Snail Mail Woes & Self-Care

Apologies to anyone who sent mail to my old address on Avenue Hébert recently. Although maybe you should ask my ex for an apology instead, and a reimbursement for the money you spent on postage. Rather than collect my mail as agreed, he sent it all back. (I also lost my entire iTunes library. Everyday, it's something else...)

You know how I feel about my snail mail. To know that it is floating in limbo (Did he really send it back? Or did he throw it in the garbage with the rest of my stuff? Will it ever be returned to me?) is incredibly frustrating. I've lost the gift that a friend sent to cheer me up. I've lost the stack of zines that Broken Pencil sent me to review. I've lost a letter from my grandparents, whom I've yet to tell about the breakup because they worry so easily. I've lost bills and receipts that belong in my files.

Though for the record, I have been writing a lot of letters these days.

"You don't want to start setting up another rule book, like: "This is how you're a feminist. And this is the way you dress. And this is the way you act. And this is the way you protest." It's like, some people protest carrying signs. Some people protest by making activist radical music. Sometimes people try to just make it through a day and not kill themselves, and that's their activism for right then, because that's all they have." -Kathleen Hanna

On Tuesday afternoon, I was drinking root beer on my balcony with a new acquaintance, when she spotted my 'feminist' tattoo and asked, "What exactly does it mean to be a feminist?" I may have groaned aloud. I said, "I know we just met and that you are genuinely curious, but to be honest, I am so exhausted with that conversation that I cannot think of a single word to say." And it was true. I have no interest in talking about feminism at the moment. Just because the tattoo is visible does not mean that it's there as a conversation-starter. This is one of many reasons that I've taken a break from Culture Slut - I feel like I've said all that I want to on the topic. Now, I just want to sit back and listen quietly. Though I've been in a fit of getting-rid-of-everything-I-own, so I made sure that she left with a couple of books.

I feel like everyday is a struggle to convince myself that I deserve to be alive, and deserve to be happy. I'm trying to focus on all of the good things that are going on these days; eating dinner at Aux Vivres, spending plenty of time outdoors, wearing cutoff shorts, volunteering at Ste-Émilie, going on dates with fun people, drinking amazing tea, swinging on swingsets, the night that Vincent and I sang along with Alanis Morissette so loudly and enthusiastically that his neighbours joined us in the singalong - we heard them through the windows - the cashier at Rona who exclaimed, « Tes cheveux sont vraiment hot! » as I approached the counter. These things may seem inconsequential, but they are the things that make me smile, that make me forget about the mess, that keep me alive for another day.



I'm amazed at how my behaviour has changed over the past month or so, in ways that I didn't expect. Like, I've had troubles with falling asleep for years. I could lie in bed for hours and hours before sleep came to me, no matter how tired I felt. But these days, I am falling asleep without too much hassle. Then I've been waking up at sunrise and beginning my day. Perhaps it's because I've been more physically active during the day, and I've cut out my afternoon naps. Perhaps it's because I am no longer conflicted about the person I'm sleeping next to. I don't know.

I've also been speaking French a lot more frequently, considering I no longer live with a Francophone. The other night I went out with a friend and we spoke in French for four hours straight. Surely I made grammatical errors, but we had no problems communicating with each other, and it was a bit of a boost for my self-confidence. A few nights before that, I'd exclaimed « Câlice! » in frustration, and although I called myself on my irrational anger, I was pleased when I realized that it was probably the first time that swearing in French came naturally to me.

I've been spending a lot of time doing what I call dull-grown-up-stuff, too. Trying to take care of myself. My days are full of appointments with lawyers, therapists, social workers, employment agents... My phone is getting a hell of a lot more action than it used to. MENTAL HEALTH URGH. I don't generally write about these things, but I've been struggling with depression and anxiety for years and it has finally come to a point where I can either seek out help, or I can just... die.

Also, resisting the urge to contribute to the catalogue of classic breakup zines, as well as the newly-burgeoning genre of hilarious zines about OkCupid. Some of the shit that the dudes on that site say/do is so ridiculous that it ought to be documented.

I will now leave you with a photo of Sebastian and his new friend. I use the term 'friend' very loosely.



I promise I'll get back into zine reviews soon. Things are hectic.