Cool!
More and more frequently I'm finding myself irritable. 

I want to scream and cry and break things. I want to lash out at anyone who talks to me.  I want to control every aspect of my life, and if I can't then I become upset. 

I feel so angry. 

Nobody I've talked to understands.  My mother listens to what I say then goes on to tell me stories about her own life.  That's not what I need.  My dad has enough to worry about. My doctor tells me about all the other people who have it much worse than I do. My friends don't want to be around me anymore, and I don't really want to be around them either. 

I can't stop thinking about where my life would be if all this hadn't happened. 

I can't stop thinking about what a waste of oxygen I am right  now. 

I don't feel excited or happy about any of my options regarding future plans. 

I don't know what I want, besides for this to have all been a long, terrible dream. 
Well hello again, folks.

It has been a while, hasn't it?


Anyway, on January 9th I "celebrated" my one-year anniversary of my sudden decline in health. Yay, hooray, woohoo, etc. Party it up. 

As you may or may not be able to tell, I am somewhat depressed/upset/irritable, and I blame it entirely on the last year of my life being utterly useless. 

On December tenth I celebrated my 20th birthday, and by celebrated I mean "did the same thing I do every day".  

I've been spending a lot of time on Stickam with people from Solia lately, and I've met some wonderful friends.  Too bad people in the "real world" tend to frown on having internet friends. Some people are also creeped out because a couple of the people I talk to are significantly younger than me.  Just because these people are young, does not mean that they cannot have informed opinions or be good friends.  And these "children" have been better friends to me over the past few months than anybody I know in real life. 
These people appreciate me for who I am, let me talk about the things that worry me, and make me smile on days when all I want to do is cry.
My friends from Stickam have truly kept me sane lately, and I am eternally grateful for their open and accepting hearts, and for their love. I feel like I could possibly be a real person again, and that means a lot to me. 

I never used to think that I was a particularly social person, but I have come to realize that without my friends or someone to love, I am restless and uneasy, and my feelings of inadequacy are amplified. 

So thank you, my friends, for making my life worth living.
Looking at apartments again.


Landlords want you to have a job before they will lease to you.  I don't want to get a job until I have an apartment lined up, because I want to get settled in and hopefully find a job close by wherever I end up living.

I have enough in my savings to live on for just under a year with absolutely ZERO income.  If I tell potential landlords that, do you think they will be a little more lenient about the whole job thing?  And if I get my dad to cosign, which he said he would? 

Ideally I would like to end up with a combination of apartment, job, and online university where it all works out so that my job covers my living expenses and I pay for university out of my savings and my RESP.

How to go about getting this done? 
Well I have an updated resumé now.  Whether it's any good or not remains to be seen, but at least I have something to work from. 

Guess I should do laundry, shave, and pluck my eyebrows tomorrow.  Try to get back into the swing of things. 

Still have a problem with references, though!  I have no idea who to use :(
Alright.  So.  I need to update my resumé so that I can get a shit minimum wage job so I can get an apartment at some point in the near future.

Here is a basic summary of my life.

Education - graduated high school with honours in '07.  Went to MTA from September of '07 until January of '09, when I had to leave because of the vasculitis.

Work - Managed the U-Pick for my dad every summer since I was thirteen except for '07 and '09.  In '07 I worked at the café at the marsh, preparing food and operating the till.

THAT IS IT.  Who on earth is going to hire me?!  And... who am I supposed to put down as references?!  My father?  Hardly!  The woman from the Marsh who hired me over two years ago?  She's probably forgotten who I am, never mind whether or not I was a good worker. 

Any brilliant ideas, O readers?  (I know you're there, I can see my pageviews!)
Along the same lines as yesterday's post...  I will never have children of my own.  Even if I never have to take the kidney meds that will make me infertile, the info packet with the substitute meds says that I can not be pregnant and on the meds at the same time.  And, seeing as those meds are maintaining kidney function... yeah.   Don't see the doctor taking me off of them any time soon.

The common response when I mention this to anyone is that I can always adopt.

Not so much.  They require a medical report before they'll allow you to adopt a child.  Pretty sure I would fail that.

So, yep.  Some more of that harsh reality - I will most likely never be a mother.

This is not something I want to have to think about at nineteen. Ugh.
Every once in a while I have to remind myself that I'm never going to be the same as I was before the vasculitis.

I keep catching myself thinking things like, "As soon as my feet aren't swollen, I will start exercising again"  "Once I can breathe properly, I can start going out again"  "Once I lose all this water weight I can wear real clothes and socialize like I used to"

It's difficult to remember that these things are probably not going to go away.  Waiting for my body to sort itself out is silly, because my body isn't going to sort itself out. 

I find myself getting frustrated with people who ask me if I'm feeling better or if I'm still sick.  But how can I possibly blame them, when I consistently forget, myself? 

It's a difficult concept to wrap my mind around - I'm never going to be better.  I will always be sick.  I will always have limitations on what I can do, on what my body can handle.  I just have to find a way to work around these limitations - or through them. 

I refuse to become like my mother.  I will not hide from the world for so long, like she has.

It's going to be very hard.  It's humiliating to go out in public like this - grotesquely huge, bright red stretch marks everywhere, skin and hair in horrible shape... and I pant and wheeze after walking only a short distance. All of this is because of either the disease or the medication, but who is going to believe me? All they see is an ugly, obese young woman who is panting like she hasn't moved in months.

I should get a t-shirt or something made up.  "THIS WAS NOT MY FAULT". Ha.