Sick = sucks!

I loathe being sick, for me it's one of the worst feelings.  Mostly, because the only illness that I tend to get are head/sinus colds.  The rest of your body feels just fine, but it's your head that gets the brunt of it.  You can't think, everything irritates you, and it's simply no fun at all. 

As well, I like to believe that I'm a super healthy person.  I rarely eat crap, I work out, I take vitamins, etc.  When I get sick, it's like 'what the fuck?? Why am I sick and yet, the one scarfing down McD's looks to be just fine!.'

Every time that I get sick, I try to figure out how it happened.  There's the easy cause that I work with the general public, so I'm exposed to a lot more.  I've got a boyfriend these days, so now I've got new germs to enjoy.  This last week, I was performing at an event and came into contact with many new people, which leads to hand shaking with who knows what.  Finally, I've joined a new sports league, so I'm sweating with other people too.

But I think the true blame goes to STRESS!!!  Stress is my #1 cause of getting sick.  It's one of those weeks/months where I can't find the time to get anything done.  Either by procrastinating or simply having too much going on and not sure how to tackle the tasks. 

This week grad applications are due, which are no fun whatsoever.  Not only do you have to inform them of where your professional interests are heading, but you have to get transcripts, 4 references, update your resume, apply online and pay the fees.  Oh and of course, pay an astronomical price to have it Fed Ex'd to ensure that it actually arrives. 

Have you ever taken any time to think of what causes you to be sick?

WINTER

Friday, January 22, 2010

WINTER

By Philip Cairns

Copyright 2010 by Philip Cairns

It’s 3:40 am on February 15th.
The night bus is late, as usual.
I’m freezing cold.
Have to go to the bathroom really badly.
Starving to death.
Can’t wait to get home.

Hope no one robs me.
I hate carrying a lot of cash
But that’s how I make my money,
Reading Tarot cards at a club.

The snow is pouring down.
The wind bites into my cheeks.
It feels like lions are chewing on my feet.
What’s wrong with me?
Am I supposed to be enjoying myself?
Can’t wait to go to sleep.

How could anyone like any of this?
People who say they love winter must have a car.
Everything about this sucks.

I’m tripping off to Hawaii.
Sun pouring down on me.
My hunky boyfriend lies beside me on the beach.
Blond hair, blue eyes.
Built like a Viking, jaw made of granite.
Soulful eyes.
An ass to die for.

“Let’s go back to the beach house and make love,” he says.
“We haven’t done it in hours.”
We frolic in the sand and race back to the secluded house.
Our hair is streaked white from the hot, hot sun.
Money in the bank.
Hot love in the sack.
Life is perfect.

The bus comes and I hop on, back to reality.
By the time I stagger in the door of my tiny apartment,
After trudging two blocks through the freezing sleet and slush,
I feel ready to collapse.
No maid awaits me with a hot dinner.
No sweet lover in my bed.
Nothing but the silence.

Winter!
It’s not my cup of tea.

QUEER

Friday, January 22, 2010

QUEER

By Philip Cairns

Copyright 2010 by Philip Cairns

Queer, pansy, faggot, dip-shit,
Gearbox, fruit, fey, queen, gay,
Fudge-packer, fem-boy, fairy.

The first time I heard the word “faggot” was in Grade 10.
I was standing in line, in the school hallway, waiting to go into a classroom.
The cute blond boy in front of me turned around
And sneered, “Are you a faggot?”
Everyone’s ears perked up.
“What’s that!?” I asked.
“I think you are,” Danny said.
Titters and snide comments all around.

Somehow, I instinctively knew what he meant.
Contempt dripped from his chin.

I’ve always had a thing for blonds.
They drive me wild.
My school was filled with gorgeous, long-haired guys.

That evening, I asked my sister what the word “faggot” meant.
“Where did you hear it?” Carolyn asked me.
I told her the story.
Warmth and compassion poured out of her soul.
My Mom said nothing.
She just kept crocheting.

“Philip is a girl. Philip plays with dolls.”
In Public School, kids used to follow me home,
In little groups, chanting things.
I’d be in tears, every lunch time,
And get a splitting headache.

Now, I think, so what!?
Yeah, I played with dolls.
Wanna make something of it?
But, back then, it was like a secret, shameful vice.

Going to see “Bonnie and Clyde” in 1967.
Being hot for Warren Beatty and wanting to be like Faye Dunaway.
That was a revelation.
It's supposed to be the other way around.
Oh, my God!
Am I a queer?!

Help! I want to be normal.
Queers are sick and horrible and evil and …
You’re headed down a scary, dark tunnel if you’re queer, I thought.
I can’t be that way.

Then I read Christine Jorgensen’s autobiography.
She was the first famous transsexual.
Maybe I should have a sex-change.
Then I can wear glamorous gowns and be normal.
Perhaps I’m really a female trapped in a male’s body.
I fell in with the trans crowd, back in 1972, and was horrified, to be honest.
They were all on Welfare or were prosties.
Stoned on downers, alcoholic, into sickening, rigid sex roles.
That’s not for me, I thought.

No, I’m not a girl.
I’m male because of what’s between my legs.
There are all types of men on this planet.
Maybe gender isn’t that important.
I’m a queer human being.
I can sleep with whomever I want
As long as they’re of age and there’s mutual consent.

I still love dolls.
I own one, right now, as an adult.
She wears a purple and gold gown.
But I never take her out of her plastic box
And she doesn’t even have a name.

“Yes, Danny. I’m a faggot. How about you?
Wanna fool around at my place, after school?
If not, then blow it out your ass, baby.”

STRANDS OF BEADS AND THOUGHTS

Saturday, January 23, 2010

STRANDS OF BEADS AND THOUGHTS

By Philip Cairns

Copyright 2010 by Philip Cairns

The Mona Lisa rests behind bullet-proof glass
Looking like the cat that ate the canary.
She seems so real,
As if she will burst out, any second, and greet the admiring throngs.

The Louvre is full of classical art treasures.
Pieces of sculpture created centuries ago.
Jewel encrusted golden trinkets and goblets.
You can’t help but admire their exquisite technique.
Leonardo da Vinci and Jackson Pollock are miles and miles apart.
There’s no comparison.

Grub Day, 1968, at David and Mary Thomson Collegiate in Scarberia.
You could wear whatever you wanted.
I sewed 4 inch strands of my mother’s costume necklaces
Dangling down from all over my white pants.
I sewed it all by hand.
It was very Broadway of me.

It got a bit sticky in gym class when I had to play baseball.
How could I run in that outfit?
I just stood around, looking pretty.
I’ve always loathed sports with a passion.
Too much macho killer instinct.

I want to die like Toulouse-Lautrec in the original “Moulin Rouge” from 1952.
Jose Ferrer plays the artist, lying on his deathbed.
Into the room, in his mind, come dancers and hookers,
Painters and writers,
All hurrying to say goodbye to their friend.
The miraculous energy of creativity swirls around them.
What a sweet way to make an exit!

I used a lot of pink in some of my paintings in 1990.
The newspaper critic said it was like drowning in peaches and cream.
This man was also an artist.
Andrew had the arrogance to slap some pencil and colour on a huge piece of paper,
In an hour and a half,
And think it a finished masterwork.
A raspberry to that!

I always weep when Sal Mineo dies in “Rebel Without a Cause”.
My heart aches for him.
So vulnerable and unloved.
A gay teenager, in a movie, always had to die tragically in 1955.
Thank God things have changed.
Think of the torrent of gay indie films, nowadays.
We've waited a long time for this.

I watched “East of Eden” and “Rebel Without a Cause”, on a double-bill,
On the Late Show,
When I was 15 or so.
They spoke to me in the deepest way.
The angst and confusion of adolescence poured out of my father’s TV.
I spent most of the next day in my room,
Sobbing in the closet.

Almost everyone I know is in recovery.
We all used to drink so much in the 70s and 80s.
Where did one go to meet other queer people, back then?
To a gay bar, of course.
If you didn’t order lots of booze,
The waiters would hassle you or kick you out.

Those days were fun and scary.
Too many blackouts and waking up in strange places.
Perhaps I’m lucky to still be alive.
Booze and drugs and sex, when they spin out of control,
Are a dangerous combination.
Now, I just eat too much, sometimes.

SHORT POEMS #3

Thursday, January 21, 2010


SHORT POEMS #3

By Philip Cairns

Copyright 2010 by Philip Cairns

1
The penis is a wondrous instrument.
Imagine if your arm grew 4 times its size
Every time you got excited!
Think of the effect on professional sports!

2
Mauve is such a beautiful colour.
Soothing, quiet and calm.
We painted the doors in my housing co-op a variation of this shade
And everyone was up in arms.

3
Go down to the lake and put your arms around a tree.
Talk to it.
Listen to its vibrations.
Imagine you’re suddenly living in an Emily Carr painting.

4
Drink in the essence of a smiling baby.
You’ll feel all fluttery inside.
Kiss it on the cheek.
It’s as sweet as maple syrup.

5
It’s very quiet in this room.
Just the way I like it.
All I can hear is the occasional streetcar
And the sound of the air being pushed into the hallways.

6
Light blue, yellow, pale green,
Deep purple and soft pink.
Pastel shades peering out of an artist’s masterwork.
The colours of Monet.

7
Wish I were standing with my feet in the sand
Beside the sea at Big Sur,
With a paintbrush in my hand
And rich colours slopping onto a big canvas.

8
I’m remembering the sights and sounds of Cannes
During the film festival.
It’s a carnival of buskers and sunbathers,
With hordes of people crowding around the red carpet.

9
The sixties were full of violence and hope.
An ugly war and dissenting youth.
Long hair and psychedelic clothes.
Jane Fonda was at the top of the heap.

10
There’s a movie playing in my head.
Images and conversations from the past.
Sometimes I have to change the channel.
Other times, it’s like watching a favourite film, again.

11
Do you want to hear my truth?
The scene is too safe and polite.
We need some “Body Art” to stir things up.
A latter-day Allen Ginsberg to shake the rafters.

12
Whip out your cheque book.
Write me a cheque,
With lots of zeroes on it.
Please don’t let it bounce.

Let's Play!

My day has consisted around play and conversations of play, so I figured that I'd bring you all into the loop.

I spent literally 4 hours playing with my nephew today.  Usually, he'd rather chill w/ Poppa and give me maybe 10 min. of his time, but today was the exception.  It was soooo much fun.

We started off playing cars, which is always a good time.  I like to smash cars together and it makes him laugh.  This lead to air travel with helicopters and airplanes.  These two things also crash quite well.  As you can tell, I'm a bit destructive.

From here, we chilled out by watching an episode of Thomas & Friends.  For the uninitiated, Thomas is a train and has many train friends.  My nephew is obsessed with Emily, a girl train.  He says that she is beau-ti-ful.  Slightly creepy to be into a machine, but hey, some people love their vibrators.

This led into chilling on my itouch, where he proceeded to try out all of the games and got upset about the game where you had to hit ducks that would pop out of the ground.  I had downloaded it just for him, thinking that he would dig it.  His favourite was AirTycoon and flipping through all the icons. An episode of Little Bear, more cars, having some food, climbing up the stairs to get his suss, and more itouch and it was time for me to go.

This evening, I conversed with my boo and we randomly started talking about our childhoods.  Where I revealed that much of it was spent role playing (house, being power rangers & other tv action stars, and pretending to be a professional athlete), singing along to records (anything from 50s/60s and soundtracks to grease, the best little whorehouse in texas), and playing with the sibs and neighbours.

His was spent building forts, hosting dance parties, and something too embarassing for me to share without his permission. :)

I have a job that allows me the opportunity to play on a daily basis.  I pursue fitness (sports, yoga, cardio, etc), which provide a fun release to the regular routine.  Finally, I involve myself in the arts, which is just another form of play to me.

Many kind folks have stated that for 27, I look much younger and that I haven't aged since my teens.  I attribute it to having fun.

What do you do for play?

Hellllloooo.....testosterone!!!

I joined a hetero sports league.  I've played sports all my life, but left 'competitive' sports during my mid teens.  Why?  Cuz I realized that I just like playing and could care less about winning.  I decided to join this league to change up my routine and last night was our first game.

All's I can say is that the testosterone was in full effect!!!  I read the rules prior to the game and was thinking 'ugh, you can't do anything fun.'  It mentioned no contact, no smacking the ball out of the opponent's hand, and only sportsmanlike behaviour.  Which is fine and all, if everyone plays by these rules.

The opposing team was made up of unattractive, unsportsmanlike, and totally douche-y players.  They made up their own rules, got pissy if you called them out on it, and maybe offered a pass to their girl players on an occasion.

Now I must admit that I was set to beat down this one douche.  He kept knocking me and I wasn't having it.  Yes, yes, even I can let the testosterone rise in me.  When one of our players went head to head with another player, I was tres excited about a bench brawl.  One didn't occur, but imagine being kicked out of a league after one night.  I'd be sooo hardcore.

We have 5 more weeks and I'm intrigued to watch and see what happens.  I already see teammates getting frustrated with one another, which is pretty ridiculous.  It's a game, have fun, and you'll win.  I've been in recreation for over 10 years.  The team that wins is the one enjoying themselves.  Skill will take you to one level, camaraderie to the next.  Turn on each other, get frustrated, and you lose.

So my readers, what have you been doing lately to change up your routine?

I MISS THEM ALL

Monday, January 18, 2010

I MISS THEM ALL

By Philip Cairns

Copyright 2010 by Philip Cairns

I’ve had so many people disappear from my life.
The list is as long as my arm.
For 5 years, Ian Dennis was my best friend.
We went to movies every week.
Sometimes two or more in a day.
He moved back to England when I was 13.

I know that aching, tumbling feeling in my gut so very well.
When I came out to him at 18,
Ian wished me well and never answered another letter.
I had visited him, the year before, in Southampton in the warm, luscious summer.

Linda moved to New York and I never saw her, again.
She directed me in lots of good, fun theatre.
I loved working with her.
We were on the same wave-length.

When I had an affair with the husband of a mutual friend,
Linda stopped writing to me.
(No. It’s not what you’re thinking.
His wife approved of the situation.
Helen knew that was what he needed.
I wasn’t a home-wrecker.
It was already destroyed.)
Linda, who looked a lot like Loreena McKennitt,
Died in a house fire, a few years ago.


David hanged himself,
Dangling from the top of a tall staircase, in an old duplex apartment,
Because he was going blind.
Wayne hanged himself in the Don Jail.
He had broken his probation and was about to go back to prison.
He just disappeared.
No one knew where he was.
One day, years later, I found out what happened by reading a newspaper article,
At 3 am, about jail suicides.

So many friends and colleagues died from AIDS in the early 90s.
Too many to mention.
Too sad to think about.

I never went to my grandmother’s funeral
When I was very young.
We didn’t get along and I didn’t want to deal with death.
I wanted to push it out of my life.
Once, as an adult, I went to nine funerals in 6 months.

Cheyenne died, suddenly, at 47.
Her 8 year old son found her slumped over in the bathroom.
They still don’t know what killed her.

The night my mother left the Earth, I had intended to go visit her in the hospital.
I called my Father.
He said, “Don’t go, tonight. Come here, tomorrow, for dinner and I’ll drive you there.”
Around 2 am, he called back to say she was dead.
“I’m sorry I told you not to go,” Dad said, choking back tears.

I’m not feeling morbid or down.
I’m just missing everyone.

Sandra became paralyzed from the neck down, after an operation,
Then caught a bug in the hospital, and that was it.
She used to love to talk on the phone.
Near the end, all Sandy could do was blink her eyes and shake her head.
She could mouth words but no sounds came out.

Aunts, Uncles, cousins, lovers, tricks and friends.
Gone to the other side.
I miss them all.

The older one gets, the more one witnesses death.
It slaps you in the face, like a head on collision.
Sneaks around the corner, like a thief in the night.

Sometimes people drift away, out of your life, for no particular reason.
It’s almost like they were dead.

shameless self love

Hey All,

First off: HAPPY NEW YEAR!

I know I'm late, but don't they always say "better late than never"?

I don't remember my new years much. All I know is that one minute I was taking photos at Buddies in Bad Times NYE Ghetto Bash and the next I was waking up in a motel room naked and covered in stuff and unable to walk for a few days. My first blackout!

Anywho, I recently finished a small fun photoshoot with a friend of mine Shealyn, and her friend Mike. We had a lot of fun out in Unionville and downtown, but due to the fucking cold we had to cut the downtown part of our journey short as my fingers were about five minutes short of being frost bitten. And what would one do without FINGERS?

So check out my current photoblog HERE.

Flickr is okay, but once I find a new free and awesome to use photo-journal site-thinger I'll upload the entire set, including all of my old work.

I hope all the writers and readers have had an amazing 17 days so far.
I know I have!

Toodles,
Kaila W. Montanna

SHORT POEMS #2

SHORT POEMS #2

By Philip Cairns

Copyright 2010 by Philip Cairns

1
Dreams are like clouds,
Ephemeral and golden.
Where’s your sense of humour gone?
It’s only sleeping.

2
Red garnets crunched under my bare feet.
The feeling was strangely soothing.
The healing properties of the stones
Lulled me into a tender dream state.

3
This walk is a long one.
It feels like 50 miles.
Am I getting old?
My heart is still beating.

4
My spirit soars up into Neverland.
My feet always touch the ground.
One has to do both in order to thrive, I think.
Life is a constant challenge.

5
I’m feeling the desire to write about sweet, sticky sex.
I’ll have to learn to control myself.
Don’t want to offend the uptight country folk.
Expletive deleted.

6
John loves Frank and Frank loves Joe.
Joe loves Freddy and Freddy loves Bob.
Bob loves Robbie and Robbie loves Ben.
But Ben is in love with himself, poor thing.

7
When it comes to sex,
Some people have no sense of humour.
Don’t leave them a flirty, naughty phone message.
It will come back to haunt you.

8
The green car sped across the vast expanse of central California.
The ocean followed the driver like a gentle shadow.
The sound of the sparkling waves calmed his nerves.
Endless possibilities danced in his head.

9
Jennifer Jones was an exquisite movie star.
An other-worldly fey quality surrounded her great beauty.
When you look at her natal chart,
You can understand why she married father figures.

10
Do you hear soft voices in your head?
If you do, you may not be crazy.
It’s only a new poem gently wafting through your brain.
Let it sing.

11
Don’t say cruel things to me, please.
It hurts more than you’ll ever know.
Try to be a little kind.
It certainly won’t kill you.

12
The actor burst into tears at the audition.
The script concerned rape and torture
And he was having a hard day.
He didn’t get the part.

SHORT POEMS

SHORT POEMS

By Philip Cairns

Copyright 2010 by Philip Cairns

1
I can’t shake your words.
They’ve been eating away inside of me,
Like molten lava.
I need to wash away these blues.

2
I may only write about the colour yellow
For the rest of my life.
What does it really matter,
One way or the other?

3
I’m hearing the sound of the ocean in Hawaii,
Warm and soothing,
Though I’m surrounded by dirty snow and bitter cold.
Do you blame me?

4
You are short and sweet and very sexy,
But you need to take care of yourself a bit more.
You enter my life like a split second ghost.
It’s a necessary thing.

5
Crystals and lovely trinkets hang from my kitchen window.
All the colours of the rainbow,
Or so it seems.
They put a tiny smile on my sour face.

6
It makes me irritable to walk outside when it rains,
All cold and sopping wet.
Best to hear it on a CD bought at a record store.
Turn it up to a reasonable volume and relax.

7
I like to watch children open their presents.
The delight on their faces is an infectious thing.
Would you like to be a child, once more?
Not for me, thanks.

8
Don’t know much about the life of Mahler.
His music can make you weep or feel wistful.
I wonder what goes on in the mind of a composer when he or she writes.
Their own little private concert.

9
Vanessa Redgrave was celibate for more than a decade.
That’s not my idea of a good time.
I hope she was happy.
Her artistry is as tall as the Eiffel Tower.

10
Gotta snap out of it.
Must return to the living.
Mercury Retrograde is a challenging place to be.
Three weeks of misunderstandings, 4 times a year.

11
Purple is an amazing colour.
It vibrates at a high frequency.
Spiritual and soft and almost a whisper.
It washes over me like a Tsunami.

RECIPE FOR A POEM

RECIPE FOR A POEM

By Philip Cairns

Copyright 2010 by Philip Cairns

First off, never use any swear words in your poem.
You don’t want to offend small town Ontario.
If you use even one naughty word,
You might get a nasty email from the event organizer
Asking you never to return to another reading at that venue.

Even if you have vile thugs in your poem,
Don’t let them swear.
When Matthew Shepard was being tied up and waiting to die,
Do you think his oppressors said rude, filthy words to him?
Of course not.
They were worried that maybe a librarian was hiding behind the bushes
And would tell on them.
We all know that thugs never swear.

Next, never talk about sex, not even the missionary position.
No one wants to hear about dirty, nasty sex in your poetry.
It will offend them.
Your audience only wants to hear about flowers,
And trees and mushy, misty things, like love.

Whatever you do,
Don’t talk about anything even mildly kinky.
It’s unnatural and evil.
Open-minded people don’t like poetry.
They’re too busy going to orgies and doing illegal drugs.
We all know that.

Don’t let the words trip off your tongue.
Don’t read it like a good Shakespearean actor.
People will think it isn’t really poetry.
They’ll tell you it’s just performance-art
Even if it's written in verse.
After all, at a poetry reading,
The audience can’t see your poem.
They can only hear it.

Also, never be bitter, angry or cynical in your verse.
Make it sound like a Hallmark card.
Sweet and sugary,
Something a 3 year old could understand.
If you’re feeling peeved or fed up or any of these unnatural emotions,
Don’t sit down to write a poem.
You’ll regret it.
They’ll never invite you to be a featured reader if you do.
You’ll be stuck doing open mics until you die.

Have I left anything out?
Oh, yes.
Don’t, whatever you do, write about homosexuality or bisexuality or any of those vile things.
The poetry audience is 98% heterosexual and they will hate you for mentioning those awful, sickening things.

And be sure never to go over the time limit at an open mic.
If you do it more than once, you'll never hear the end of it.
After all, what’ll you do if you’re banned from every venue in Toronto?
It’s expensive to move to New York.
You’ll have to get a real job and then you’ll have no time to write new poems.

If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to approach me.
I’m dying to end by using a nasty, wicked, filthy word.
That’s another thing,
Always exercise self-control when you’re writing.
Don’t get carried away with emotion.
If you do, you may end up breaking one of these rules.
The consequences of that are truly unthinkable.
Thank you so much for listening.
Class dismissed.

Ants in Your Burrito, Liar Liar!

Please read this and let me know your thoughts....SCAM OR NOT?

Toronto man eats a few bites of a burrito and then determines that it tastes kinda funny and finds 50 dead ants in there.  Say what?

This story reminds me of the following.  Everyone remember the finger in the chili hoax a few years ago at Wendy's, right?  Wendy's lost a bunch of money, got a ton of terrible advertising, and in the end...it was just pure bullshit.

This Toronto man with the dead ants reeks of bull shit to me and here's why...

1) It's story is written by Toronto Sun, which is known for it's tabloid-esque reporting.  Why is this even a story? He found some bugs (or wait, they counted exactly 50?...no they didn't), he returned it, and got offered a replacement.  Toronto Sun is trying to turn it into something else.

2) He didn't want the replacement burrito, so he keeps the burrito.  Or did he?  He just claims to have the burrito.   Which by now, he could have put anything in.  Oh there's also a rat, some poison, and an aborted fetus.

3) I don't eat at McD's, but doesn't breakfast stop being served at most places before 11.  So how'd he get the burrito?

Essentially, I think this is simply another fast food scam of someone trying to either get themselves some exposure or a cash settlement from a major corporation.

What do you think?

My decade in review...

It's officially a new decade and with that comes a reflection on the last one.

Personally, this last decade saw me fall in love for the first time and then again and once more.  I learned what it's like to be the 'other lover' and both the cheater and cheatee.  Never one for the casual, these loves took up more than 6 years of the last 10 years.  I most definitely went with the 'projects.'  The one's that I felt could be saved only to learn that only they can 'save' themselves.  These last 18 months were spent figuring out if monogamy is what I want or if bed hopping would be sufficient.  I think my actions during this last month have cemented that for the next decade, I want to seek substantial loves.  While it may mean living without constant sexual shared gratification, it'll leave my mind and spirit in tact.

As for friends, I really only communicate with one friend that I met prior to this decade.  I left high school a year early due to emotional circumstances.  Plus, I tend to attract those with an adventurous spirit and quickly found my HS posse in all different parts of the world.  I found one of my best friends at the earlier part of this decade, lived w/ her for 3 years, and continue to be grateful for her friendship and love.  Recent years, I've made some really good friends who taught me that one can be queer and not sleep w/ their friends.  My early 20's taught me that to be friends w/ queers means that you have slept with them.  I'm friends with only one of those.  Most of all, I learned that friends are worthwhile and can be drama free.  No longer, do I attract or accept those that cause me harm, bring negativity into my life, or ask more of me than I of them. 

Family - I feel much more connected to them in the latter part of this decade.  The glue would be my nephew.  It's amazing what one individual can do to a group.  Pre-nephew the family was all going their separate ways and I am not sure what would have happened without him.  His early struggles found us each relying on each for strength and support.  His successes found us delighting in seeing that true strength is watching a premature baby fight minute to minute to survive.  With each milestone, it's as if we're each coming closer together.  We're far from perfect, still have to let go of much of the past, but I feel much more connected to both my immediate and extended family.

Professionally, this last decade has been my most successful.  While a majority of my friends seem to be still trying to find their professional footing, I lucked out and found great success.  Actually, I celebrated a decade of working for the same organization this year.  I came and went throughout this time, but was always attached to them.  I am lucky enough to have found a place where I'm consistently supported, forced to grow, and make a good salary.  It is now after a decade that I'm considering a career move, but this is only due to having such a strong foundation for so long.

Finally, this last decade saw a return to the arts for me.  I started the decade behind the scenes with a potential career in stage management.  Only to decide that I needed to be back on the stage.  The belief of an uncle had me performing drag (something I never had considered) in a show that was heralded the best of the year in its first run and then the worst of the fringe in another year (welcome to showbiz!).  A reply to an ad connected me with an arts program that completely changed my artistic focus.  This one reply led to 2 years of artistic exploration and encouragement that allowed me to develop as an artist.  It allowed me to fully realize that acting in dead men's plays was of no interest to me.  It was creating 5 min. silly sexual spoken pieces to beats that I enjoyed.  From there, it was fully realizing my potential as an artist and empowering others that shared commonalities that was important (re: hard & able).  This is one area that I am particularly excited about exploring over the next decade.

A ton more happened over this last decade.  My fun exploring Canada both in a household of 11 youth and then solo, my constant moves ('rents to 398 main to 'rents to Eastdale to 'rents to Greg's place to 'rents to Condo Vicora), and my own self battles with self esteem & self love. 

It's difficult to see how this next decade will compare to this last one.  This last one saw so many firsts: love, job w/ benefits, car, lease, event production, etc.  The decade of my youth has come and gone and now I look forward to the decade of becoming a full fledged adult...no clue what that means.