Friday the 13th, lets shout!

Wooo.  Its Friday (TGIF!) but, but, its also the 13th.  And you know what that means.  It means, wait a second, what does it mean?  As far back as I can remember we’ve had this fear of Friday the 13th and I’m not quite sure where it stems from.

I know we’ve had alot of superstition about the number 13 and its unlucky properties even to the point where buildings are built without a 13th floor.  [But do the people on the 14th floor know that they’re really residing on the 13th floor, even though their suite number starts with a 14? Or are they in denial?]  But why is there this hate about Friday.  Isnt Friday when good things happen?  You’re done work for the week, you’ve probably got a party that night, the weekend looms like a wide open road with poppies smiling from the sides, or maybe it looms ahead packed with activities that make you want to shout [you know you make me want to …] So again, why the hate?

Id like to say that I dont believe in all these ridiculous things, but I have been swept with the popular wave and have spent a better part of my life dreading Friday the 13th’s.  However, over time the dread has dulled to slight wary.  I dont dread the day as much but I caution Nic to be extra careful, I watch the kids a little more while they play and wrestle each other to the ground, I try to be more careful myself.  But mostly I wish the day were over already so I can begin my weekend that’s packed with activities that it makes me want to shout [kick my heels up and …]

If you’ve now got the song stuck in your head, you are not to blame me, it is Friday the 13th, you should have been more wary. [yeah, yeah, yeah,  yeah …]

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Rain reign

A while ago, Nic and I thought long and hard about moving.  About picking up bag, baggage [and more bags and more baggage] and starting our lives afresh.  In the wilds of British Columbia.  Ok, not so much wilds, more around established cities because Im just not good with animals.  We figured we were young, our kids were young, they’d bounce wherever we set them down, everything would be good.

And then- someone we know [not family or friend, or even acquaintance, just someone who crosses our horizon ever so rarely] told us that the suicide rate in British Columbia is high.  Its the furthest point on the west coast, there is no where else to run to from there and it rains all the time making you want to jump off the very beautiful cliffs that surround the place [apparently].  He told us this very matter-of-factly and we very matter-of-factly told him back that we were not running away from anything [we were kinda, but thats another story] and we were not the type to just off ourselves because of a bit of rain.  He accepted that and waltzed off into the sunset.

Things happened.  Things didnt work out.  We did not pick up our lives and move to British Columbia. Seasons changed.

This spring has been one for rain, it has been raining for as long as I can remember, the weather is damp, the roads are damp, the walls smell mildewy, the worms are up and about and stinking up the place, its grimy and Im just not happy.

In fact, Im about ready to off myself.

Im sure we’d never be able to adjust to the weather in BC, we’re barely civil to each other when we have to shovel snow.  Sometimes I wonder what it would have been like if we had moved, but most of the time, especially on days like this- Im glad we didnt. Stupid rain.

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