a march against poverty + a petty issue

at 30 yrs old, i participated in my first march.
well, participated in the sense of being available for first aid services if need be.
i have mixed feelings about it, mostly because i've always thought that mobilization doesn't have to come in the form of a protest. do protests really reach the right people? i've never thought so. especially organizations like OCAP, which sometimes end up in violence as they take over abandoned houses across the city.
as a matter of fact, this feeling was somewhat justified as i was talking to one of our homeless clients before the march and he said "i didn't really want to march for ocap--they always seem to fuck things up".
the police presence was heavy. horses with face shields hiding behind the hedges at queen's park.
but the march ended up being alright. no violence.
and although i did not participate in any chanting or raising of fists, i did watch the general public's reactions.
passerbys stopped to ask what it was about.
and then i wondered if the people that they're trying to reach, those "right" people, aren't part of the government or political organizations but rather the everyday person.
because ultimately it's people who are going to make a change...well, hopefully, in our somewhat democratic society.
but it is a democracy and people coming together can change things.
or atleast "democracy" gives us the hope that we can.
whatever.
either way, here i was in an anti-poverty march, and every tuesday and wednesday i see people who don't have clean clothes or clothes that fit, and here i am finding myself with a body image issue.
so i've gained 10, maybe 15 lbs...so what? why do i care so much?
i've done so many good things to have gained this weight.
i stopped being so vigilant about exercise and started enjoying activities more.
i quit smoking (!!!)
but my clothes don't fit. and it's very disheartening.
but what's even more disturbing is the fact that something this petty bothers me.
the fact that i know i'm being told that women are supposed to be thin, with no extra rolls on their tummies, and wear a size 0, and yet i'm still succumbing to this ideology.
and every day, walking around the city, i struggle with the fact that this should NOT bother me.
i mean, my life is pretty sweet. i have a strong support system. i have healthcare. i'm not starving. i have a roof over my head. i'm in university becoming a nurse.
and i'm white, so i have nothing pitted against me.
so what the hell?
why can't i shake this?

i'll never know what it means to use

yesterday i got the call i've been waiting for.
one of my best friends is alive.
and has been through rehab. and has been clean for 3 months.
the last time i saw her she had dropped into my apartment to use the couch, borrow money and cry that she needed help.
and there was nothing i could do except comfort her, let her smoke crack on my deck, try to feed her (although all she would eat was reese's p.b. cups and chocolate milk).
i bought her cigarettes, and tried to get her to sleep.
crack makes you an insomniac.
i didn't want her to leave after 3 days but she had to. she was out of drugs. and i was exhausted. and she promised to enter rehab. but i never heard from her. and knew that entering rehab was a lofty goal at this point in time.
i prayed for her safety. i hoped she was alive.
and now i know she made it through.
and i don't know how she did it. i don't know what it's like. i can only imagine.

school is for suckers

back at school with new people and no old friends.
autumn is my favourite time of year and yet i'm feeling miserable and tired and older.
i love the smell of crisp apples, riding my bike with a sweater on and the rustling of falling leaves.
and yet, i'm feeling dissident and blah.
my best friend, with whom i now live, hates me. and now my monday classes are full of people who know eachother but nobody who knows me.