Why Does It Always Rain On Me?

Middle of February, middle of Toronto, it's raining. Doesn't this bother anyone? Perhaps it's my cooky small town upbringing but come on guys, where's the freaking snow. Man.

So busy these days yet not really sure what I spend all my time doing. Work, friends, gym, etc. I guess it's the etcetera that always eats away at time, as it's prone to do. Now that school's done, I come home with no obligation to do anything except arrive at work for my next shift not hungover. (Not as easy as it sounds!) During the summer I revelled in this idea and was the queen of exponential idleness, but now, for some reason, I've convinced myself there's more to a person's day than debating on whether having a streak of grey hair is good or bad. (Oh yeah, it's good alright). Never enough time in a day, or enough days in time for that matter. There's always that one last thing on my list that never gets done because the sleepies beckon. Oh the things I would do if I did all that I could. Some guy said that, don't know who but he was briliant.

I do stuff that's interesting and I do stuff that's not interesting. I've been told that it's the little things that become everything in life sometimes, I haven't figured out whether that's a good or bad thing. Tonight my mind is tired so I'll take the short cut and give you the uninterestings bits. Maybe they're all that I have.

Finally have picked up that thing that's been sitting in the corner of my room for the past 5 years and realize it's a guitar. Like picking away at it, making up ridiculous little ditties and singing the night sweetly to sleep. (Okay, maybe not sweetly.) Am taking lessons with my friend Yoka so will for sure be the next Jimmy Page by fall 2005. Very therapeutic. Work is rough sometimes and when I get home I want to get as far away from it as possible. No further place than my music and my books. I have a feeling my art side and my science side will never be at one with each other, always fighting for the upper hand. Ironic somehow, the more I play guitar, the more callused the tips of my fingers become. The harder the tips of my fingers become, the harder it is to feel veins in order to draw blood on a patient. I need both though, I need the balance. I need work to keep me challenged, I need art to give me peace. Always the middle path.

Love doing these things now that I never had the time to do. Feel Western kinda drained me of my once vibrant abstract mind and I wonder now whether I'll ever get back to that point in my life where I'd be considered a good writer. I used to have so many crazy little stories floating around in my head that I wanted to write but now they've been replaced by the signs and symptoms of hypokalemia and what to do when an immunocompromised patient spikes a fever and why caspofungin should never be mixed with anything but normal saline. Almost a lobotomy in a sense that all I had for 4 years was science and 7am clinicals. Hanging around with U of T English majors doesn't much help a gal's artistic self esteem either. Hmmmm, what could have been......Amy Messham, writer extroardinaire, but now just another soul lost to that evil nursing empire. Meh, what am I complaining about though? There'll always be forks in the path, you just have to make your choice and stick with it. That's what I did, no regrets, not for a second. I'm a nurse. I'm changing the world in my own little way. Publishing rights to follow.

Whoa......mellow mood. Love the late nights, nothing finer than you and the moon and the rain. How is it that I'm a nighthawk through and through, yet still somehow afraid of the dark? Too much monster potential I guess. Man I hate monsters.

Have just realized I've written really nothing that belongs in the "Day in the Life" section, just total incoherant ramblings. To make amends I'll part with a story of intrigue and adventure, non-fiction of course. Just to make amends. Perhaps one of these days I'll be able to part with a fictional story. I'm working on it......

So folks, as you may have noticed, Toronto and I bicker all the time. Hadn't been out of the city since Christmas and I was getting antsy. A roadtrip was definitely in order, so Jolan and I jumped in my Cavy Chevalier this past weekend and took our endeavours to Tobermory, the tip of the Bruce Peninsula. Incredible - we had our own little cottage right on the lake, perfect weather, amazing sunrise/sunsets, and oh the starry starry nights. Amazing time had, getting out on the trails, reaching the Grotto, then eating cheese sandwiches in this crazy little nook on the cliffs. Nights were movies, games, cards and the j's, Amy even winning $20 off the usually unbreakable Jolan at poker. What more could you need? Definite highlight of the trip though was getting pulled over by troopers twice, first time was nothing, second time not so lucky. They were out to get me this weekend, I fought the law and the law won. Back to the city now, bickering resumes. Toronto knows I love her, I'll just never admit to it. She's just mad that one day I'll leave her for stars in other lands.

The end, until next time.

Toronto: The Armpit of Canada or Just a Knee?

I was walking home from work this morning (yes walking! My bike and I had another fight and are currently not on speaking terms) and I passed this little bumper sticker type deal in a store window that said: "Toronto: You Belong Here." Hey now! Let's not jump to any rash conclusions here people! That's being rather presumptuous. In any case, it got me to thinking......Ames, do you belong here? After 8 months (?!?!) in the big city, you'd think I'd be able to come to a clear cut answer, but no, I can't say I can. After all, we are talking about the place I used to hate like a mad cow disease. That cruel cold vast expanse of concrete, cars and carbon monoxide we'd skim through on the way to Grandma's. The place where people lived when they had abandoned all hope, reason and self respect. The place that epitomized everything that was evil, malicious, malevolent, immoral, criminal, and nasty about the world around us. (I used a thesaurus for that one). Yet somehow here I am, trying to belong (and yet not belong), to a city I now call home. Home? Damn, I'm a Torontonian. Worst name ever.

Okay, question is, why did I move here? I could have easily just have hooked up with a job at the hospital I consolidated with in London, moved into a quaint little apartment, zipped around in my quaint little Chevy Cavalier and had a quaint little life in a place that was ruled by a university. For any of those who know me, that sentence sums up why I moved in a nutshell. That's not the life for me and I knew it. London: fun while it lasted but it was time to move on. There would be no challenge to that life and I wanted a new challenge.

Still, that doesn't explain Toronto though. So many other places to move to! Barrie was out of the question (I'll always be hometown proud, but only from a distance). Ottawa and Montreal were in the running and I'm sure would've been incredible (pamplemousse? deux pamplemousse....?) but the clincher was the little known fact that I'm a Messham. I have big plans 2 or 3 years down the road to run off wherever and save the world, and don't know when I'll return. How do these two things connect? Toronto won me over because it meant I could live with my sis Jess, have brother Benerson Messhapaldi up the street and Mom and Dad (and Chucks and Jake) a jump home on the 400. A sentimental fool am I but I want one last hoorah with the Messham cult before I fly off and do what I have to do.

(An added bonus was a guaranteed full time job, and although I was told I had no hope of getting in at Princess Margaret, I'm now working at one of the top 3 oncology hospitals in North America, seeing and doing things I could do no where else. Incredible.)

Toronto though, it had to be you. You're in such a rush to get somewhere that you don't consider where you're going. Sky of grey, sea of green and the stars don't shine bright, if at all. You don't make eye contact, you always look away, your voice is a car horn. Trees somehow become a priviledge, not a right and people become a threat, not a life. How do I live here?

Maybe it can be blamed on Gord Downie. I love that part in the Hip's Bobcaygeon where Gord goes "That night in Toronto...." - just the way he sings it makes it mean somehow so much more and it's just so sexy and drives me crazy. I've had many of those nights here, where everything flows into itself and the lights are there and the whole night is one amazing moment. Toronto isn't beautiful but there is beauty to it. You take a book and a walk and you see it. You jump on a bike, start pedalling and it comes to you. So many brilliant things to experience and see, not to mention the people you meet that take you to these places and to those nights. Such a cast of characters: there's Phil, the absolute most unique, go-where-the-wind-takes-you being I've ever encountered, a guy who won't say a word in a crowded room and yet somehow control it. Yann, aka Pope (cause he's Polish), a guy who can hit my lattitude of noncommitment anytime (ask him about that one) and who lives/breathes poker, always 'all in,' in more ways than one. Of course James is in there, business boy prodigy, ready to slow dance at the drop of a hat, and the catalyst to much of what is now my life in T.O. Then there's Jolan himself, the truest jack of all trades, the bravest of urban explorers, a guaranteed adventure everytime we meet.

Ah but the night wears on. Yes yes sure sure this is all good but enough of this tangent, a wrapup is in order and a conclusion must be drawn on whether, as the bumper sticker suggests, I belong in Toronto or not. (Hmmm, that's what this whole email has been about? That's a gyp.) Sure, it's fun here with the restaurants and concerts and culture, but to live here? Isn't it supposed to be just a place you go for a couple days to see some concert or friends and then return back to life as it should be? Can a gal like me ever actually belong here? I'll say sure. For now, sure I can. I mean, why not? Things are going pretty incredible for me, my life is here right now and I'll keep it that way, at least for a while. Deep inside though I'll always feel an imposter living it up in the T-Dot. I know Toronto will eventually overstay her welcome and one day I'll have to kick her out of my life, but then again that seems to be a pattern with me (look what I did to London.) Fond memories forever but a gal has to know when to move on. So no worries to all you Toronto bashers out there, 'tis only a phase for your sweet little pal Amy. May as well enjoy it while it lasts.

Oh how I miss the stars though.