The Orthodork Blog

New beginnings

2011-10-05T09:58:00.000-07:00

As you can see, I've done some renovating here.

I guess I figured, while we were ripping up our (really horrible) carpets and painting the walls and giving the house a thorough face-lift, I might as well do the same thing here.

I'm feeling a little bit schizo about the layout, so it may change again.

There have been countless times of late that my experiences with my patients, my musings on the body or some new piece of research has made me think 'I should blog about that!' So, here I am.

The general new focus of this blog will be, hopefully, centred around my work as a manipulator of tissue and healer of the human body, and how that intersects with my views of the world and my faith in Christ.

Stay tuned!

Time's a-wastin'

2010-08-22T23:14:00.001-07:00

I have this thing, where I CANNOT get to sleep at a reasonably human hour.

It doesn't matter how late I went to bed the night before, or what cruel twist of fate forced me to wake up correspondingly early the next morning. It doesn't matter how much or little caffeine I've consumed.

I could spend all day working with physically and emotionally exhausting patients, come home and run on the eliptical for an hour, sit in the hot tub, take a liberal dose of gravol followed by a glass of wine and 2 hours of mind-numbingly somnambulant infomercials. I will not. Go. To sleep.

I always, somehow, find something to occupy my attention, until at least 1 or 2am. Entirely useless things, like 4 months worth of archived blog entries or photo albums of adorable children. And oh, I mustn't forget to harvest my Farmville crops, or they'll wither, and I'll just DIE. All this while half-watching multiple episodes of Gilmore Girls and looking up fan-made Harry Potter trailers, to say nothing of the new novel on my bedside table, all whilst thinking guiltily of the giant pile of dirty laundry in the basket, and the gianter pile of clean laundry currently obscuring my bedroom floor from view. And also, those dishes in the back corner which will start growing fuzzy if I don't clean them soon, at which point I'll have to make them a home and name them Fizgig.

I think maybe it's time to make a change. I mean, do you have any idea how much i could do if I kicked the habit of sleeping like a 14-year-old boy? Forget the laundry and the dishes. I could actually work out on a regular basis (turns out the walk from the elevator to the apartment door doesn't count as 'exercise'. Pffft.) I could take up rock climbing again. I could finally, FINALLY get my license! Oh, and I hear that there are horse-back riding lessons for adults available. I could be like the horse whisperer, only SO much cooler!

So, alright, that's that. I'm making a change. So, please, please, help me on the road to recovery. Don't send me amusing blog entries or nifty cool youtube videos. Rants From Mommyland and The Pregnant Chicken are strictly forbidden. Don't lend me new movies, or recommend that great new tv show you've been watching (I don't care HOW sparkly the vampires are.) And please don't tag me in a photo album which also contains pictures of painfully adorable children. Do not invite me to Mafia Wars or Cafe World or any other FB game that requires more time investment than 3 minutes a day.

And please, PLEASE, for the love of God and all things holy, there must be NO links

to LoLCats, Weddinator or Oddly Specific. Failblog is RIGHT OUT.

Or else, this will be me:

Muscle Musings and Metaphors

2010-05-08T20:43:00.000-07:00

... well, most of my analogies are similes not metaphors, but "Muscle Musings and Similes" doesn't have quite the alliterative ring I was going for.

I have lately lost track of just how many times a patient has asked me, 'So, what are you doing exactly?' or 'What do you feel?' For, how exactly can I describe the interaction that is happening between me and my patient's tissue. In truth, it is less like a simple 'treatment' and more of an intricate and complex dance, a conversation in a language in which I have spent the last 4 years becoming fluent. (Or, at least, as fluent as one can become in a language acquired in adulthood.)

This brings me to my first musing: The many languages of the body. For, the way that soft tissue communicates is very much like the language of English. Each area has its own distinct dialect or accent; the tendons do not sound quite the same as the ligaments, the ligaments quite distinct from the muscles. Despite these different dialects, though, they do all use the same basic language, even if it is sometimes a little bastardized. (Everyone knows that the cartilages are a bunch of uneducated hicks.) And, like English, the soft tissue's language has sister languages, all of which developed from the same Mother. English, with the other Romantic languages like French and Italian, derived chiefly from Latin, following the same basic rules, and still maintaining many of the original words and phrases. 'Para', for example, comes from the latin meaning 'alongside of'. Thus we can understand words like Paranormal, Paravertebral, Parallel. And thus, when a word comes up in one of our sister languages, it is easy to suss out the meaning if we understand the basics in Latin.

Soft Tissue relates similarly to the Visceral, the Hormonal, the Skeletal, because they are all informed by the same Mother, the Neurological.

Well, that answers 'What do you feel?', or rather 'hear'. What then, am I actually doing? What exactly does this dance, this conversation actually sound like?

It usually takes one of two forms, very much like conversing with a toddler usually has one of two natures. Sensitive, or Disciplinary.

And this brings me to my second musing: The toddler-like nature of muscles.

For, sometimes, we can approach our children with sweetness; gentle persuasion, encouragement, warmth, sometimes manipulation. "Good boy!", we say, "Give it to mummy. Give me the scissors. Ooh, look what Daddy's got-- thank you! I'll take that." Misdirection and soothing sounds. "Hush little baby, don't say a word. Calmly now. Good boy. See, baby? It's not so bad. Ssshhh..." We apply heat, gentle stretching, petrissage, gently rubbing the pain away, occasionally using techniques to trick the muscles into letting go. Hush now.

And sometimes, like with children, you just have to go in there and lay down the law. (Any patient of mine is probably a little more familiar with this conversation than the former.) Trigger point release, deep fascial release, deep tissue swedish. Look kid, I'm bigger than you. Knock it off. What did I JUST SAY? Let go. No..... NO. Yeah, that's what I thought.

Now you just sit there and think about what you've done.

Decrying The Bachelor

2010-01-26T00:16:00.000-08:00

In 2002 a new reality tv program took off, garnering instant popularity. The premise of this program being that a houseful of women get together in a desperate bid for one man, flirting and fighting in the hopes that he'll pick them. Mr. Popular spends the season agonizing over the oh-so-difficult decision of which girl to pick. In the finale he picks between two "lucky" finalists, most often ending with a marriage proposal.

Where do I even begin? Over half a century of feminism and THIS is the pinnacle of modern entertainment??

Don't get me wrong, I'm not an angry, hairy-legged feminist that insists on spelling women "womyn" out of contempt for the male half of the species. I graciously and gratefully accept gallant displays of chivalry; doors held, bus seats offered. I swoon just a little if a man stands when I enter the room, or helps me to my seat. I mourn the loss of the days when men took off their hats for a woman (or wore hats at all for that matter.) But I have to admit that the pure misogyny ingrained in the entire concept of a houseful of women fighting over a guy while he sits back and watches the mud wrestle (purely metaphoric as far as I know, at least, I hope,) fills me with more than a little outrage and disgust.

And yet until tonight I'd never actually seen any more of the show than the last few minutes that precede the latest episode of Castle. So, in order to justify my increasingly militant abhorrence of this show, I actually sat down and watched an entire episode, or at least as much as I could stomach without actually throwing up on my shoes.

The girls spent the majority of the episode alternating between batting their fake eyelashes at the hot pilot, and bitching about the other girls to both the hot pilot and each other.
Poor darling Mr Right-For-Now spent the majority of the episode alternating between being flirted with by multiple hot chicks, and agonizing about how hard it was to make this decision (despite which, he still managed to cast 4 of the hopeful and overly-made-up ladies out on their very expensive ass-lifts.)

After over 60 years of feminism, of fighting to gain respect and equality, and this is really all we have to show for it? The values of our society seem more misogynistic than ever, mirrored, as always by the latest trends in pop culture. Hence the vast popularity of groups like The Pussycat Dolls, who teach us by example that our most valuable asset is our sexuality. After all, their wildly successful hit song didn't intone: "Don't you wish your girlfriend was kind, compassionate and intelligent like me?" No no, get your priorities straight. She's gotta be HOT.

Yes, there is the argument that states, "Well, they DO have The Bachelorette now too." I think it significant though that this latest incarnation of the dating show concept has never been nearly as popular as the original, garnering a good 10 million fewer viewers at last count. Nor do I feel that the blatant attempt to satisfy the feminists by creating the flip side of the coin remotely detracts from the misogyny of it's predecessor. But hey, at least we got our shot right? Equal-opportunity superficiality. Go us!

And yes, by the way, that spinning sound you hear is in fact Emily Wilding Davison turning over in her grave.

Oh well. In the meantime, check out Joss Whedon's speech for Equality Now. He kinda rocks.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cYaczoJMRhs

Rememberance Day

2009-11-11T12:23:00.000-08:00

I wrote this poem when I was on a high school trip to France, during which we visited several Canadian war memorials and cemeteries. It's not especially good, given I was a teenager at the time, but I think it's suitable for today.

Dear Flames of strength
And Tears of courage
Through crimson petals
Our world bleeds.
Our once-pure Garden
Shell-shocked and scarred.
"We are such stuff as dreams are made on"
But what of nightmares?
And why are dreams?
No end can justify this means
You payed the toll,
We walk the bridge
And now for what?
Our world still scarred,
We never learn.
We beg you to forgive and pray
For us,
A world fallen.

2009-10-27T00:22:00.000-07:00

"Let everyone speak the truth with his neighbor, for we are members one of another." -Ephesians 4:25

"Pain need not destroy; it can be transformed." -Paul Brand, The Gift of Pain

I recently had an interesting conversation with a colleague of mine about the nature of pain and its effects on the human condition. In my abundant sarcasm, I rolled my eyes and quipped; "Pain receptors are such jerks." My colleague, also a former instructor of mine, responded: "Hey, you're the one screwing up. They're just the messengers. You don't like what they have to say, try ignoring them and see how far you get."

This had a very specific resonance for me, because this is precisely how my grandfather died. He had very bad gout affecting his foot, but refused to admit to the pain or change his habits, going to extraordinary lengths to hide his pain from my grandmother. By the time the pain was finally too much to hide, it had become gangrenous and had spread, and it was too late.

For those lacking a background in human physiology, pain receptors (called nociceptors) exist throughout the body in varying types, sizes and abundance (except for the brain, which, slightly ironically, carries none,) and it is the job of these nociceptors to tell us when something is wrong. They tell us when we've done an action that a joint or muscle is not designed to do, that we're sick or injured, or simply that we're pushing ourselves too hard.
This message is very rarely a welcome one. And yet, what would our world be without pain? Dr. Paul Brand paints a poignant and truly horrific picture of this pain-free life in his book titled The Gift of Pain, which explores the realities of, among other things, a condition called Congenital Indifference to Pain. He describes the story of one girl with this condition, whose mother first became aware of the problem when she came upon her 18-month old daughter painting red pictures in her room. She had gnawed off the tips of her fingers and was delightedly painting her room in her own blood.

None of us likes to learn that we are sick or hurt, or that we're unable to do something we wish to do. What elite athlete, for example, welcomes the news that they have had a career-destroying injury and are no longer able to run the race? Or what patient responds to the news of cancer with a resounding "Whoopee! Thank you doctor!!"

As they say, it's a dirty job, but somebody's got to do it. If we were to ignore those receptors when they tell us, for example, "your knee doesn't bend that way", we wind up destroying the ligaments, tendons and cartilage in our knee, none of which are vascular enough to regenerate to any functional capacity. If we ignore the pain in our foot from something as benign as gout, it becomes gangrenous and, as in my grandfather's case, fatal. In the case of leprosy, the resulting insensitivity causes repeated injuries to the limbs which eventually die and wither away. They have been hurt too much, too often, until finally they have no choice but to abandon us. After all, the policy of "ignore it and maybe it will go away" doesn't just apply to obnoxious boys in the schoolyard.

It is not for no reason that the Church is called the Body of Christ. The analogy is simply too perfect to ignore. There are many members, many roles. There are muscles, whose job it is to move us forward. There are ligaments, who must hold fast and protect us from violent and potentially harmful motions. There are those who, like the immune system, must protect us from dangerous toxins and the hostile invasion of heresy. And there are pain receptors, who must tell us the motion we're doing is hurtful, or that which we have in our mouths is deadly poison and must be spat out.

Sometimes it is our dirty job to be the pain receptor; to speak the truth whether it is welcome or not. Otherwise we shall be held accountable on the Last Day for standing idly by whilst a member of our family destroyed themselves, drank poison and fell by the wayside.

And sometimes it is our painful, wretched job to listen. To hear the receptor and accept its message. To admit that our knee does not bend backwards, and that to insist on doing so will only lead to a life-long crippling disability. That drinking the poison is stupid and dangerous. Refusing to painful process of having our stomach pumped and exorsising the poison will only result in our deaths.

It's not a nice message to hear, not easy news to receive. Hearing that we are wrong or making mistakes, hurting ourselves and others in the process, bending over backwards and drinking poison. It hurts. Sometimes the pain is almost too much to bear, like Eustace having his dragon scales removed by the claws of Aslan. But if we wish to become whole and healthy, sometimes we have to hurt.

Feeding the soul

2009-07-07T20:36:00.001-07:00

"He causes grass to grow for the cattle, and herb for the service of man: that he may bring forth food from the earth; and wine that make glad the heart of man, and oil to make his face to shine, and bread to strengthen man's heart." ~Psalm 104

The clinic I work out of is situated in a lovely up-and-coming area of Burnaby, surrounded by offices, medical buildings, and, of course, fast-food restaurants. And now, working right next-door to a McDonald's is posing something of a dilemma for me.

I recently had a conversation with a friend about the inherent evils of the 99cent hamburger and the fast food society we live in. Ignoring even for a moment all the health and sanitary concerns associated with places like McDonald's, the ethical issues surrounding our fast-food industry are pretty staggering, if not downright demonic. On the other hand, when you've only 20 minutes to spare between patients, and McD's is RIGHT THERE, it's tough to run out and find something fast, cheap and vaguely satisfying. (We won't even talk about what problems fasting causes in these circumstances.) And that's it, it's just so darn convenient.

So today I cooked a meal for my family, and we sat down together (at the table, not in front of the television) and we ate. Granted, I didn't exactly kill and pluck the chicken myself, and not all the ingredients were fresh let alone organic or locally grown, but it still provides an amazingly eucharistic experience. Taking the time to carefully prepare food for people you love, and enjoy it with them is a joy that is lost in our 'fast food nation'. We no longer see eating as a joyful, almost ritualistic experience of communion, but simply a chore that must be done, as quickly and cheaply as possible.

And perhaps this is the problem. The entire idea that eating is something to be done on the fly, whenever you can get around to it, as quickly, easily and inexpensively as possible. Everywhere you turn there are ads for 'instant' meals, fast-food restaurants, meal replacements and, perhaps my favourite, 'gormet, organic frozen entrees, just 3 minutes in the microwave!'
All this instead of seeing food as a gift, a communion, a eucharist. After all, food is one of the most beautiful pleasures given to us. God could have made us like some other animals, who eat and mate and live simply by instinct, no real comprehension or joy in those things which they must do to survive. But he didn't. He made us to enjoy His creation, designed us to take pleasure in those things which keep us alive. Food is not just a way of nourishing ourselves, but of partaking of all of God's creation, of communing not only with God and nature (from which our food comes) but with those around us. One of the best and most important sacraments we have is the Eucharist; Christ giving Himself to feed us, both physically and spiritually.

I know that not everyone's lives or schedules permit such luxuries and home-cooked family meals. The rest of the world isn't going to snap out of their convenience-based secular outlook, and your boss isn't going to let you leave early because you stand up and say 'excuse sir, but I'd like my meals to be a eucharistic experience.' But still, it's something to think about. Food for thought.

How to make the world a better place

2009-06-08T13:37:00.000-07:00

On my way home from a walk to Tim's (hooray for bacon-bagels) a handsome bohemian stranger, complete with guitar on his back, stopped me and handed me a hand-picked bunch of wild flowers. He gave me the brightest, most infectious smile you've ever seen and said "I picked these flowers just for you. Have a lovely day!"

Now, I rather doubt that he did in fact pick these flowers specifically for me. I think it more likely that he picked them for the express purpose of handing them to the next person he saw, with the intention of improving their day and bringing a smile to their face. This does not at all diminish the kindness of this random act; in fact it enhances it.

People say again and again that 'one person can make a difference' but let's face it, how many of us actually believe it? BC's latest election saw a record low turnout of voters, with only 50% of eligible voters actually turning up to exercise their civic privilege. There was some speculation that the Canucks' Stanley Cup playoff run (however short-lived it turned out to be) drew attention from the campaign and distracted people from the duty of voting. But I think the truth is simply that people don't actually believe their vote matters (STV or not), that they can't actually make a difference, so why bother? As one person commented on a cbc article regarding low voter turnout: "No surprise here. Why would people bother to vote when they know nothing is going to change anway?" Perhaps Mr. Anonomous Apathetic is right, and voting does little besides waste time and money. But this is all the more reason for trying to change the status quo, bringing joy and affecting change where we can.

Having said all this, I must admit that political activism is not my preferred way of attempting to affect change. After all, "Men must change before kingdoms can." I vote mainly because I am grateful to have the right. I roll my eyes and change the channel during the BCTF's now annual strike. And I join the Life Chain, not to change the law or even people's minds, but so that I can say on the Last Day that I did not sit silently by during the slaughter of the innocents. But that does not mean I believe I can't change the world or make it a better place. Bringing joy to someone's life, even if only for one moment of one day, makes more of a difference than we can ever realize. And if we can all make the attempt to bring joy to that one moment for one person every day (a la Pay it Forward), then everyone's life will have a little more joy, a little more kindness, a little more love. Now you just try and tell me that that's not a better world.

As long as we are a fallen people, a Silent Planet, we will never achieve Utopia. But that's not to say we can't bring more of God's image to the world. That handsome bohemian man will make more of a difference in making the world a better place than most activists and politicians ever will.
We can change the world, even if it is only one moment, one smile, one flower at a time.

So go ahead. Pass it on.

No More an Orphan

2009-05-28T20:14:00.001-07:00

“Oh blessed Savior, make me willing

And walk beside me until I’m with them

Be my mother, my father

My sister, my brother

No more an orphan girl.”

~Gillian Welch, ‘Orphan Girl’

If one had to make an outside observer’s guess on what Joss Whedon’s favourite theme is, Female Empowerment would probably be most people’s first thought. With characters like Buffy, River Tam and now Dollhouse’s Echo, to say nothing of Wonderwoman, Joss has made something of a rep for himself within the feminist movement. Yet, while feminine strength is indeed often a recurring motif in his work, I don’t think it is the major theme around which all of his work is based. From the ensemble casts of Buffy to Angel to Firefly, the most obvious recurring theme is that of the creation of family.

The very nature of family is under attack in today’s secular and post-modern world. Families are broken and distorted into something unrecognizable from the original intended concept. Wives leave their husbands, husbands beat their wives, mothers abandon their children, and fathers drink the rent away. And that’s not even mentioning the new definitions being applied to the word ‘family’. It is therefore unsurprising that the theme of creating one’s own family is one that resonates so deeply in today’s culture. And this is why, I believe, Joss’s work is so especially popular, granting Joss his varied and wide-spread fan-base. Joss’s fans have followed this example, uniting in their mutual love of Joss’s work and creating a kind of family in fan-based community. I’ve often heard them ridiculed for this, with comments ranging from ‘what a bunch of nerds’ to ‘get a life’ to ‘what are you, trekkies??’ While I myself have stopped short of dressing up to go see Serenity (though I did encourage my sister to put a ‘Jayne hat’ on her son for a charity screening) I think those who look down on the Joss fandom are fundamentally misunderstanding the deeper nature of his work. Yes, the clever writing, fabulous acting and attractive cast are all instrumental to its brilliance. But these are not the things that reach into the hearts of viewers. It is rather that Joss touches something in his audience that has been lost. In a broken world where the Fall has separated us from God, each other and, by extension, ourselves, people crave that creation of family more than anything. I have lost track of how many have told me that, in converting to Orthodoxy, they feel not only as though they’ve found the true Faith, but that they found a family they were always lacking, always searching for but never knew where to look.

This is why Joss’s work is so timelessly brilliant, so far-reaching in its acclaim. Because it speaks to each of us on a level deeper than that of mere cleverly-written fiction. There is a loneliness inherent in the human condition that we are constantly trying to remedy, a void we are trying to fill. Without God, we are orphans. Even those of us lucky enough to be raised in the Church by loving, God-fearing families. It is only with Christ that we find our true family, all of them. It is only with Christ that we are orphans no more.

A Horribly Brilliant Musical

2009-05-08T08:56:00.000-07:00

Any Joss Whedon fan worth his salt knows about Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and any Buffy fan worth his salt knows about the musical episode that aired early in Season 6. It was instantly obvious from the melodic opening credits that Joss had a flare for musical entertainment. Why, then, was anyone surprised to get another musical project out of Joss some 5 years later? Perhaps the more naive of us thought he'd gotten all that 'musical stuff' out of his system.

Silly girl. Naivete's for kids.

The results of the WGA Writer's Strike of 07/08 are debatable. The matter was resolved, an agreement was reached, and, as far as I know, no one from the Guild sucker-punched Jeffrey Zucker from NBC, so one could say it was a success. What the official line from the WGA on their new contract is, I don't know (and believe me, I looked.) Joss's considerably less official take, as stated discreetly in a musical commentary (that's right, musical commentary) were somewhat more telling:
"It's time to light the fuse or lose
the Strike
And lose we did
Impressively
Slunk back to our offices
declaring victory"
....
"Years from now I'll tell my tyke
just what it feels like to Strike
Out."

Okay, so maybe the writers didn't score the deal of all time from the strike. I can't say the same for Joss's fans. Joss, along with his brothers Jed and Zack, and Jed's fiancee Maurissa Tancharoen (currently lending her brilliance to Joss's new project Dollhouse), used their 'down time' during the strike to come up with what can only be called a work of genius. Using their own funds and a cast and crew of volunteers, and beholden to no studio, the team wrote, produced and distributed Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog, to be available, for free, online. On July 15th of 2008 Act 1 was released, and was such an instant sensation that the flood of viewers crashed their website. With the release of the 3rd Act conclusion on July 19th, it was immediately clear that Joss had yet another cult hit on his hands.

So what is it about Dr Horrible that makes it so completely brilliant?
Yeah, it doesn't hurt that they used attractive and popular actors like Nathan Fillion and Neil Patrick Harris (dude, who knew that Captain Mal and Doogie Howser could SING??) But it's doubtlessly the seemingly limitless genius of Joss's brain (with which he could probably kill River Tam) that brings Horrible its brilliance. His inimitable style of witty dialogue, poignant story-telling, with a splash of social commentary, makes him a force to be reckoned with.

Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog is no exception. It is a super-villain origin story, which, any comic lover knows, has more to offer than simple entertainment.
The 42-minute internet series follows Billy and his alter ego Dr. Horrible through his attempts to get accepted into the Evil League of Evil (ELE), as well as finally speak to the girl of his dreams, the sweet and caring Penny (Felicia Day, of The Guild), whose optimism and philanthropy contrast sharply with Billy's own cynicism and bitterness. Also featured is Billy's arch-nemesis, the vulgar and narcissistic super-hero Captain Hammer (Nathan Fillion) who continuously thwarts Billy's attempts at both romance and world domination.
While its tongue-in-cheek style and satirical approach make it tempting to pass it off as mere goofy parody, like all works of genius, there are deeper, more profound layers (like ogres, and onions.)
Billy is not simply a goofy, failed super-villain. He is an image of misguided (and slightly warped) desire for justice and social change, and a cautionary tale for those whose misanthropy may threaten to overtake them.
Billy's feelings and predicament, and the contrast between his and Penny's characters (portrayed best in the musical number "On the Rise") highlight the importance of hope, and the result of what happens when you give in to despair and bitterness.
The poignant and thought-provoking conclusion in Act 3 is nothing less than a creation of pure genius. I will post no spoilers, but simply say that Joss has done it again.

Film, television and all entertainment mediums are truly a better place for having Joss Whedon's contributions among them. He really is, slowly, taking over the world. And I think the world's a better place for it.
No power in the 'verse can stop him.

Now. When's the sequel?

My Sing-Along Life

2009-05-06T12:08:00.001-07:00

This morning I was sitting with Mum, talking about my many fandoms, discussing the deeper meanings and merits of Joss Whedon and his many works of genius. We realized there's just no end to the things one could say about them all. As Mum says: If I wasn't Orthodox, I'd probably be a Whedonite. How that man's head doesn't explode from sheer awesomeness (for which there is no charge) is a bit of a mystery.
And then we realize there are actually a whole host of things that I love so much that I could burst into song. Like my life. My family. My Nephew and Niece. My new career. My slightly disturbing addiction to my textbooks (this would be an eery rock number).

Mum says, You should write a blog about it.
And, being newly obsessed with musical parodies (a la Dr Horrible's Sing-Along Blog) here we are. My very own Sing-Along Blog. My life, my fandoms, all the things I love to chatter on about.

Today, I'm singing joyfully about my life.

Sitting with a warm cup of coffee, talking to Mum about my life, and realizing that I'm in a new position that I've never been in. A perfect, happy, wonderful contentment with my new life's order.
This is new and strange. I've stopped wandering, aimlessly, looking for something more and better. 'If only I had X I'd be happy.' First, way back when, it was graduating high school. Then it was the film industry. Then, for 2 years, back and forth about different career possibilities. Then it was a boyfriend, if only I weren't alone. Then it was graduating again, then passing the Board exams.
But now, for the first time in my life, I don't want or need anything more than I have. I'm not just content, I'm perfectly, insanely, singing in the rain, dancing in the dark, shouting it to the heavens, happy. I have Jesus, I have friends, family. I'm single, and happy to be so (alone, not lonely). A brilliant career that I love. A niece and nephew whom I adore. I couldn't be happier if I tried.

Happily Ever After.
My Happy Ending is a brand new beginning.

Stay tuned, next episode is dedicated to Joss Whedon's Dr Horrible's Sing-Along Blog, and all the brilliance inherent therein.