By Lucy

There’s a term we nerds use called “fridge logic”. It’s the sort of leap in logic you have late at night, when you’re tired enough to be loopy, staring into the fridge for a snack before bed.

Late at night, Simonetta texted me; the guests coming on Thursday are from Canada. Alberta, specifically. They have a German sort of name, which reminded me of the Mennonites.

I can’t sleep. I am too tired and sore to jog. I feel dreadful. I’m pretty sure it’s just stress cuz I’m broke. Alas, when the only cure is money! Still, there’s nothing to do but surrender to the inevitable march of time. The bike will sell. My income tax will come in. I will be fine.

That being said, I’ve gotten my plank up to one minute.

I am dehydrated as well, possibly. I think, ironically, our food is so low sodium that I need to supplement my intake. I’ve been having a mug of this “cup of soup” packets Simo has daily and that seems to help.

I feel skinny. I don’t know if that makes any sense, cuz I’ve always been slender. I didn’t really notice when I was putting on the weight from the steroids; I was too wacked out from drugs and stress, not to mention I was recovering from my lowest of 90 pounds. As you can see on the Cancer page, I basically looked like a skeleton. I have no specific goals for weight loss; my real goal is to get back to having a six pack and being able to bench 80 pounds again. But I really notice it now, when my hand drifts across my collar bone and I can feel it right under my skin like the edge of a knife. I feel sort of glad to have this tangible sign that my weight is coming back under my control, and also slightly nervous that I’m going to end up being a skeleton again.

I woke up at 3. The guest from Alberta was still kicking around my head.

Where was Opa from? It’s one of those things you take from granted as a kid, my grandparents are from X location and that’s all you need to know. I’d had a mental image of him as from Alberta, for no real reason.

I started with his obituary. I was temporarily stunned to be reminded that he died early in 2019. Grammie died in the middle of 2020, and Oma died at the tale end of 2023. Lost all my grandparents in the space for 4 years.

But no birthplace.

I kept refining the search until I found his parents, Frank and Agatha. One was from Steinbach and the other from Plum Coulee. Southern Manitoba.

Southern Manitoba is one of those places where a lot of things happened 200 years ago and now it’s a lot of nothing.

Thunder Bay was the furthest the British went for a long time, because it could be “easily” reached by canoe. Even these days, much of Northern Ontario defies taming. The British simply paid indigenous trappers to bring them furs. What is now Manitoba was known as the Red River Settlement, as the Red River bisects the province as it heads north to Lake Winnipeg. It was full of Metis, descendants of French and Indigenous heritage who belonged fully to neither group, who have their own distinct culture.

When the newly formed Canadian government “bought” the land that was Manitoba in the 1860’s, they started trying to get it settled by anyone who wasn’t Metis (or American). One of those ethnic groups was the Mennonites, fleeing the draft in Russia. And then there was the Red River Rebellion and Lois Riel… Lois Riel day is February 17th, actually.

There’s a lot of blood in the soil there, but my family has nothing to do with that. One of the central tenants of Mennonites is the refusal of the sword, which made it sort of ironic when Opa ran away from the family farm to join the military. I suppose there is something to be said about hostile colonization, but they weren’t good British citizens taking the land from the savages. They were just fleeing persecution.

Still, it wouldn’t have been automatic for me to think Steinbach. There are little Mennonite settlements everywhere, like near Iron Bridge or St Jacobs.

I wasn’t falling asleep now!

I discovered my great-grandfather was buried in MacGregor, near the highway. I drove past him last year and didn’t even know. Did any of my family live there still?

My great aunt Helen did, until she died in 2017. Curiously, she was part of triplets. Surviving triplets would be rare for the 1940’s, that’s impressive. Why did no one mention that?

Two of Opa’s brothers and one of his sisters is still alive. I should try to contact them.

There’s a shorthand I gained from a video game called “knots”, where two strands of life tangle. This research was very knotty. I noticed the Mennonites used to speak Plautdietsch, which was something Jan mentioned he spoke, from his mother’s side. Am I related to Jan? Well, if I am, it’s like 400 years back, not worth worrying about. Still.

Or Ukraine. The Mennonites in my family were in Ukraine before Manitoba. Does that make Ukraine part of my story?

And, of course, the fact that I chose to move to Thunder Bay, which is bringing me back towards Manitoba. Like there is some ancestral call in my genes drawing me towards my ancestors.

You know, it’s funny; I don’t care for family. Blood means nothing to me. My mother was always chasing it for some sense of belonging or affection, but you can’t make people like you just because you share some genetics. I’d had more charity from random people in New Zealand than my family. And yet… Well, there is no denying family in your history. Genes and family history affect us whether we want them to or not. I’m not so blind I can’t see.

I wonder about that road trip we took out west as a kid. No way we drove past Steinbach without my mother stopping to look at the graves, but I don’t remember it being mentioned since. Did she find what she was looking for in those tea leaves?

I message Kai about it. He’s also of Mennonite ancestry, so we’re probably third cousins or something. I suggested we go on a road trip to Steinbach and he wasn’t totally against it.

I am starting to get bored here, now that I know I’ve got another 4 weeks and change here. My biggest problem is that I only have the one screen, so I can’t multitask. Jeremy keeps sending me updates for his progress on the game… I’m itching to jump in and start modelling (3D modelling), but of course the tablet would probably burst into flames if I even tried to download Blender. I need my tower.

The chickens have developed a hilarious new habit of jumping on my back when I bend over to open the food bin. They better stop that quick!

Thursday morning was tackling the weeding, since there were no guests to tidy up after. Simonetta was going to be in a meeting from 9 ’til 1, and then she was leaving immediately for Christchurch. She told me if she wasn’t back by 6, to just make myself dinner, but then she set me up with leftovers anyway.

I got most of the area around the septic tank weeded again. Didn’t I just do this? Yes, over 2 months ago, before I left, but it feels like yesterday. Around noon I called it a day; too hot in the noon sun.

The guests showed up around 3, in two cars, curiously. When I hailed the main man and commented how glad I was to see another Canadian, he asked questioned how I knew he was Canadian.

You have to give an address for your credit card… duh…

I went to let the chickens out. “How do you get them back inside?” He asked me, slightly mockingly.

“They just go back on their own at sunset.”

“Oh, do they? We never let ours out, just kept them on pellets and egg production.”

You sound like an A plus farmer, sir. Especially considering he’s published a few articles about “regenerative” and “back to nature” farming.

They request to see the inside of the house. What are the rules for this? Simonetta usually expects to be paid for tours, but I’m just happy to show off. I let them in the front door and show them the sitting room and dining room, give them my little spiel that I’ve been working on.

“Any ghosts?” The man asks with a chuckle.

As if on cue, the front door unlatches itself and swings open.

“Not that we know of!” I say cheerfully. It’s just me that’s haunted.

I putter around a bit; empty the compost bin, tidy the kitchen. Around 4 I go to finish weeding the septic tank, as the shade has come back around again. The guests ask lots of questions about the house and property. When they find out I’m a woofer, they mention they were looking into getting woofers as well, but they end the conversation and walk away before I can suggest woofing for them. Well, I suppose I don’t want to work for such an A-list farmer anyway.

I take Earl for my run like usual. The sheep are back in the paddock, but I grab the leash from inside and lash her to my waist. I’m not to sure what the commands are for a sheep dog, but she does obey “heel”. We get through the run without incident. I am exhuasted.

Simo left me old roast beef, gravy, and sugar snap peas. I grab a couple of potatoes and make myself some mashed potatoes. Gary would be happy.

Around 7:30, I decide to go have a shower. Then I discover I’m out of gas; the water heater runs on a small propane tank like a BBQ. What looks like the spare tank is definitely empty. Now what?

Simo arrives as I’m questioning my options. Yep, that’s definitely the spare tank, not put back where it aught to go to be refilled. Ah well, I’ve cooked dinner. I grab the tank for my cooker and bring it around to the back. Too much effort for a shower!

On Friday, the Canadian guests take forever to leave. We’ve had a spate of people who take “10 o’clock check out” as a suggestion. They don’t leave until 10:40. Way to represent, guys!

It’s supposed to rain hard and cool off and it’s already rained a bit. We have guests everywhere, which means topping up the firelighters, kindling and firewood, as guests will want a fire. I also have to mow the little lawn by the hut, because it is hilariously shaggy and guests will complain. There is a small, battery powered mower. So I drag the thing down there with the spare battery, having never used a lawn mower before in my life, and cut the grass, stopping every 30 second to clear the wet grass that’s clogging up the blade. I keep having flashbacks to the videos of “War Amps” my parents made me watch. “If you ever stick your hand into a lawn mower, you’ll end up like these kids”.

A little fantail stopped on a branch next to me, within 3 feet of me, while I was walking across the yard. Totally unafraid, even though Earl was with me.

Eventually it gets done, just in time for the heavens to open up and soak me. In the time it takes me to haul the mower back to its spot in the garage, the water starts running in little rivulets across the yard.

While tidying the kitchen, me and Simo have a good laugh. She tells me about her old sheep dog, Chief. Chief was a compulsive herder, like Earl, but he’d also try to herd the chickens whereas Earl doesn’t. One day Gary got home and discovered Chief holding a live chicken in his mouth. When Gary chased him to rescue the chicken, Chief ran behind the building, buried the live chicken, and then sat on the freshly replaced dirt with a “who, me?” expression.

We were also discussing Italian again, as I was refilling the jars of penne. I commented how penne must come from penna, for a pen, and she says that accurate but actually penna means feather. Because pens used to be quills, made from feathers!

Now that school has started again, occasionally she switches to French, Spanish, Italian or German to tell a story. I can keep up with all of them except Spanish, although les mots amis will get you pretty far. Si, vero and va bene. Although in English I prefer “alrighty then”, but I don’t think “va bene quindi” is the right translation for that. I’ll keep working on it.

Since it was so cold and rainy, I made a fire. A guest left behind a hot chocolate (drinking cocoa) sachet, so after dinner I made myself a mug of cocoa and toasted the baking apple over the fire. It was a nice little bedtime snack.

I also moved the furniture around. Having the desk adjacent to the door is punishing when it’s cold out, as there is quite a draft. I pushed the bed into the other bed to make a queen sized bed, and turned the desk so it’s under the window and not next to the door. It’s not perfect, but it’s fine for 4 weeks.

I had Saturday and Sunday off, as is the new normal. Played Rimworld, did my laundry, cleaned out my pile of teabags. I took the liner out of my jacket and my helmet for a wash. I know some people wash their liner every single ride they go on, but I don’t see a point; I don’t sweat much.

Gary’s son was out moving the hay bales around the paddock for some reason. They’re now in a neat line at the end.

My old Rimworld file was boring; mostly female colonists, so no one was hooking up, all baseliners except for my one vampire sanguophage. I picked “brutality” for my new run, which means a single colonist, who arrives with nothing, not even clothes. I picked an ascetic, which means she enjoys raw food and sleeping on the ground, which is a good start for a run where she will have only those options for a while! She also ended up only being 13, which I didn’t notice at first because the game treats everyone over 13 as an adult, except for romantic relationships, so it wasn’t noteworthy. My colonist was quickly joined by a 4 year old just wandering the wilderness! I know it’s just the RNG, but I always rescue kids, even waster kids. Like I’m starting up Little Lamplight or something.

I confirmed Kai’s family is from Carmen, which is fairly close to mine. No relation I can see (yet), but it’s possible our families were friends. Isn’t that wild? What are the mathematical odds for two people to meet in Toronto, nevermind how many Mennonites there are. And you might say “well obviously, the two of you run in similar circles”, but you know how I met Kai? On Damocles’ (a British nerd) Discord server, totally randomly.

Kelly helped me put in an order for Chemist Warehouse, because Simo doesn’t seem to be in a rush to go there and I need creatine and Metamucil!

There’s been a lot of low flying planes lately. According to the plane app, it’s the local airplane club. Considering that when I got here, Simo told a story about a friend of Gary’s who had his license revoked for crashing into Christchurch airport not once but twice, they make me nervous!

There’s also been some increasing tensions with China. Some Chinese warships went into international waters between Australia and New Zealand and started conducting live fire exercises. They notified everyone at the last possible minute and some commercial flights had to be hastily diverted while in the air. I can only imagine how terrifying it was to be on one of those flights; I’m glad my flight out of Auckland goes right to BC.

We had a sudden influx of guests. There’s some concert in Christchurch at Hagley Park, so every accommodation place is sold out. People were literally driving down the driveway and knocking on the door to ask if we had any rooms. Simo was put out by it; she was dressed casually and didn’t like that guests had seen her in informal clothes.

Most of them showed up around 7-8 PM, when she was winding down for bed and trying to cook dinner. I tried and failed to convince Gary to cook for us (just burgers, but she makes homemade patties and I wouldn’t want to ruin them) and she got really annoyed that no one took over cooking while she was busy and decided against eating and wouldn’t join us at the table.

“So many people have shown up, I’m waiting for Mary and the donkey!” Simo exclaimed.

“Well, no manger, but at least we do have a stable.” I replied, somewhat cheekily, trying to diffuse the situation.

“Yes, I’ll tell the next set of guests the stables are available.” She said dryly.

The general circulation of viruses is also making me nervous. Bird flu is endemic in dairy cows and readily switching from birds to cows to cats and back again, although no human-to-human transmission yet. Yet. I noticed some Soroptimists complaining about having the “100 day cough”, which is a nickname for pertussis or whooping cough, which everyone should be vaccinated against. It’s possible they lapsed in vaccination by accident or that they are just so old/ infirm they caught it anyway, but I’ve made a note of who had it as a potential anti-vaxxer, just in case. I’d say it would be nice to hide in NZ from the next pandemic, but sadly seafaring birds would carry the flu to NZ anyway, so there will be no hiding from this one.

Sunday was another cool day, although the sun came out at least. I offered to help with the changeovers, but Kelly shooed me away and ordered me to enjoy my day off.

The guests from the Granary were moving to the Stablehand cuz they wanted to stay another night. What a compliment!

I feel a bit better. I got some better sleep. I’ve cancelled my 5K trainer, cuz the sub was going to renew on the 28th and I’m battening down the hatches and wasn’t going to finish the course before then. Maybe I’ll just have to resign myself to 2 days between jogs now.

There was a chicken laying on its back with its legs up in the air when I went to feed them. I assumed it was dead, but when I went to pick it up, it revived, flapping and squawking. I let it go and it ran off to get breakfast.

I took Earl out for a job again, but about a third of the way thru I noticed her lagging way behind me and limping. I took her up to Kelly, who couldn’t find a cut or broken bone, but she’s definitely hurting in some way.

In case you were wondering what Earl looks like in action. Huskies can be fast and agile, but can be hard to motivate. Collies have the need for speed and are always 110% ready to go!

I am thinking I’ll adopt a collie when I buy a house. Collies end up at shelters a lot; because of their compulsive herding, they have a tendency to nip small children. I might loan the dog out to farmers when I’m out of town so it can get some exercise and herding out of its system.

Too Much Information time! I’ve been debating swapping out my IUD’s. I have a copper IUD. I prefer IUD’s for a few simple reasons; they’re cheap (in Canada, about 90$ to implant one), and you implant it and forget about it for years and it just keeps doing its thing. I prefer the copper ones for a few complicated reasons, some emotional. The copper IUD has no real expiry date and doctors now say you can leave them in for up to 10 years, but the hormonal ones run out of hormones after 5. None of my tumors have been sensitive to estrogen (I insisted on getting them tested so I know it for a fact) but there is always the spectre of it. There was also the fact that I was attempting IVF and the copper IUD can be kept in until embryo implantation, while the hormonal ones need to come out for accuracy of tests and correct dosing of the drugs, which was only a problem in my particular set of circumstances. The last reason is that it can entirely get rid of your period, which made me anxious when I had an active sex life. That’s how Josh ended up with his kid, actually. If you’re going to expel the IUD it usually happens within the first month after implantation, so his baby mama got pregnant right away but didn’t question her lack of periods because of the IUD (and she was a bigger girl, so her belly wasn’t noticed either).

Those are no longer concerns for me, or at least they are concerns I think are acceptable trade-offs. I’m not sexually active, but I would prefer peace of mind in case a romance does happen or, let’s be real, in case I get assaulted. 90 bucks, an hour at the doctor’s office, and tada! No chance of pregnancy for 5 years. But copper IUD’s also increase pain and bleeding during periods, and I was thinking if I’m going to spend 3 or 4 or 5 years wandering around Europe, why not just forgo menses entirely? My period has been lightening for more than 6 months now… It’s possible it’s the travel, but I think more likely I am in perimenopause. I’m having hot flashes and dry eyes. Oma hit menopause on the young side, and I know from the IVF testing that the two years of chemo reduced my ovarian reserve… and that was 4 years ago. So maybe I get the Mirena, and then I don’t have to worry about spotting, buying pads, or disposing of said pads while travelling.

(I also find it morbidly interesting that the two chemo drugs I was on, methotrexate and vinorelbine, are the two usually used to chemically remove an ectopic pregnancy).

TMI over.

I couldn’t find Luigi for dinner, which was curious because he’s gotten used to me feeding him promptly at 7:20 every night and gets cranky if I’m late. Turns out the guests were feeding him scraps out of sight.

Simo’s sick. It’s hardly surprising, considering the number of internationals we host, probably should have gotten sick sooner. Or it’s given her a robust immune system. She could barely cook dinner and she refused to eat any, just making herself a bowl of unseasoned rice. After dinner she started feverishly listing off the things I had to get done by myself on Monday, and I just put my hand on her shoulder and said “Simo, I’ve got it.” and she nodded and lapsed into silence.

Some guests checked into the Granary at 9:30 at night, which included a lot of honking their car horn and flashing the lights as they locked and unlocked their car doors repeatedly. Not like some of us are trying to sleep or anything.

As if sleep can be had. I’m still struggling with insomnia. It’s probably a good thing I don’t have a vehicle to reach the liquor store.

It doesn’t help that I’m pretty sure the bites on my legs are fleas from the mice in the ceiling. I could get rid of the fleas, but surely they will be replaced, so what’s the use. At least fleas in New Zealand don’t really carry any exotic diseases; there isn’t even rabies on the island. And putting bug repellent on before bed seems to deter most of them, just not all.

The chicken was definitely dead today.

Turning over 3 rooms today. The guest the previous night had been an illustrious vicar. He took the only room with 2 beds; one for him, one for his wife, and they had a single glass of wine to share with dinner. The scandal!

The guests who disturbed me by getting in late were gone before I got up. Must be in a rush to get somewhere.

Simonetta left to go to Christchurch, so I puttered around cleaning by myself. Turns out the guests who had moved from one cabin to another had stayed 3 nights because there had been a death in the family and they were trying to book tickets to head back to the US. They took a while to check out, but I wasn’t rushing them. The guests who had called in to book the hut hadn’t shown up even though they paid for the night, so one less bed to change.

Gary and his son – who henceforth I shall dub David – were futzing around with the tractor on the weekend. They accidentally filled the tank with water instead of diesel and had to syphon it off and they left a pile of clothes in the laundry so the whole place smelled like diesel. Thanks guys.

I puttered around past my usual quitting time; I wanted Simo to come back and be thrilled everything was neat and tidy.

At 3:30, it occurred to me to call the shop and see if the bike sold.

Success!

I am only getting 1.5 for it, because apparently it needed new tires, but I wasn’t arguing. Bird in the hand is worth two in the bush and all that jazz. They gave me the number for the person who was buying it, and I called them. They’ll drop the cash off Friday. Sounds good to me.

Simo pulled into the drive at exactly 6PM. I was about to go in the house and make myself some instant noodles, but luckily I was putting it off, cuz she had bought sushi for me! Gary had met up with her in town and made her eat a proper sit-down lunch, so she was feeling much better, thank goodness.

We had another downed chicken in the morning, but it was warm and floppy. Not quite dead? Stunned? Asleep? I put it off to the side so the other chicken’s couldn’t bother it.

Since we didn’t have any guests, Tuesday was weeding. I started around the far side and worked my way over to the septic tank, which I finished off (again). It was a perfect day for weeding; cloudy, cool but not cold, and there had been an early morning rain, so the ground was nice and loose. I ran out of things to weed and trimmed the hedge since it was looking scruffy.

Steam did a thing. They changed the library sharing to “Families”, which I don’t like. It also kicked me off Brandon’s library (no, I do own my own version of Rimworld). He took 4 days debating to add me to his new “Family”, which I presumed was James’ fault, but I noticed when Brandon did add me that James’ invite was pending. How odd. I do regret that the break up put Brandon in an awkward spot, although most of that awkwardness is James’ having 0 emotional control and losing his mind every time my name is so much as mentioned. I immediately downloaded Plague, Inc.

Which is exactly what it sounds like. You are a nameless plague trying to destroy humanity. The win condition for the game is every human on Earth dead; lethality is one of the things you have to control very carefully in the game, because if the bug kills too fast it won’t be passed on, right? There’s also another quirk of the game that Greenland and Madagascar only have one harbor, so if they shut down their harbors before anyone gets infected your game is unwinnable, which doesn’t seem fair.

It’s designed kind of like a tabletop game, moving pieces over a map of the Earth,

The game came out before Covid but became very popular after Covid and has really leaned into the predictable success be releasing Covid version of the game, etc.

I went to dinner expecting pasta – you could smell the garlic outside the door – but I was surprised that we were not having pasta. We were having couscous, with a side of some Italian dish made of peas and tuna.

“I hope you like couscous!” She said happily, as she doled out big spoonful’s on plates. “I was really craving some.”

“Um…”

She froze mid-scoop.

“I’ll eat it!” I exclaimed hurriedly. “I’m just not sure I’ve had it before.”

“It’s like polenta.”

It was pretty good, a little dry… by design? I scooped up the saucy peas with it and went back for seconds.

“This pea dish is good, what’s it called?”

“Just peas and tuna. Piselli e tonno! It’s Venetian.”

I froze, fork halfway to my mouth.

She went off on a rant about how her family used to holiday in Venice and how gorgeous it is and how I should visit, while my food turned to ash in my mouth. How to explain to her the knife she didn’t know she was twisting. I politely nodded along, unsure what to say.

As we finished eating, the phone rang, and she dismissed me with a wave.

I walked up the driveway to where you can watch the sunset over Mt Hutt. 8:07 and the sun is setting. My time here is drawing to a close.

Last year I was looking forward to seeing him at the shutdown, even if it went nowhere. Just to see his face and hear his voice again.

Now I’m dreading it. I wonder how much I dare to hope he won’t be at Dryden this year.

I watch the sun cast golden rays over the freshly mowed fields, the cows and sheep grazing happily, a red tractor kicking up clouds of dust as it went along the gravel road.

Independence.

I realized my wrath at being offered help is because I want to succeed on my own. And people can say there’s nothing wrong with accepting help, but they don’t realize how deep my need is to stand on my own two feet. Or how I view all help as an apple with poison inside it; there must be some pain hiding inside, some trap, some trick, some catch.

There was a villain I really identified with, although you’re not supposed to. Her name is Cinder; she’s supposed to be “what if Cinderella became bent on murderous revenge instead of gracefully accepting her lot”. A cautionary tale as she slaughters even the knight who was trying to rescue her.

In the middle of the episode, it fades to black, and her voice echoes in the darkness, thick with lust.

I want to be strong.

I want to be feared.

I want to be powerful.

Those words resonated through me. I want all of it. I don’t just want to be happy with the happy ending. I want power. I want control. I want to be strong. I don’t feel satisfied when a man offers to pick something up for me; I feel satisfied when I pick up something that was too heavy for a man to lift. That is who I am.

I’ve been trying to avoid mentioning my parents for a bit. Trying to be like “they are the past and this is my future” but of course, wherever you go, there you are. Parents are a unique kind of evil; you can pretend a bad relationship doesn’t exist, but you can never pretend you don’t have parents.

My parents believe in a concept called Tabula Rasa; the idea that kids are born a blank slate. No hopes, fears, preferences or morals, just waiting for you to impress those upon them.

It was interesting how they’d justify it to themselves, like a pastor explaining why bad things are your fault and good things are God’s benevolence. Everything of worth I’ve had or done was down to their careful breeding. Every bad thing was me willfully rejecting their benevolence, as if, by their own logic, I should be capable of rejecting their reality. I should be exactly as they molded me, not to question them, right?

Independence… one of the ways my parents tried to keep me in line was to go over my options if I left. It was likely I’d end up in foster care, which is rife with abuse and neglect of a more physical kind. Sure, my parents might remove all entertainment from my room and leave me to contemplate 4 blank walls for weeks at a time, but I had 3 square meals a day and no one was trying to rape me.

Talk about wanting an award for basic decency.

It’s like how Zuckerberg has made a 180 on his opinion on Trump. Trump has threatened more than once to throw Zuckerberg in jail. So is Zuckerberg’s cozying up to Trump obsequious or self-preservation? Is he trying to make a quick buck, or save himself? Maybe a little of both.

It’s not all on them. There was also my foolish decision to try and have children young, which required me to cleave myself to the sort of men who would try to have children on short notice with a woman they don’t know very well. Although I was right in the regard that if I didn’t have kids young, I wasn’t having kids at all. Something else to come to terms with.

I’ve been watching Severance. The way the “innies” have full personalities but are unmoored from the life experiences their “outies” have experienced to get them there is extremely relatable to me, growing up in my glass bubble. As is the cult-like abuse.

I resented the implication that I’ve grown and changed here, but there is no denying it. I’ve come to view it as digging a fossil out of limestone. It’s not that something was wrong or that something is being added on, but that what was always under the surface is being uncovered.

So, yes… travelling is craving independence in a specific and possibly self-destructive way. A craving I was born with and denied satiation for years. Maybe I’ll find other ways to satisfy it in the future, but I’m comfortable with this for now.

I’ll find my own way.