Well, it happens. We fall into states of misery and rumination, and then we read a bunch of spiritual tomes, and we watch some Up With People videos, and we shove some Haribo candy into our mouths, and we stare at our pets for hours, and our loved ones assure us we’re loved, and ka-blam! Better!

…I know I’m minimizing and making light of what can be a really bleak, alarming state of mind, but the tornado has passed and all is right again. I could get rid of the last post, but I won’t. Let’s just put it this way (and I put it this way on social media, which gives me great anxiety but sometimes it’s a useful tool for reaching out): life isn’t fair or consistent, and oftentimes our emotional reaction to it is commensurate with our current challenges and circumstances. That’s it. Pretty simple. I’m a tuff, happy gal most of the time, so when a storm passes through the endless horizon of promise (whatever the fuck that means…I mean, I know what it means, and it’s just an abysmal metaphor, but stick with me), it’s significant. As it should be. Unless you have bona-fide challenges with your mental health on a ongoing basis–in which case, I implore you to find the wherewithal to ask for whatever help you need, and seek out the resources available to you–acknowledging and recognizing that things aren’t okay sometimes is perfectly healthy, perfectly normal.

That’s why I have always, always hated this criminally-unacceptable song. When it was released, it actually depressed me beyond measure: no way, no how are any of the juvenile sentiments expressed in that track realistic or obtainable. In fact, it’s the sort of delusional, sinister material you would use to further torture the innocent jogger you abducted, drugged, gagged and bound, held in an abandoned barn, starved, and regularly beat about the limbs with a particularly heavy rolling pin.

Anyway, back to regularly-scheduled programming. I’m currently working on a piece celebrating an aspect of this city that seems to be overlooked and taken for granted, and should have it up and live either today or tomorrow. In the meantime, here’s a thing: strolling across Burrard Bridge the other day, I looked to my right and realized that there is an absolute monstrosity I neglected to mention in my article about Brutalism.

The Vancouver Aquatic Centre: Doesn’t matter what angle you shoot it from, it looks like this.

I don’t even know if I can classify this hopeless wonder as Brutalist. It’s Bleakist. It’s Apathyist. It’s Forsakenist. It’s like the city ran out of architects in 1974 and, racing to beat the clock for the city’s commission, some hapless bureaucrat hurried down a few yards to the beach, glanced at a child’s attempt at a sand castle, made peace with their ultimate last-minute design choice, and gave the contractors the go-ahead to just keep pouring concrete to their heart’s content to achieve a sagging trapezoid, so long as they fit a swimming pool in the structure somehow. I have never seen a building so revolting, it would be an object of ridicule in North Korea. After all, they know Brutalism, and they know it well:

Ryugyong Hotel, Pyongnang. This is the unfinished, abandoned zenith (nadir?) of North Korea’s endless examples of Brutalist architecture.

Anyway, there’s today’s check-in. Hope you are all doing well. Speaking of checks / cheques, I had to remind myself today that while one is working on their creative portfolio, any cheque will do. A cheque is a cheque. Do what you must for that cheque, but keep your eye on the real prize.

(I like this pic. Two weeks ago I took a very different, very upsetting selfie, so the contrast has me in disbelief. By the way, I’m not sharing that horrifying selfie. I’m immortalizing this one here, as I have already done on social media, just so I’ll always keep moving forward. Here we go:

Nadya, July 2024–Lookit that peaceful pook!)

Love

Nadya.