Right, So About That…

Surrounded by half-filled cardboard boxes, a layer of dust settling on everything, I’ve decided I need a break.

Today has been more productive than the entire months of August and September combined, and I feel cautiously optimistic about it. I washed a month’s worth of smelly dishes, did a month’s worth of smelly laundry, and began packing twelve days before my moving date.

That’s right, in less than two weeks I won’t be calling this place home anymore.

If you’ve been following along, I haven’t been posting much lately. It’s not that nothing was happening so I had nothing to say, it’s more like EVERYTHING was happening and I was so caught up in my own head that whenever I tried to find the words, there was nothing but a blank space in my brain. That’s usually how it happens with me.

I don’t know what I’m doing with this blog anymore.

When I started writing here, I was about to move back to the city after a year-long breather up north. I had reconnected with my boyfriend (yes, even after he beat the holy fuck out of me it took me another couple years to realize I needed to get out). I had gotten my transfer. I had found my very own apartment. And it was in the same place I’m sitting now that I began a very long process of healing.

You can’t fully heal if one of the elements holding you back is still part of your life.

It’s been almost three months since I cut ties with him. Our relationship was dead long before I said the words out loud, but it still feels strange that he’s not a part of my life anymore. It’s strange to think about all the time I spent with him, all the wonderful and terrible things he said to me. They still rattle inside my head. As I began packing this morning, it occurred to me why I put it off so long.

I kept finding his stuff.

Five years is a long time to spend with someone. Over time they find ways to permeate your life, and when you remove them, sometimes you miss some of the things they left behind. Books. Childhood toys. Sketches. Pieces of them to remind you of how messy everything was when it ended. Looking at the things I found today, I can’t help but wonder what the hell I was thinking, staying with someone so obviously wrong for me. I’m still the person I was before I met him, but there are a few dents and battle scars. A few chinks in my emotional armor. A few different perspectives. 

I’m looking forward to getting out of here and starting over. This entire area of Toronto is full of memories for me, both good and bad. I don’t feel like I can fully heal and clear my head until I’m able to walk down the street without seeing something that reminds me of the past. I’m not interested in reliving it. I’m interested in being somewhere else, where I can make new memories with people who actually care about me. People who know me, and know everything I’ve been through over the past few years, and have still chosen to be there for me.

I only hope I can repay them.

So I haven’t been here much, but that doesn’t mean I’m gone. I’m closing the messiest chapter of my life in the hopes that I can open one that’s a little kinder to me. A little cleaner. Filled with a lot more laughter. I have a feeling I’m on the right track, ready for whatever comes next.

I’m not just a coffee wench. I can be so much more than that. I hope you’ll stick with me while I figure it all out.


Originally posted on Busy Mind Thinking:

I have no idea if this will work but I am willing to try. My niece connected twitter to my page here – that everything I post automatically shows up there. Tonight I am posting something for my sister Betty with the hope it gets re-tweeted enough to gather attention.

It may very well be a long shot to receive a response to my message; in fact, some may feel it would be a miracle (thankfully – I believe in miracles); but my sister is worth the effort – and the moments of time it would take for someone to say hello to her.

Dear Mr.Johnson,

Until fairly recently I was unfamiliar with who you are. I neither watch TV regularly (in fact rarely at best) nor do I attend movies. I hear the gasping of appalled fans everywhere!

Consequently, my sister (one of your biggest fans I have gathered)…

View original 238 more words

I’m Sorry.

One of my favorite things about the location where I sling coffee every day is the part where we make plans to go drinking on weekdays. Every now and then the stars align and we’ll be able to get a group together to meet up with the closing crew and head out for cheap beer and good stories. More often than not we end up at The Imperial, crowding together on the couches or pushing tables together on the patio when we get too hot to live.

We ended up there last Wednesday. As the night was winding down and there were only a handful of us left sitting outside, a man came up and asked if he could sit at the end of our table. His friend was smoking nearby and I suppose he wanted to sit next to him.

Everything was fine until he started talking.

I’m not about to sit here and say there’s no such thing as psychics. I’m open to a lot of things in this life, and I certainly don’t think I know everything about the world around me, but believe me when I say this man was fishing for information and I didn’t realize it until it was too late to back out. He started by telling us he could see energy. I reacted by being a dick, mostly because I was a little drunk but also because I couldn’t figure out why he was interrupting in the first place.

He asked us all a lot of questions and then proceeded to make his predictions.

He asked me where my family was. I told him Newfoundland.

He asked me where my father was. I said, “In a hole in the ground.”

He told me my father is sorry, and suddenly I was not OK.

Not at all.

It’s not that I believed this stranger. It’s not that I put any faith at all in his ability to interpret my “hole in the ground” response as some sort of bad blood family drama indicator. It’s not even that he dared to make assumptions and offer fake sage advice on a subject he couldn’t possibly know anything about.

What upset me more than anything was how guilty I felt when he said that.

I had spent the previous weekend with my sister at my mom’s and we ended up drinking a little too much wine and having ourselves a long overdue heart-to-heart/confession cry-fest. I said some things about my relationship with my father that I would never say sober. I share a lot here, probably more than I should, but even I would never publish the things I had to say that weekend. So when I got back home and thought about what I’d shared, I began to feel guilty. When Fake Psychic told me my dad is sorry, it made me feel guiltier, as if somehow he’d heard what I’d said to my mom and sis and was apologizing for it.

When somebody dies unexpectedly, sometimes they leave a lot of emotional loose ends. When it comes to my relationship with my mother, I have an opportunity to talk over some of the actions she took when I was a kid and analyze them from an adult perspective to try to figure out why I’ve been having difficulties in certain areas of my life. Essentially, if you have living parents you have the option of yelling at them for fucking you up in your formative years. When your parent is dead, and died when you were still too young to understand anything about lasting impacts or psychological ricochets, it can be incredibly difficult to work out your feelings.

So I bury them. Not far enough that I can’t reach them, just far enough that they don’t cripple my normal routine. When I sat in my mom’s living room and talked about the truth of what hurts me, I ended up feeling guilty for having given voice to my inner dialogue.

So that’s why Fake Psychic pissed me off. That’s why I growled in frustration in the streets and punched a brick wall as a way to vent. That’s why I ended up in a playground in the middle of the night with some of my closest friends until I felt okay enough (and tired enough) to go home.

It’s nice to know I don’t have to face the dark alone anymore.

If my dad’s still out there, I hope he knows I’m sorry too.

Don’t Answer.

My phone displays your number and I ignore the call, as I have several times for the past week. There’s no point in talking because I said all I had to say in the minute and a half it took me to break up with you. You leave me a voicemail and I hesitate for a second before deciding to listen.

Imagine my surprise as I hear you calmly thank me for setting you free. You tell me you’ve been working on yourself and trying to find a job and you’re grateful for what I did for you. This coming from the same person who once told me if anyone saw me naked, they wouldn’t be attracted to me and in the next breath told me I was beautiful. The same person who would cry and smash himself in the face on my kitchen floor while asking me why I never tried to help when I nearly lost myself trying to help you. The walking contradiction that crashed into my life and altered it forever.

I will never tell you you’re welcome. I won’t return your call, you’ll never hear my voice again and I hope to God we never find ourselves in the same room. Not because I’m afraid of you but because the two of us are fire and gasoline. When we come together, we burn everything around us because we’re terrible for each other. Sometimes people meet and change each other for the better, but when it came to you and I, we both turned into the worst versions of ourselves.

In the four years we were together, I was stripped down to nothing. A starving, self-injuring wraith who dragged down anyone who tried to help her. I lost friends I’d had for years and my family had to distance themselves from me because my negativity was toxic to them. I did drugs I would never have touched before. I remember laying on the bed as my body temperature went haywire and my clothing began to burn my skin from the fistfuls of pills I’d swallowed and I was so convinced I was going to die that I actually welcomed the respite from this downward spiral. You became controlling and abusive, constantly suspicious of my whereabouts. I suffocated under the weight of trying to reassure you and nothing would satisfy your suspicions.

I remember your anger and jealousy. You were certain every man I spoke to wanted to fuck me and you’d take out your frustrations on me. I remember the day you beat the shit out of me for talking to my sister’s ex-boyfriend on the internet rather than paying attention to you. I remember the taste of blood in my mouth and I remember holding you as you apologized for hurting me.

I remember thinking I deserved it.

As I sit in my cafe staring at the blank screen before me, struggling to put all this into words, I listen to your message and I hope for your sake it’s true. I hope you really do get the help you need. I hope you find a steady job and a girl you can love in a positive way. I hope you find some happiness in this crazy old world and in a way I feel grateful to you for showing me exactly the qualities I don’t want in a partner. Before you, I didn’t know what I wanted. I had just come from an emotionally damaging friends-with-benefits arrangement and had been baffled when you wanted to call me your girlfriend. Truthfully, I wasn’t ready for a relationship. I didn’t know who I was or how to begin finding myself.

I’m sorry we wasted so much time on each other, but at the end of the day I don’t regret taking a chance on you. You reminded me of my father, you became a huge part of my life, and you ultimately helped me find the strength within myself to become the person I am today. I want you to know that although it’s not and never will be okay that you once saw fit to raise your fist to me in anger and manipulate my emotions until I relied solely on you for self worth, I have found it within my heart to forgive you. You weren’t the first person to hurt me and you probably won’t be the last, but the ground I’m standing on today is much more solid than what I stood on before.

There were moments when I really loved you and moments when I couldn’t stand the thought of you and both of those experiences changed my perspective on relationships. I feel like because our relationship was so toxic, I’m strong enough now to know exactly what I’m looking for and never settle for less. I really tried to make it work but at the end of the day, we didn’t belong together.

The last thing I want to do is hang on to negativity, especially after living with it for so long. I wish I had been able to set you free sooner, but at the time I wasn’t ready to stand alone and I guess you weren’t either. We became codependent on each other. I needed your negativity to stay miserable and you needed me to ignore you in order to feed your negativity.

Go forward in love. Learn from your mistakes with me and make sure you don’t repeat the patterns. I bear you absolutely no ill will and I’m not even angry with you anymore. I’ve gained the ability to recognize when someone’s chapter in the book of my life is finished and I know now how to cut those ties. It’s not easy, but it has to be done. I broke up with you to set myself free but I’m happy to know it’s worked out well for you. That my entirely selfish and incredibly healthy decision has worked out positively for both of us is the icing on the cake for me.

Thank you for calling to let me know. I hope it’s the last call I ever receive from you.


A General Feeling Of Worthlessness.


It’s been a weird month. On the one hand, I’ve been playing open mics at this one bar often enough that I’ve started to get to know the people who frequent it. On the other, I’ve been having depressive episodes again and I was assaulted outside of work.

The thing I find most frustrating about having a depressive episode is that I’m self-aware enough to know exactly what it is but am completely unable to stop it. I can be sitting in my kitchen having tea and suddenly feel like there’s absolutely no reason for me to be alive and I should probably just go ahead and kill myself. Or I can be on the way to work and think about how easy it would be for me to get off at the next station and jump in front of a train. No note, no warning, no explanation.

I feel like I’m not a part of life. Like my existence affects no one and means nothing. There will always be someone else to fill whatever tiny void I might leave behind me. Even my family would eventually heal and move on. Sometimes I draft suicide notes to leave just in case one day the urge proves to be too much. I usually end up throwing them out because I wouldn’t want anyone to find the note and think I was actually planning something.

Everyone I know seems like they’re a part of something. I feel like it takes a lot of effort for me to even put clothes on and venture outside. The things I love seem to lose their flavor and it’s a massive chore for me to do anything except lay down on my couch and watch Netflix. I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately, and I’ve narrowed it down to self-worth.

I don’t feel like I’m worthy of anything.

I was assaulted by a drunk dude outside my workplace. I was on a break around 8:30PM, standing outside smoking, when he came up to me and started talking. He was being aggressive, yelling at women on the street to keep their “head and tits up” and calling them cunts when they didn’t respond. He asked me why women were bitches. I was afraid of him, so I agreed with him even though it made me feel sick to my stomach not to stand up for my fellow ladies. When he got closer and put his arm around me, I shut down. Parts of my childhood came back and I remembered that in order to avoid angering the people who assaulted me when I was a kid, I would let my body go still and try to think about something, anything else to avoid facing what was really happening.

He seemed to think I was comfortable with him in my space, so he kissed me. He also buried his head into my neck and slid his arm down to my waist. Inside, there were alarm bells going off and I was frantic but I was so terrified of this stranger that I stood completely still. When he called his friend over and I was flanked by two strange men, I finally snapped into action and went back inside my cafe.

“You’re just going to leave me out here?” one of them cried.

“Sorry,” I explained. “I have to go back to work.”

That’s right, folks. I apologized to the man who touched me without permission.

I thought I would be fine when I reached the relative safety of my workplace. I wasn’t. I went into a full scale panic attack, complete with cold chills and shaking. I wanted to cry but I couldn’t bring myself to. I began to feel like these things happen to me because I deserve them. The little kid who was shoved into a basement and assaulted eighteen years ago deserved it. The laps I was forced to sit on, the hands that went places I was too young to have discovered yet — I deserved all of  it. Because I’m worth nothing.

But even as I write this, I know intellectually that it isn’t true. Bad things happen to people who don’t deserve it. Nobody deserves to have something like this happen to them, no matter who they are or what they’ve done. I don’t deserve to be assaulted, or beaten, or treated like shit and I didn’t ask for any of this. But emotionally, in the twisted labyrinth that passes for my mind, it feels very true.

I know it could have been much worse with the stranger outside my cafe. I’ve been in much worse situations before. But that doesn’t make it OK and it doesn’t make my reaction afterward any less valid.

So it’s been a weird month. In spite of my depressive thoughts and dark moments, I remain hopeful that things will get better. Maybe soon I’ll feel ready to seek help for this.

Announcements & News.

First off, let me say I’m sorry for being a horrible blogger. The only posting I did in June was re-posting articles from Wait(er) Magazine because I thought they might be lost forever in the shakeup.

Then I found out that something was being cooked up all this time!

Allow me to introduce the brand new, free as can be Wait(er) app! It’s on iTunes, you can get it for Android, and then you can read all the sexy service industry articles right on your phone for literally zero dollars.


Second of all, I haven’t been writing much at all because I’ve decided to focus the majority of my energy into making music. Did you guys see Jim Carrey’s speech at Maharishi University? Because you should. It completely inspired me to conquer my stage fright so I’ve been writing, recording and hitting open mic nights to get performance experience. If I’m going to fail, I’m going to do it on my terms doing something I love.

Watch his speech below, in full, if you’ve got the time.


I’ve also got tons of things on my plate right now, aside from my day job, recording and performing. I promise I won’t completely disappear. This blog is going to be going through some changes, but I want to go ahead and thank those of you who choose to stick with me through this leg of my journey.

You can also check out MY OFFICIAL SITE for the latest stuff I’m messing around with. :)