Sunday, February 28, 2010

No Really, The Phone Just Rang

The phone is a demonic device. When I told the people at work that my phone was over ten years old they told me point blank that it was time for a new one. (I asked for one for Christmas) So if you were ever my roommate that phone was decommissioned in January 2010. I don’t hate this new phone as much as I hated the old one and I am more apt to answer it simply because it’s prettier, cleaner, and its numbers light up. If I cared enough, I could call the phone company and ask them to add call display to the list of things they already charge me for.

I used to swear that I couldn’t work at a call centre, 1) because I couldn’t sit still for that long. And 2) because I couldn’t spend what can be up to 9 hours a day with strangers voices speaking in my ear. Somehow I’ve manage, I even won a free cell phone from work; it made a great paper weight.

You see, there’s no way to know when someone is going to call. I can’t see the other person and feel like I have trouble connecting with the person on the other side. Also,there’s seems to be no way to bridge those long pauses: Do you say good bye or try to start with something else? What are they doing on the other side? When they say “Is Frosty there?” are they looking to sell you something or is it indeed a friend?

After a few weird theatre experiences where people have followed(stalked) me to your place of work claiming to be a prince and speak 5 tribal languages or make their way backstage and tell me they know they went to school with me and they didn’t: I make sure not to put my real name or address in the phone book. So I get lots of calls for Fred Duncan, and pleas to for me to reconnect someone from Ontario with their long last pen pal Fiona, even though the answering machine clearly states: “You’ve reached Frosty…”

For some legal reason I gave work my number. So there’s nothing like getting out of the shower an hour before I have to leave for work and hearing the phone ring. Do I answer the phone? Is it an emergency? Did I shut the living room curtain before I jumped in the shower? Maybe I’ll let the answering machine get it. Then they ask if I would like to add another hour onto my 9 hour day. I blame the phone.

And then there’s the disturbance. I don’t like to be interrupted if I’m in the middle of a good book, or a good movie, or a chocolate brownie (one cannot disturb the worship of the chocolate brownie). My personal favorite is Me: “I’ve got 45 minutes to stop crying figure out why I’m so emotional before I head out the door to work…” and the phone rings. Well, I’m not answering it!!!

All phone experiences have not been bad. There have been friends that I have had great conversations with on the phone and there are great activities, shows and workshops that I’ve signed up for by the phone. And I’m used to a world where there was no internet and the phone kept us connected. And maybe in the future, and because I have the cutest phone ever, I will want to have great chats on the phone, but I am forever grateful of a world of Facebook and e-mail addresses.

Thursday, February 25, 2010

The Procrastinator

There is a loneliness in the morning. Something I’ve been able to sleep away until now. I have a dream or keep warm under the covers and by the time I start to get ready for work it’s gone away. I’ve always believed that when I'm in an emotion it will stay with me forever. So right now, I believe that this lonely feeling will come to me for the first two hours I’m awake for the rest of my life. It’s a long scary black tunnel.

Then I started to run this morning. I can now go around the block twice in less than 30 minutes. It used to take me 20 just to do the block once and I’d be tired out. In comparison this is day number five of not going back to sleep; I’m going to need practice waking up in the morning. Which means: I have no need to be scared that my mornings will feel like this for the rest of my life.

There is a loneliness when I use these extra hours and focus on a piece of writing. All of my stuff is a work-in-progress and this morning I couldn’t figure out what steps to take it to the next level. I wondered should I sit here and read it over and over to see if I can come up with the next step, or do I put it aside and read or listen to music or “play” with the piano and stop feeling like I’m wasting my time?

There are so many options that a piece of writing has that I haven’t learned to identify. Is it supposed to be a poem, a blog, a short story, a script? Do I spend hours structuring it or do I let it flow from my fingertips and fix it up later? Do I just pick one and work on it or do I put them all out in front of me and pick one that speaks to me on this occasion?

Already I’m a fine procrastinator. Again, by mind believes that this will be the ritual for every morning that I wake up early. Maybe it’s just another trick my brain is using; telling me that getting up this early is a waste of time and I’d be better off going back to sleep.

So, I write it, share it, be aware of it, and say that it will get better. It will make sense as time goes on.

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

Old Habits

So for two mornings, I’ve done it. I woke up and didn’t move to the couch and fall back to sleep, (even though I did drag the dolphin quilt out of the bedroom with me). How did I do it? Yesterday I ate my cereal, made coffee and jumped in the shower, then, instead of sitting on the couch to drink my coffee I sat at the computer. For the first hour I didn’t do much more than surf the net and listen to music, but I was able to go through my writing and organize my story ideas. This morning, I needed to go for my run, so I couldn’t get up and jump in the shower, so I sat in front of the window and drank my coffee. I could feel my head falling toward my shoulder but, eventually, I allowed myself to sit on the couch; my legs covered by the same dolphin quilt, and read my book.

Sleeping after I get out of bed is something I’ve done since high school. I figured it started with the milk I put over my cereal. I could get up fine but after breakfast I would lay on my bed waiting until the very last second that I could put off getting ready for school.

It took a break during university. I was energized by everything new. Once I left, I slept so much it scared myself and others.

After university I thought oh I’m working hard, tomorrow I will be fine. This lasted until both tourism related jobs ended in the winter and I would just sleep for hours. My life switched from searching for projects to be involved in, to searching for doctors.

When I moved to the hotel, I could sleep for the two days that I had off. And when the Doctors put me off work for a week to change medications I would sleep the whole week, waking up only long enough to eat dinner, get groceries and watch a few TV shows.

So much of my life has improved in the last year that I was wondering why I still slept so much in the morning. I was wondering if it was the medication, if it wasn’t working, if it had side effects, especially since my diet is so cleaned up.

What if it’s just old habits? What if it’s just easier to set the egg timer for an hour and dream away instead of facing the world? Maybe it was necessary when my world revolved around depression. But there are so many great things going on. Most days I like my work, my diet is better I have a bit of passion back about my writing. So maybe what I’ve started in the last two days will be something I can achieve over many days.

Maybe it’s just a matter of habits, maybe I can train myself. Maybe I’ll have more time in a day for real life.

Saturday, February 20, 2010

Someone Likes Flowers

Vancouver 2010

I’m not inspired by the Olympics this year; this year I’ve been inspired by the people around me. The people I see on TV and that I don’t know aren’t having the same effect. As a child I imagined that with an unexplainable miracle I would be the fastest or the strongest or the best. I was a sprinter in the summer Olympics because I knew I couldn’t run far. And during the winter Olympics I would jump around the living room pretending I was a figure skater.

(This year I started running, and in my first year of university I joined the Figure Skaters Association of Canada. I had very accomplished skaters teach me a few tricks as I would skate 2 or 3 days a week.)

This year I’m not that interested in what is going on in Vancouver. I feel that you can’t be defined as a person if all you do is train to shave hundreds of a second off your time while you try to make it down a hill faster than everyone else for one moment every four years.

Lately, I’ve been asking questions while trying to make up opinions about things. I wonder if I would I be one of those people who were out in the streets before the opening ceremonies protesting the Olympics, asking if the millions of dollars could go into something other than an Olympic city that is used for one week. Asking if the Olympics are really worth it and will it ever pay for itself? Is that mean? Does this point of view make me a bad person? A boring person? Does that make me wrong? Does it make me a hypocrite when I turn around and get excited when Sidney Crosby helps Canada beat Switzerland in a shoot out?

I’m not anti-athlete; I’m sponsoring a friend that I used to work with, on her marathon for a cure for blood cancer. I was moved when I read her write up, and the respect I have for her has stayed with me through the years and I really felt inspired. I know it’s as important to have athletic role models in the world as it is to have creative and artistic role models.

My favorite Olympic memories: the golden wins of our hockey teams.

My most prominent Olympic memory was watching Kurt Browning and Elvis Stojko skating without getting Olympic gold. Here were people that won competition after competition and were considered the best in the world and they couldn’t win gold at the Olympics. In my heart, it didn’t matter if they got gold in one 5 minute period in their life. For me it matters how a life is lived as a whole.

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

The Frog will take the Black Dress

I tell stories. That should go without saying, but I’m going somewhere with this. There are times when I use stories to ensure that” I win” Person One: “I was out drinking last night so I’m a little hung-over.” Me: “I went out drinking too, but my sister locked me out of MY apartment and I ended up spending the night in my friend’s apartment sleeping on the armchair, and I had to call my mom, who lived 100 miles away, from a phone booth at the park, to wake up my sister and let me in my apartment.” Story told, I win, and thank you very much.

It's not all about winning. I also want to ensure people that they’re not alone, or other people have been through this before. Only sometimes I have as much experience to share as a toad shopping in Bloomingdales.

Tonight it was babies; a woman at work has a relative having a baby, and I didn’t ask the basic questions: How is the baby related to you? Are you excited? How many fingers and toes will it have? She told me what the baby’s mom is going through and I told her one of the few baby stories I had. Which made me feel great about bringing this story to life, of these friends I’ve lost touch with, but it had no real relevance to the situation. I walked away saying “It’s time to go home Frosty Duncan…Just shut up for today.”

I also guessed my friend’s birthday wrong by three years and proceeded to tell her a birthday story of my own, trying to take the awkwardness away. Again, it was another story about me and I felt embarrassed after I told it.

Maybe this is a little glimpse into realizing the whole world doesn’t revolve around me. (Shhh don’t say that too loud, I might hear.) I’m single, live by myself, work at a work station that is almost a cubicle (thankfully it’s not) and spend a lot of time writing to myself. So %90 of the time, my world does revolve around me, but today, I realized other people can have their stories. (I’m also sure I’ve realized it before and will realize it again.) I shouldn't be in a competition to beat them or search my brain to find my own story to relate; the next person can have their story for themselves, it’ll be their story.

Well, unless I had to share the armchair with a frog in a spaghetti strap dress.

Tuesday, February 16, 2010


I’m wrapped up in this diet and wonder if I should be so obsessed with what I eat. I was watching a movie called “Away We Go” about a couple getting ready to have a baby. They were making promises to each other about what kind of parents they will be and the woman basically says… [Promise me if the baby is a girl, she’ll be allowed to eat whatever she wants and we won’t be obsessed with her weight.] Days like this I want that to be my mantra.

I eat pretty much the same thing every day. A bowl of cereal for breakfast; with coffee a few prunes a few hours later some frozen fruit and milk before I go to work. I have an orange on my break, salmon and veggies for lunch and an apple on my last break. When I come home from work I make some vegetarian creation for supper. Usually it works for me.

Sunday, I had a lot of trouble waking up. “It’s ok,” I thought. “I had a long week.”

Again, Monday, I had a hard time waking up. I wrote pages in my journal of all the things that could be making me sad and tired, it was Valentine’s Day, I put in a long week of work, I learned a lot and did a lot. I had this panic attack feeling that I’ll lose my position at work and I felt helpless. Then, I worried that maybe I was too much inside my own head.

I poured my coffee in my travel mug. “Once I get to work I’ll have my second cup of coffee and get to talk to people I’ll feel better,” I thought, but I didn’t. And this feeling went on until my lunch break. I admitted to my friend I was having a bad day. There are so many days that I don’t feel good that it takes a lot for me to say that. But shortly after my salmon and veggies, I started to feel better. I had energy and the whole world wasn’t going to collapse in on me. Wasn’t I eating enough?

On my last break, I snuck in a chocolate cookie (I keep them in my locker) along with the apple. And last night it was free range on the food. I topped the night off with brownies. I just bought myself new pans so that I could make brownies and cookies in my apartment. And I ate brownies; a no, no on a strict diet.

This morning I didn’t wake up any earlier, but the world isn’t collapsing. So it looks like it’s going to be a week of relaxing and taking care of myself, rather than pushing myself to lose weight and run.

Saturday, February 13, 2010

Butter and Cream

I just watched Julie and Julia. Julie was a 30 year old woman, a failed writer, she loved food and had a blog. I instantly connected with her and wanted to be beside her in her journey. (Did I mention her husband was adorable?) Julia was a woman late in her life, trying to define who she was and she loved food. I understood that too.

For a long time, I didn’t want to watch this movie. I was scared that Meryl Streep’s acting would be over the top and frustrating. I didn’t think anyone could write an interesting movie about a blog. Well they did. The movie flowed easily between the two women’s lives and Meryl Streep inspired joy as she spoke volumes with the expressions on her face and her tone of voice.

I was daunted at first when I realized how much butter and cream they would be using. I no longer wish I could have one more taste of something with cream and butter. For a moment, I had to convince myself not to be grossed out by it and just enjoy the imagery of the food. They even made boning a duck beautiful and I was inspired by the prospect of cooking what I love.

My butter and cream is olive oil. I can love and explore my food as much as some people embrace butter and cream and chocolate pie. Right now all I use is olive oil, but cookbooks are always asking for different kinds of flavored oils, and there are all sorts of vinegars I could play with. I’ve always thought that they were excessive but what if they bring great flavor and passion to what I’m cooking? What if I can love vegetables and oils as much as some people love butter and chicken?

Yesterday, I was looking at cookbooks. I would open up the vegetarian or vegan cookbook to see if they use a lot of dairy or gluten. That’s how I decide whether or not I’ll learn more from the book or if it will just frustrate me. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for. But today I want to look at books that inspire my cooking. Inspire my day.

Today, I feel interested and in love. With food.

Friday, February 12, 2010

More Than Freefall

So it’s been a few days since I wrote in the blog. But I was doing other things. I’m still sitting down at the piano for 20 minutes every second day. Being very careful not to be overwhelmed or discouraged. I’m writing in my journal and working on “Bridget” I have the first part understood and roughly outlined and considering “act two” where she dives into the world that her controversial decisions have brought her. It’s meant a commitment from me. I’ve needed to say Ok I believe in this project and I am willing to set aside time to watch it grow and it might turn into something that’s almost alive. It’s going to have an effect on me, about how I think of things and feel and process my own emotions and create them for the story.

I won’t be just sitting down writing freefall about whatever comes into my head.

One of the girls on my team at work is on vacation, which means we’ve taken on some of the things she would usually do. She would contact people and I would not ask any questions (although listening and taking mental notes) and get the other stuff done. I believe to be a more active part of this team and prove I’m committed (and so I don’t feel like a knob when she’s not around and people ask, “well what would ‘she’ do?”) I need to make sure I’m learning from her. That’s just another commitment to me.

I had the broken coffee morning; one of those days where the water goes through the machine and changes colour, but doesn’t soak up the caffeine. I guess, coffee is the only way I function. So it was a pretty wasted morning, I was so out of it. When I went for a jog, I only made it around the block once and my body felt gross and tired. I saved the day by making a second batch before I left for work so that was ok. But I really can’t function without coffee.

And I got gifts from work. I received some gift certificates for agent of the month from my team lead. It’s nice to be appreciated and I know I’ve come a long way from the girl who was fired (and then reluctantly allowed to stay) once a month at my old job.

Thursday, February 11, 2010

Grilled Salad

1 Bunch Asparagus Grilled
1 Bunch Green Onion Grilled
1 Red Pepper Grilled
1 Tomato
¾ Can Black Beans
Juice from ½ Lemon
1 tbsp Olive Oil

Chop the Asparagus, Green Onion (just the bottom part), Red Pepper, Tomato, and put in bowel. Add Beans, Lemon Juice, Olive Oil, and Pepper. Mix up, Serve over Spinach. Yummy.

Monday, February 8, 2010

The Spark

In University I took a theatre workshop that pushed me to the limit. I ended the final night terrified and crying. It made me look at myself and my fears in a way I wasn’t expecting. How was I supposed to know a series of games would affect me like that? There was one exercise where we were supposed to jump up in the air from the squatting position. But we weren’t supposed to just jump, we were supposed to wait and listen to our bodies, and our bodies would tell us when to jump. We were to wait for “the spark.” I rolled my eyes internally, I knew whatever I did, I would need to tell my body to do it. There was no waiting for a spark. There was no follow your heart, and any gut instincts I had were telling me to curl up in a ball and make it all stop. Any plans I had that year were calculated, considered, weighed and pushed along. Although I was suffering from some sort of depression, (I didn’t label it at that time) I knew that if I waited for the spark I would still be there squatting there at the end of the workshop.

Tonight, I’m struck by the humor of how that moment could have gone. They would have to go on with the workshop as I sat there: “Don’t worry about me, keep going… just waiting for the spark.”

When I started writing this blog, I must have been hit by “the spark.” I was up at six and I was writing and reading and scrapping around the house looking for things to do. That spark has cooled a bit since then. Yesterday morning (today was an event of its own), saw me awake before the alarm went off, I moved out to the couch, set the egg timer for an hour. I slept for the full hour and the alarm woke me up after a long dream.

I’m good at sleeping. Sleeping makes me feel warm and connected and my dreams are always an interesting story.

Instead of being as excited by my writing as last week, and this Saturday, I’m frightened by it. I see all the bad habits I’ve learned over the years and know it will take a shift in my planning and ideas of what a good story is to make my writing better.

So now, I have to look at the theatre lesson, excluding the fact that some mornings I may just be exhausted and want to sleep in, I need to be that spark. I know I can be up early in the morning and accomplish reading and writing and music. My aim is to strive for it. My partners in this will be a nice strong cup of coffee, my journal, an Ondaatje book, my piano, maybe some fresh air on the mornings I don’t run and a shot of determination. Hopefully, once I realize that it feels just as good to accomplish things as it does to dream of them, the spark will come back to me.

Sunday, February 7, 2010

No Pressure

You know what? Sometimes I just need to relax. Not worry about how much I’m missing because I don’t feel good or worry that I should be writing a blog rather than watching So You Think You Can Dance. So tonight is one of those nights. No pressure.

Saturday, February 6, 2010

By Showing Up; I asked my Question

When I started taking this writing workshop I wanted to meet writers in B’town. I wanted to hear what other people were writing about and expand my craft. I wanted to know what came next and I wanted to stop feeling stumped. I had the begging middle and end of one story done and had started to work on the other. The other, “Bridget” has an outline with a couple characters in what can be called a “Shitty First Draft” (Anne Lamott Bird By Bird). I was just aimlessly running characters and images into each other. I knew it needed more, but I didn’t know what came next.

A few years ago, I walked into Frog Hollow (I just googled Frog Hollow and it closed in August, that makes me sad) in search of a certain book about writing. I didn’t have a title or an author, but I needed a reference about how to write a book. There were things that were touched on in university that I wanted to know more about. I could write pages and pages of writing (I didn’t say it was good, just that I could put down a lot of words and sentences on a page.) But I couldn’t figure out how to structure it. I picked up a copy of the “Gotham Writers Workshop Writing Fiction” and sighed. This was what I want, the book that outlined things like plot, theme and dramatic question.”

The lady working at Frog Hollow held a copy of “Bird by Bird” and said “if you really want to write, read this, it is great inspiration.”
“I’ve got enough inspiration,” I said “I need to know how to write. I needed to know where to place things and what goes where.” Yes, I do own a copy of Bird by Bird, 5 years later…

Today, Nina Munteau started the class by telling us that we could buy her book about writing. Of course my inner dialogue had something to say about that. “I don’t need another book to tell me about plot and theme and point of view.” I said this about Elisabeth Hasselbecks book to, I looked at my mom and said “I’ve been dealing with food for more than 15 years, what is her book going to tell me that I don’t already know.”

Luckily, a little time convinces me that I should rethink being stubborn and pig headed. I did buy Elisabeth’s book and cleaned out my diet to a point where I’m healthier than ever. And, as I was listening to Nina speak today she told us to relate what she said to a piece we were working on. I started to put pieces together: what I think is the whole story is just the introduction, there’s got to be a whole lot more information, we need to see more than this character get hurt, we also need to see her recover from it and survive.”

I asked myself (as she was holding up many different books about writing and quoting all these references) how I could believe that because I have read five books about writing and have a 3 year degree that involved a lot of writing: I didn’t need another person’s angle, ideas and inspiration about writing.

Then she brought out the archetypes; Hero, mentor, herald, shadow and so on, and I started to put each archetypes to the characters I was writing. "Bridget," a story that had stumped me; now had life again.

I also learned, I need not be so stubborn.

So I walked out with her book and can’t wait to get into it and find time to write more.

Again, I’m excited about writing.

Friday, February 5, 2010


I managed to make it through Thursday with little more than complaints to people that I was feeling gross, and lunch seemed to put an end to the headaches and the numbness and made me refreshed. When I got home, by myself, the depression part kicked in. I had to choose between Survivor and FlashForward and it seemed like the hardest decision to make even though it was just a TV show. I chose FlashForward by the way. And then I realized that I was all by myself and I was in B’town and I wasn’t making films or getting writing published or hanging out with my city friends that are doing what I’m not. I can’t even drive a car to get to the city and that I had pretty much failed up to this point. There was a sadness that swept over me.

I thought that I was crazy to just openly share this much information with people. I thought that someone; somewhere would use it against me and that I should stop writing all together. That someone would sit down beside and say that we have all this in common, but was just regurgitating what they had read. I thought that other people would find success in their life but that it was too late for me. That this blog was just as superficial as a Kardashian TV show and how dare I think I have something to offer? I was hungry too I wanted to eat and ended up nibbling on random fruits and cereals I had in the kitchen. I went to bed early, this way I could shut my brain off.

I slept in Friday morning and went out for groceries with my parents. I had the worse time putting sentences together. Now all I want to do is nap. So I took a very warm bath, soaked in salt and minerals from the Dead Sea. Apparently, this will help pull out toxins in your body, and it feels pretty good too.

So it was a good day to watch a movie.

Thursday, February 4, 2010

Research First, Then eat.

Well, in my drive to find new ways to include more fat in my diet, I hit a stumbling block. Last night I had a tablespoon of cashew butter. It was delicious. But this morning the world was a little foggy. I had trouble getting up after the alarm went off and after two weeks of wanting to write or read in the morning I seemed trapped on the couch looking at the ceiling. I wasn’t asleep, but I wasn’t conscious enough to function.

I didn’t think too much of it at first, yesterday was a busy day and maybe my brain needed a break. But then I started to move around and realized I had a definite headache, and while I was running I noticed my head hurt and I felt foggy. I even felt sick as I headed home. I thought about all the things I ate last night. My first thought was the balsamic vinegar, but I’ve eaten it a few times and there’s hasn't been a problem with it.

That left the Nuts to You Cashew butter. Did I mention: “Yum?” So while I was running around the block, I vowed to come back to the apartment and look the company up. When, oh, when will I research first and then eat?

There’s virtually no information about this company on the web. According to one interview the president of the company doesn’t even have an e-mail address and only recently started faxing. On the plus side, there’s no testimonials stating how sick anyone was after eating their nut butter, on the minus side there’s no testimonials saying it’s dairy and gluten free. In fact, there is one page listing a whole bunch of nut companies, including Nuts to You and none of the Nuts to You butters make it on the gluten and dairy free list. SO there’s my answer. 3-4 days of sulking around, battling a head ach and brain fog because of a tablespoon of cashews. Research first, then eat.

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Working on What Brings it all Together

Avocado Salad on the Fly

½ an onion chopped
1 clove garlic chopped
Fry in 1tbsp olive oil

1 avocado chopped
½ red pepper chopped
½ yellow pepper chopped
1 can black beans
2 tomatoes chopped
Mix everything together with 1 tbsp balsamic vinegar
(that’s what I’m working on, one flavor to bring it together, I liked it though)

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

Realizing January

So, yesterday was a day of realizations. I realized there were a lot of changes in my life this month, and I participated in my life not as a person with depression, but by reaching out, and starting to function as a human being. I also realized that some of my friends now know stuff about me, before I tell them, ‘cause they’ve read my blog. That was a little scary.

This month there were friends at work, who left, who were not ready to leave. People I thought I’d have more time with. People who I share stories with, who were there for me when I was having rough times, or who just knew how to make us laugh when the hours were getting long.

I participated in the community, taking the writing workshop and seeing people who were interested in writing as well. And I was brave enough to make connections with some, not to see them as competition, but as companions, people who were doing different things than I was and I could learn from them, as well as the teacher. And I was brave enough to learn about me and come closer to finding my voice as a writer and be more critical when reviewing writing and films.

It was my grandmothers 80th birthday this January. Because of my work schedule I was able to go to her party. I went out and bought her gifts that meant something to me, pieces of me that I could share with her; my favorite book (The English Patient) a stuffed hedgehog, a cute little heart necklace, and so on.

Usually I tell people not to worry about me, and they buy me salmon to fry up, or I bring the good old can of Chili. Either way, I’m separated from the others. “She doesn’t eat what others eat because She’s different.” I always felt like my food wasn’t good enough to share. For my grammys birthday, I made a quinoa salad, and shared it with the family. They said they liked it, and I brought home an empty salad bowl. I felt good about it.

I also connected to people outside of work. Since December I’ve had two people over to my apartment to chill out and talk and I’ve been reaching out to old friends and saying: “Do you wanna go for coffee or something?” Small steps I guess.
That’s just a taste of this month. I look forward to participating in February as well.