Sitting in the waiting room to discover what I actually did to my finger a few months back (answer: Who knows? It’s not bone damage, maybe it’s just swelling that could come down over time. Alternatively, the doctor said (and I’m paraphrasing) this is just my life now. It’s not the kind of answer I wanted to wait 2 hours to hear, especially since they phoned me, telling me they had results waiting for me that they couldn’t tell me over the phone. I can’t complain about free health care, but I am. Shit I’m an asshole), I got antsy. My phone was practically out of battery, the waiting room reading material was a choice between fashion, women’s lifestyle or home and garden. Fine things, just not for me. I fished around in my bag and discovered that I’d stowed my old Galaxy S2 in there in case I needed to do some writing on the go. Not being in the mood to write, I scrolled through a bunch of the writing I’d done on it. Yep, I disappeared up my own anus like an ouroboros. Pooroboros? After doing this for longer than I’m comfortable divulging, I discovered something I’d saved a while back. A list of questions designed to help partners get to know each other. Since I’ve got no profound topic of interest today (do I ever?), I’m gonna randomly select a bunch until the timer runs out.
Name three things you and your partner appear to have in common.
Well I guess in this case my partner is me. So I’m gonna say a winning smile, sans one tooth that’s not perfectly aligned (as a kid I had one wiggly tooth that I was too afraid of pulling out. It stayed in there past what was a reasonable time frame and affected the angle of the next one coming in. It’s the second bicuspid on my left and to this day when I’m bored or thinking, as some kind of displacement activity, I feel out the space that it should be occupying with my tongue. I need a better hobby). I’ll also mention our history, which grows each day. We also shared the same childhood dentist. My favourite thing was when he did that finger tap on my chest, because when it hit my sternum it’d make a hollow kind of sound. It made me think I was some type of inhuman creature. As an 8 year old, that was the height of cool.
What is the greatest accomplishment of your life?
Jesus, buy me a drink first. Then again, Jesus wouldn’t need to buy anyone a drink, he’d mix his own. Dumb. This is gonna sound straight up narcissistic, but I’m greenlighting it for the moment. If I’m to look at things holistically, I’d say that it’s that I’ve grown to a person I’m generally happy to be. Of course there are moments that self-loathing busts down my door and I cradle my head in my hands, cursing my own stupidity. I’m only human, despite the dreams of my 8 year old self. The reason why I think this is my greatest accomplishment is that my alternate answer was gonna be that over the years I’ve managed to surround myself with amazing, thoughtful, creative people who make me thankful to wake up each day. Not a day passes that I don’t think of at least one person and overflow with gratitude for their existence. These people probably wouldn’t be around me if I couldn’t learn to love myself, which has always enabled me to attract folk of this magnitude. Can anyone say self-serving?
When did you last sing to yourself? To someone else?
I sing to myself all the time. ALL the time. I could be in the shower, listening to the same NZ music playlist that repeats at work each day, listening to an album I haven’t heard in ages on the TTC, parroting under my breath. To someone else? No super recent occasions spring to mind, but I am reminded of this great bit I had with an ex. We had a recurring callback whereby we shoehorned The Smiths‘ lyrics into conversations and sung them as our best Morrissey. Feeling like a night of staying in? “I would go out tonight, but I haven’t got a stitch to wear.” Said something dumb? “Bigmouth strikes again, and I’ve got no right to take my place in the human race.” It was great. I miss that.
As an addendum, I used to love karaoke. LOVE it. I’d drink, then go out with friends and lose myself to the wild rumpus. I was always the first to call karaoke as the leisure activity of choice. Since I’ve arrived in Toronto, it seems like everyone I meet is a musical theatre geek or former opera student. My voice isn’t terrible, I can carry a tune, but I’m so far away from professional it’s laughable. If people want to do karaoke now, I find some excuse to be elsewhere. Or just perform the Fresh Prince theme song.
Well, just like the waiting room, that was a great way to kill time. Now we know I’ve got a fallback option in case I’m ever feeling non-creative. Which is always. Shit, is this what they call a crutch? Thanks Ontario health care!