Relief... or, It's About Bloody Time

The past few months in Manizales have looked mostly like this:

On some days, it was as though the fog and rain dials were being adjusted, but every other type of weather dial remained firmly in the OFF position. Rain and fog. Fog and rain.

Then last weekend, something absolutely glorious happened:

I'm sure you can imagine that sunshine after months of cold and wet is deliciously therapeutic.

Hopefully this will start happening on a more regular basis now - I didn't want to have to start getting jealous Canadian weather. That would just be bizarre.

Traitor

Not a great day, frankly. The dull ache/tingling feeling in my shoulder that I have been trying to ignore for the past two weeks decided that today was the day to make itself Ignorable-No-Longer. By the time I got to the gym tonight at 7:30 the pins and needles had progressed down my arm into my hand, and pain was not far behind.

Fortunately, the gym has an on-site sports physician who was able to see me right away. Treatment: no more shoulder work in the immediate future, ice after all exercise, heat every night, pain meds and anti-inflammatories (in capsule form for now, but injections are the next step if this doesn't work) and physical therapy starting ASAP. We barely do any shoulder work - how did this happen?

Of course, the pain isn't the problem. The tingling is annoying, but that's not the real problem, either. The real problem is what this does to my mental state. It would not be an understatement to say that I am hyper-vigilant about my health. I treat my body well - I feed it good things, and exercise it regularly. I should feel good. And gym time is my therapy; it is far more reassuring than talking to a psychologist because every workout is evidence that my body is well. A successful workout is almost as comforting as good blood results. It is not supposed to damage my body, and any deviation from FEELING GOOD tends to throw me into a bit of a panic.

Even if it is logical that I have been pushing myself and have tensed/pinched something as a result, there is still a part of my mind that wonders...is exercise really the cause of this, or am I more susceptible because something else is going on in my body that I don't know about yet? 

I know that it is hard to understand why this would bother me so much. I know that the problem seems obvious, and therefore silly to worry about. I know that I can't let fear dominate my reaction to everything relating to my body/health (or any other area of my life, actually). Most days, all this logic and sense keeps me in line, however today has been an exception.

Tomorrow will be better. Bring on the Dolonime.

I've Left Canada and I Can't Get back!

Alright, so I'm not lying on my back in the bathroom crushed under the weight of my own walker, but when it comes to Decision Time, I feel almost as helpless as that little old lady in the LifeCall Commercial. (Please say you remember those adverts!)

For the literal minded, I concede that there is nothing physically preventing me from moving back to Canada. I could go, but just because a plane will take me there doesn't mean the move is a logical and financially viable idea. Since I've thought of almost nothing else for the last few weeks, I feel fully prepared to outline my arguments, however after careful consideration I have decided that a visual representation will be more effective.

If I move to Canada, this is more or less how I imagine things will look:

Now...in case for some reason you can't decipher what's going on here, I will break it down for you in a way that doesn't require my spending another hour pissing around on Gliffy.

CONS

• I live in a box
• This is because I have no job, and therefore no income
• The box is a mess because I have no cleaning lady
• The box is also a mess because I have no job so I just stay at home and make more messes
• I am alone in the box because I don't know anyone except my sister and her boyfriend, who are both at work...also, they can't stand the mess
• My parents pay the rent and the bills because I have no job
• So I'm 31, poor, and still dependent on my (kind, generous, amazing) parents who, while they love me, are frustrated because I won't just take a job as someones secretary "to tide myself over" though I'm pretty sure I'm not even qualified to do that

PROS

• I don't have to go to work every day! 

Ha ha. Okay, the real pros:

• Not far from the box are several members of my immediate and extended family
• I have a bathtub
• Stick-me doesn't have to wear eighteen layers to keep warm inside the box 

Of course it is possible that I am exaggerating the difficulty in finding employment as a teacher in B.C. This article doesn't seem to think the situation is so dire, as long as you are a specialized teacher or are willing to relocate to the sticks...which I'm not.

Now, I know you were looking forward to seeing my Stay-in-Manizales illustration, but circumstances have prevented me from creating one. Here is a Manizales CON for your consideration: it hasn't stopped raining here in weeks. The weather report says the daily high is around 16 - 18 degrees, but they mean for the 10-minute period every morning when the sun deigns to put in an appearance. Lows are 10 - 12 degrees, sometimes colder at night, and may I please remind you that heating of the air to keep people comfortable does not really exist as a concept here. Just put on another sweater. Or, if you are me, crawl into bed at 7:00pm and refuse to get out (or to draw any more pictures) - on principle. It's just too bloody cold to do anything, end of story, and it's hard to think of anything nice to say when I can't feel my nose.

So the staying arguments will have to wait. Not for too long though - Decision Day is the 13th of December. I am certain only of one thing: when I left Canada five years ago, I had no idea it would be this complicated to get back.

Home is Where Your Stuff Is

So, I moved to a new apartment a couple of weeks ago. The exact reasons for the move are too long and silly to be recounted here, so I will skip to the important bit:  I have left my beloved, bright, open-concept (damp, freezing cold, cramped kitchen, studio-style) apartment for something that I feel has a similar energy, minus the lime green and plus a few bedrooms.

After a quick calculation, I reckon this is my 11th 'home' in the last 5 years, not counting interim months spent at my parents' place over summers. That's not as bad as during the Uni years, but it's enough. All part of the lifestyle choice, of course, but there is nothing to make you loathe moving like having to do it over and over. As part of my resettlement deal, at least, I was spared the task of actually carrying anything myself, though I did feel a pang of guilt as I watched the two movers haul my every personal belonging up the five and a half floors to my new place.

Apartment hunting is sort of a bizarre experience here. Not because the places are any worse than anywhere else I've looked -  I'm sure horrendous apartments are an international phenomenon - but because the outsides of the buildings are particularly deceptive.  



Any or every one of these unappealing boxes might secretly be  harbouring spacious, beautiful, modern apartments but from the outside...there is no point in even hazarding a guess.



For example, this is a relatively new building:

It looks okay, right? There is no way you can tell by looking at this building that on the inside there are entire apartments with no windows looking onto...outside, where every single window displays a view of a very cozily located wall. It would be like living in a ceramic-tiled cave.

Of course it's difficult to escape this interior window business altogether, as it seems to be a very common design feature here. My own bedroom window looks out onto someone else's front door. Eeek.

This arrangement is especially entertaining on the central stairway, where I walk through half a dozen different conversations on my way up or down. And you hear things. Laughing, coughing, MSN messaging, dish washing...everything.



Perhaps because of the lack of sound barrier (virtually every room in my apartment has a window looking out onto this echo-y sound vortex) everyone has been quiet and respectful, for which I am infinitely grateful, though I don't doubt the day will arrive when someone has a party and I will get all uptight and gringa about the disturbance.

For now though, it feels like a good fit.



Smile

Blood results are good. Eight months down, 52 more to go!