So. Exciting.

I’ve left the riots in London and am back in Canada for a month to reprise my role as 9/11 Girl one last time. Playing the part isn’t the exciting bit; knowing it’s for the last time is what’s making me happy. Retirement, here I come!!

Obviously I could’ve stopped this all sooner. After all, choice is a beautiful thing and we all have that power! The truth is I didn’t have much else going for me for most of these past 10 years. I was a bit lost, as many 20-somethings are. I spent 6 years finishing my damn Journalism degree only to realize I am too traumatized to shove cameras in people’s faces. That left a bit of a gap, and a huge feeling of panic. Being 9/11 Girl wasn’t really what I wanted to do but I had nothing else.

That’s all changed now.

During those first few weeks after the attacks, I knew I’d be dealing with the media for a decade, and wondered what my life would look like when that decade was over. Most importantly, I wanted to be happy. I thought that the purpose of a terrorist act was less about killing innocent people, and more about scaring the shit out those who witnessed it. My dad was a victim of terrorism; he was killed. But death is only one way to lose a life….not wanting to be alive, not enjoying life…well, that’s another way. I didn’t want to become another victim.

Now I’m not saying it’s been a pretty, or very graceful 10 years…but I made it. I’m happy! One of the silver linings of being 9/11 Girl was that I learned all kinds of ways I didn’t want to live: depressed, drunk, anxious, always running and looking for an escape. I think I just ran out of options I didn’t enjoy, and with the help of some really supportive friends and my crazy but wonderful family I stumbled onto the things that make me excited to be alive.

Which means, dear terrorists, I WIN!! You didn’t get me, na na na naaaaaaa na.
Not horribly mature, but it’s been a pretty epic battle and gosh darn it, I am going to have my moment and gloat.

I’m also painfully aware that I am one of the lucky ones. There are so many people – including a lot of Canadians – who haven’t had the opportunity to heal. They have been stuck in their own personal war against terrorism for a lot longer than 10 years and I want to help. I want you to help me too, and I’ll let you know how very soon.

No matter what the sport or activity was, my dad always insisted on a “big finish.” That meant the run ended with a sprint, the race ended with an extra push….it meant not giving up because the end was in sight, but rather charging at it with every ounce of strength and energy left in your body. I didn’t always appreciate that philosophy, I must admit, but in this case that is exactly what’s required. I may be retiring, but not before a big finish.

Stay tuned…

So, I haven’t blogged for over a week. Why? Because Erica “The Individual” Basnicki doesn’t have much to share with the world right now. I mean, my life isn’t interesting enough to write some laugh-out-loud anecdote every day. I’m a nerd. I don’t go out much. I’m online too much. Boooring.

However, not a lost cause. This is just Life saying “Okay, Erica, that was a nice idea but you’re not really into it, are you? Set this aside for now.”
Okay!
Wicked.

Not that I won’t continue to blog. Of course I will. But for awhile there I was deluding myself into thinking my personal blog could begin some sort of online media empire. It’s times like these where I think Dr. Tugg (I wish I made that name up) might have been right about my diagnosis. His was bipolar disorder. Symptoms include, among others:

Inflated self-esteem (delusions of grandeur, false beliefs in special abilities)

Although I personally like to call it “balance-finding disorder.” I get an idea and it excites me and I go wild for about two weeks until I suddenly collapse of exhaustion because actually I’m not enjoying this at this pace.
Phew.

Finding the balance comes with not immediately chucking the idea out the window as a reaction. Getting rid of the awful ‘all-or-nothing” mentality that has lead me nowhere – that’s balance.

I like blogging, and it allows friends and family to keep in touch, and allows me some sort of creative outlet. But this particular chunk of cyberspace won’t be run like a business, cuz I like to keep it casual, ya dig? Takes the pressure off about having something to say. I like to listen a lot too…moments of silent thought. Yes, I am definitely an introvert; and proud of it!

But, having said that, if I take life too casually I might miss out on some great opportunities. Which is why I am nervously announcing – again – the birth of Audio Nerd Central. This is far from the official launch, just a quick FYI to let friends and family (and random weirdos) know I’m slowly but surely getting there. Oh, and to show off the smokin’ hot design skills of good friend Charlotte Pope at Pope Creative. Ironically, she has no website. Yet. It’s coming. Oh Charlotte… But yeah, ANC looks good!

Daily Stats

Career of the day: Blogger and SFX Recordist at Audio Nerd Central
Procrastination Tool Used to Delay Action: Methodically sorting through 2TB of computer files in order to “familiarize myself with my sound library.”
Further Sabotaged By: Blogging about not blogging. Holy crap!
Excuse: It’s Friday night!
Deranged Optimism: The weather is crap anyway, so I’m going to get cozy, geek out, and learn Camel Audio’s Alchemy synth. Definitely.

But first some dinner…

I finally found the guts to quit smoking. I highly recommend Allen Carr’s Easyway if you’re attempting to do the same. I still feel a quitter’s flu coming on, but the difference is that I’m actually pleased about it.

I listened to the audiobook (affiliate link) when a friend told me he went from 60 a day to zero after going to one of the seminars.

You have to admire a man who makes torture slight withdrawal pangs a welcomed feeling.

And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot of candy to eat.

I feel like such an idiot, writing about grand plans and doing absolutely nothing about them.

I feel less like an idiot watching this (added to the Videos for the Optimistically Deranged YouTube playlist):

www.youtube.com/watch?v=4P785j15Tzk

It’s funny because it’s true.

In 100 days it will be September 12th, 2011. The day I officially retire from 9/11 stuff.

That’s the plan, anyway. Whether it’s possible – whether it ever will be possible – remains to be seen. I’m not too worried about it.

It’s the next 100 days that are scaring the crap out of me.

I remember September 11th 2002, the first anniversary of the 9/11 attacks. I stayed up until midnight, watching CNN in a special room set aside for the Canadian 9/11 families at a hotel in New York. Private. I can’t remember which hotel. I was less interested in what CNN had to say, and more interested in watching the names of the victims scrolling by at the bottom of the screen. It was a ceremony of sorts, I suppose. My own private ceremony. And, I wanted to ring in the new year. My new year. I figured at the time that if I had survived the first year, I’d survive the ones that came after that.

I also knew that the 10th-year anniversary would be a biggie, and that I would be back in New York to put an end to the nonsense.

My dad died when I was 21. I tried to picture what I would be like at 31. What would I be doing? Where would I live? Would I have a career and in what field? At 21, I wanted my 31-year-old self to come back to New York strong and confident – victorious. I wanted every cell of my body to send a message to anyone who had a hand in those terrorist attacks:

“You didn’t get me, a$$holes! Do you see that? Look at me! I’m strong and confident – not terrorized – therefore, I WIN!!”

I thought it would be easy to rise above 9/11, to put it behind me, to move on and do good things. I think we all feel pretty powerful when we’re 21. Silly 21-year-old me. Little did I know I was actually going to lose my confidence so completely that I would have to rely on my amazing(ly patient) family and friends to help me find it again.

Miraculously, I did find it again; not too long ago, either. It’s been through a lot, my confidence, and although it’s been damaged quite badly, it’s fixable. I may even be able to put it back together again in time for September 11th, 2011. Exciting!

So, I have to try. I don’t really know what that means, other than my next 100 days have to be good, somehow. Nothing over-the-top, just good.

Enough so that when I’m back in New York I can give terrorism the finger, and retire. Happily.

My native language is English. Canadian English. London English is a whole new language as far as I’m concerned; a delightful new way of speaking that will most likely confuse my family when I come home to visit.

My favourite expression so far has got to be “faffing about.”

Back home it means wasting time, lazing around, being unproductive…I’m sure we have lots of slang for it too, but my brain has made the switch to London English so I can be understood and frankly, I can’t really think of what the Canadian version would be.

But let’s revisit this again shall we? Faffing about. Faffing. Faff. Say it out loud.
How fun!

It’s a wonderfully silly-sounding word for a wonderfully silly thing to do.

“What have you been up to today?
“Oh, just faffing about.”

This is a keeper. Mostly because it’s also PG-13 so if I let this one accidentally slip back in Soviet Canuckistan, I will not face looks of shock and horror. I must admit this has happened once already, haven grown accustomed to hearing – and saying – a certain word that starts with a “C” and rhymes with hunt. That get’s used a lot here.
Not so much in Canada. Not without my uncle – who has a fridge full of stickers with a certain “F” word that rhymes with duck – looking at me in utter disgust and saying:

“There is something about that word coming from a woman’s mouth.”

I think he’ll like “Faff” though. Do you?

Life IS Good., a photo by Erica Basnicki on Flickr.

Profound wisdom from a cell phone ad.

I was minding my own business at the bus stop when Ahmed (he introduced himself) walked up.

He seemed like a nice guy, and being a friendly Canadian girl I responded to his polite small talk.
Then we got on a nearly-empty bus and he sat down right next to me. Not on the bench opposite, but next to me. Somewhat on top of me.

At this point I immediately regret having moved right up next to the window, but I’m trapped. So I hope for the best.

It all started going horribly wrong when Ahmed mentioned he had a certificate in massage therapy. I put up a quick defense:

“I’m pretty chilled, so luckily I don’t need a massage!”
Ha ha ha! Eep.

Ahmed didn’t seem fazed, so I thought I was safe. It was just small talk. Good.
There was a pause, and then he spoke again:

“You know, I have this problem. When I massage women, my dick gets hard.”

I now want off the bus more than anything in the world, but I am miles away from my destination, the bus only comes every 15 minutes, and I am already late. I am trapped on the bus, next to Ahmed, who has now started talking to me about his penis in glorious detail, which I will spare you from.

I try and up my game, and switch topics very quickly, but Ahmed is determined to talk to me about his penis:

“I’m just worried though because when I use my hands to relieve myself, I don’t know if I’m doing any damage. Am I?”

At this point it is clear that Ahmed’s world is very different from mine. I don’t understand his world – at all – but other than a need to talk about his penis, he doesn’t seem interested in doing anything else with it. And Ahmed’s concern is genuine. In fact, I can tell he is scared shitless that his guilty pleasure is damaging his body somehow, poor guy. It’s worth mentioning at this point that Ahmed is probably around 40 years old.

So, although not pleasant, I reassure Ahmed that unless he feels pain, he’s fine. But he is a very curious fellow and had many, MANY, follow-up questions. Too many. Too detailed. Too much, it’s just too much!!!

My stop. Thank goodness. I’m safe.

I very carefully manoever around Ahmed and leave the seat trap. I have a moment of panic that he is following me off the bus, but thankfully he stays in his seat. The bus pulls away, Ahmed safely on board, and I continue merrily along my way.

Everything is fine until Pointing Man comes along…pointing at me, angrily, from a distance, staring…walking towards me…yelling.

I ran. Faster than my little legs have ever ran before. No more friendly Canadian girl, I’ve had my fill for the day, and this guy doesn’t look like he has the same concerns as Ahmed.

Definitely a weirdo magnet.

Today is one of those ‘poo’ days. I feel like poo. I’m tired, despite having a good night’s sleep. Optimism ain’t comin’ easy.

When I feel like this it’s very difficult to see past it, and know it will end. Poo days feel like forever. Luckily, I have learned to question feelings because they don’t exist in a vacuum. Today seems like a good day to use as an example:

First of all, there is a very real crazy person trying their best to make me feel like poo, and maybe they’ve succeeded. People are strange, life happens, and sometimes trying to avoid an external conflict leads to burying feelings and creating an internal one. Its totally possible, and very normal, that I feel down because of it.

Secondly, I didn’t eat much yesterday and I skipped breakfast today due to a lack of groceries. The red baron is in town (I truly do not want to be one of those women who blogs about their cycles, but in this case it’s actually relevant) and so overall I’ve probably not laid the best foundation on which happiness can rest on for the day.

Maybe I just need more protein. Or carbs. Delicious, mood-boosting carbs. Oooh! CHOCOLATE.

Maybe questioning this all seems quite natural and normal to you, in which case I’m guessing you’ve never been on anti-depressants before. As I’ve mentioned, I question the term “mental illness” as it’s made me very unnerved by feelings – the bad ones anyway. It seems like we humans go out of our way to avoid them and yet it’s our bodies way of saying “yo, something ain’t right here.” When I got slapped with the official depression diagnosis I feared “poo days” as I was sure they meant another episode was coming to get me; deeper and darker than the one that came before it. That was 12 years ago. Today we know a lot more about our bodies and brains, how they affect one another, and how what we do with them affects how we feel later. Yet, sit down with a psychologist and see how often they ask you if you’re a fast-food junkie.

Poo Days: Now With More Causes

Knowing this doesn’t directly improve my day, but what it does do is prevent me from wallowing in fear/self-pity and wondering if I should try a new anti-depressant. I have very valid, non-”metal-illness” reasons why I’m having a rough day, and no real reason to believe it will last beyond today. What’s even better is I have control over these other potential causes: I can journal all about the crazy person until it’s out of my system, and eat healthy for the rest of the day. Who knew having so many reasons to feel like poo would be such a relief?!

At no point during my “treatments” did anyone ever offer that feeling “bad” was okay. It was always something to talk about, or a reason to adjust meds. Today, feeling “bad” is absolutely normal, natural, and worth addressing – appropriately.
Although I’d really prefer a chocolate bar to salad.
Or pizza.
A vegetarian pizza?
Definitely pizza and chocolate.

Happy Poo Day to me!!

Instead, here are some YouTube videos to celebrate Mother Nature teaming up with my mom to remind me in a painful (and bloated) manner that I am not bringing kids into the world any time soon.

First, an excellent commercial by Tenacious D:

www.youtube.com/watch?v=pe8KJ-oxtC8

My favourite super hero: Premenstrual Girl.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=-z-9bjj7mJA

Note to North American ladies: in Europe, it’s called PMT or pre-menstrual tension. I would try and make a joke about it here but I can’t so just leave me alone!

And finally, just to end on a positive note, a catchy little ditty from the Australian mockumentary BoyTown.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=G6SyUySsxyg