Sappy and gushy, I blame the hormones. That's what they're there for, right?

I will take a moment or two to reveal something about myself that might be eh... a bit sad, in a pathetic sort of way, but if you can work past the pity, I'm sure there'll be something more positive at the end of it. Ok? Ok.

When I was of the tender age of 21 (oh, to be young again) I moved continent for the very first time, to North America in general and to Canada in particular. Eventually I was going to find myself loving and never wanting to leave Canada, but those first months were a bit rough.
I say rough, but really what I mean is that it was mildly trying.

Anyways, my first few months in Canada were spent in Windsor, Ontario, which failed to have me at hello. Coming from a small Swedish town where anywhere can be reached on foot and being so used to everywhere being pedestrian friendly that I hadn't even thought about ever getting my driver's license, it'd be fair to say that I was sort of ill equipped to deal with a city built for cars.

So, after a month or so of feeling a bit closed off from the world and not really meeting anyone to really hang out with, a shameful habit that would eventually become a fullblown addiction was starting to form.
Far from dark alley ways and seedy clubs I got my fix under the bright fluorescent lights at the 24 hour Sobey's, handing the clerk money while clenching my jaws and avoiding his gaze I would then hurry to stuff my purchase in my bag, out of sight from the prying and judging eyes of others.

And then, the giddy excitement, the feeling of euphoria and relief as I flipped open the cover of this weeks Us weekly, the anxiously awaited update on whether Mary-Kate Olsen had actually been hospitalized for a cocaine overdose rather than the stated anorexia...

I was a woman possessed.

There was no stopping me, soon I had to up my dosage, and from there it was all just a slippery slope really. I mean, where do you stop? Where do you draw the line? Star? OK? National Enquirer?.
Luckily, the story (sort of) ends there. Soon enough I traded the pollution and strip clubs of Windsor for the forest trails and beaches of Tofino, a small town on Vancouver Island. With this trade came a social life and it seemed that my need for the recognition of the famous faces displayed in Us Weekly diminished.

And... yeah. There was a point to this story, and it might be perceived as a sappy one, but really I'm just quite happy about it.
The point is, that this time around, feeling a little lost while trying to find my feet in Australia, you people here with your blogs and comments and being brilliant and having stories that sometimes resemble mine and sometimes are completely different make me feel... well, like I don't need to flip through gossip rags to find something recognizable. I don't know if it makes sense, but it's making me feel more positive about the world.
Who really knew there were so many cool people out there?
I guess they're just all in front of their computers.