So… I went a little MIA in March. I thought that because of this, the best way to lead into April would be to update you on what has been going on in my life. Honestly, I’ve been wanting to include a life-update format on my website for quite some time now. I thought it could be fun for you to follow along in my daily thoughts and experiences, so maybe now is a good time to begin that, alongside the regularly scheduled posts that you’ve grown accustom to here of course. (Don’t worry, I am in the middle of writing one at this moment!)

But Danika – you’ve been missing for so long. Wouldn’t adding onto the content of your website be overwhelming?

Well… We’ll see. I just know that this is something that I want to do, and I don’t intend to disappear again the way I have. Stay along for the journey!

So… What happened in March?

I Sprained My Wrist

Yup… That was one of the dominoes that fell, making my presence on my own website so sparse. Simply, it hurt to type.

How did it happen? Well, let’s go all the way back to March 5^th…

The morning of March 5^th, I woke up to the sounding of my alarm urging me to get ready for work. Before I poured my cup of coffee, I went outside to start my car. Allow me to really paint a picture for you: I was still in my pajamas, I threw on my Oodie for warmth and I marched outside in my boyfriend’s brother’s boots, which are much too large for me.

The air was chilly, still, evidence of winter had already been growing less and less apparent. There was hardly any ice left on the street! Except for the one, tiny, tiny patch that I managed to find with my foot on the way back to the house. I fell hard and fast. My left arm instinctively extended to try and save my fall, and the entire weight of my body landed upon my wrist, which was bent backwards due to the way my hand hit the ground.

At first, the bulk of the pain I felt was actually in my hip, as that was the second point of contact between my body and the ground. For moments afterwards, I laid on the street, only able to take short, panicky gasps of air. I was completely unable to move for excruciatingly long moments. The voice in my head was yelling at me to get up, but it took a while until my body complied.

My yelly voice was making some good arguments, though:

1. I was laying in the street. A pretty unsafe place to be.
2. Heaven forbid that someone saw me in my state: Oodie, pajamas, oversized boots, laying on the ground, gasping little owie gasps… They would ask if I was okay, and I wouldn’t be able to reply between gasps. They would try to help me up and, in the moment, that was the very last thing I would want.

I needed to get up before I was noticed. That was final. Eventually, I did. I hobbled back into the house, which was precisely when I started noticing the outstanding pain in my wrist. Boy, did it hurt!

I felt a strong need to continue getting ready for work, and I gotta tell you – I wish that instead of writing this part, I had the filmography skills to create a short montage of my incredibly pathetic morning.

My first task was to get caffeine in my body. Despite my sudden injury’s ability to abruptly wake me the hell up, I still felt groggy, and I knew a quick dose of caffeine was mandatory. I take honey in my coffee in lieu of sugar, and this preference led to my first series of unfortunate struggles.

The bear-shaped container from Costco only had a tiny amount of honey left in it, requiring an amount of squeezing power I was not capable of, due to my owie. Luckily, just a short while before this treacherous day, my boss had gifted me crystallized honey that I believed would certainly make this task a lot easier… right?

The gift came in two forms: a large bag of the honey powder, and a box of single packaged, small amounts of honey, similar to the little packages of sugar you would find in a restaurant. I opted for the single packets (though I don’t remember my logic for this decision in this moment. It probably wasn’t sound. Injury aside, I am notorious for being brainless first thing in the morning). The packets had little pre-cut slits at the top for easy opening (for anyone who had not just undergone an injury).

The bulk of the pain in my wrist was coming from the small spot at the base of my hand where the meaty flesh that extends from my thumb and pinky meet, and I learned very quickly that when you are hurt there, you lose the ability to pinch with any kind of oomph. In short, it hurt too badly to pull the tearaway slit to open the packet.

My next course of action was to grab the scissors and cut the top open. Unfortunately, it also hurt too bad to hold the packet steady with my left hand while trying to cut with my right.

This brought me to my final method. There I was, in the kitchen, clamping the tiny packet of honey between my pelvic bone and the counter, doing all I could to remain steady while I carefully cut the top off the packet so I could finally sweeten my liquid caffeine for my consumption.

The next task was getting dressed.

Boy oh boy.

I tried really hard to wear jeans that day… I wound up laying on the floor in the closet, wriggling and pulling, doing all I could to get them on. I got them just above my knees before I gave up and opted for sweatpants instead.

I stared at my bra for a dramatically long time wondering how the hell I was going to tackle that before eventually going for the traditional “Okay…. one… two… three… go!” method.

I put on a zip-up sweater and managed to only get as far as threading the metal end through the zipper before I began crying. That is when I finally messaged a co-worker, giving work the heads-up that I was likely going to be late, as I was operating at half-speed.

Driving to work was a whole other challenge. My left hand was completely out of commission and not up to the task of driving. I drive manual, so my right hand was frantically and rapidly switching from the shift stick to the steering wheel to the signal light indicators for the full thirty-eight-minute drive to work.

When I arrived at work, the only parking space available was one I would have to parallel park in.

There was no way. There was absolutely no way I would be able to pull that off with just the help of my right hand. I sat helplessly in my car, hovering just around the spot that was free to park in.

A man in a work truck pulled up near me and bashfully, I asked the complete stranger in the truck if he would park my car for me. I explained that I had hurt my wrist that morning and I didn’t believe I was capable of doing it myself. I asked him if he knew how to drive standard and he said, “I never have before!” As he grabbed my keys from me.

I watched my car stall a handful of times, between each, he managed to move it just a few more feet. Finally, he figured out reverse well enough to successfully place my car into the empty spot. I was incredibly grateful for that stranger’s help. Even though he struggled to operate my car, he still was far more capable than I was in that moment, and I respect him for struggling on my behalf.

When I got inside my workplace, my co-workers were all concerned about the amount of pain I was in, and one of them wrapped a make-shift splint around my wrist using tiny wooden ice cream spoons and a light switch plate before they all insisted that I go to the doctors to get my injury looked at.

I went to my usual doctor and got an X-Ray done by a wonderfully kind woman that confirmed, fortunately, my wrist was only sprained and not broken. My doctor said I should wear a splint for three weeks and sent me on my way.

My wrist hurt a lot, and I do a lot of typing and sorting through boxes at work which only irritated the injury. I did my best to carry on as normal but after a while of using my wrist (probably more than I should have been) my arm would flush in a hot, expanding pain that would make me feel nauseous and sometimes, bring me to tears. Day after day, I would use my wrist far too much at work and return home to coddle my screaming arm in the evening.

My boss thought I was ridiculous for pushing my injury so much and on week two, he gave me a few days off, extending my weekend into a long one and insisting I used the time to give my arm some rest. At that point, my wrist hurt far more than I thought it should, so I returned to the hospital to have it looked at a second time – just in case, and wound up with the same results. So… rest time and ice, got it.

Now, my splint has been off for a week and my wrist is in much better condition. The entirety of the pain is nearly gone except for one small spot in the same place at the base of my palm. There, it still hurts a lot, but it doesn’t get in the way of my daily life.

I Was Emotional

In the last post I put up for my blog, I discussed a traumatic experience I endured years ago. Writing about it uncovered some pain that I was unaware went unaddressed until the piece was complete. I unexpectedly broke down a couple of times and for a while, I felt sort of like a zombie, coasting through the motions of my daily life. I’m sure I will talk about this in more detail at some point in the future, but in short, I realized I didn’t forgive the man who hurt me and for years, I sincerely believed that I had. Trauma is a difficult thing to navigate, and it has a funny way of being able to continue to surprise you long after you’ve concluded that you’ve left no room for further startle.

Posting this particular piece also opened up a lot of unexpected conversations. I found myself caught in a whirlwind of thoughts and feelings that my mind was unprepared to manage.

Because of these things, I found it difficult for me to write for a little while. In my emotional state, I felt dishonest when I tried to write, and I wasn’t able to complete anything I had begun.

This is all okay. It’s human. I needed a little bit of time to restore emotional balance, and I knew that task wasn’t out of reach. I’ve found peace again and I’m happy to be back. I’m excited to put all my ideas to paper and share them all with you. Sometimes, we need a little time. I took mine when I needed it and I’m delighted to be back in fully restored health.

Motorcycle Stuff

Way back when I launched my website, I mentioned at the end of my post about all car accidents I’ve been in that I began learning to ride a motorcycle. With summer peering its head around the corner, I’ve been growing increasingly more excited to straddle the ol’ metal stallion.

That’s me talking a big game. Hold on, let me try again.

(With summer peering its head around the corner,) I’ve been growing increasingly more excited to wobble around a parking lot.

…Yeah, that feels a little bit more honest.

Last summer, I bought a little 2012 Honda CBR250r from my boyfriend’s buddy, and that’s what I learned to ride on. With my boyfriend as my teacher, I found the friction point with the clutch, and practiced braking a hundred times before I tried first gear and braking a hundred times more before I tried riding in a circle a hundred times before a figure-eight a hundred times before I finally rode around town. Fifty kilometres an hour was exhilarating the first time.

Soon, I was ready for the highway and I quickly learned that my motorcycle didn’t have enough horsies built into it to love the highway as much as I did. When I felt ready, I started looking for a real motorcycle. I decided that I wanted a Yamaha FZ6 and I was particularly attracted to the blue ones. None of the ones in my area were blue and I found myself dead set on that color. Finally, I found a blue one up for sale, but it was a hefty road trip away.

…So that’s the one I got.

My boyfriend truly proved his unconditional love for me, as he sat in my passenger seat for a four-and-a-half-hour trip and rode my brand-new motorcycle for four-and-a-half hours back, just so I could have a blue one. My heavier, taller 600cc bike was not short of new obstacles for my 5’3”, 115 lbs self to tackle. I just started really getting the hang of it and finding myself less stressed and more comfortable right at the end of last summer’s riding season, so needless to say, I’m a little nervous for my first jump back on it this year. After all, this year I will not have the privilege of beginning again on a 250cc bike that will not break my heart much if I happen to drop it in a parking lot.

Not that I’ve done that… More than a handful of times.

Though I am nervous, I am far more excited. I will ease myself back to the point I was at last year with careful baby steps, of course. I have every desire to be a good rider. I will keep my confidence in check, and I will be diligent in learning techniques and practicing until good habits become second nature. Hopefully, this season, I will be able to get my motorcycle license!

While we’re on the topic, I would like to talk about:

the pink motorcycle.

Through my newfound status of being “a motorcyclist,” (take the quotations very seriously) I’ve discovered my love for scrolling through Kijiji and Facebook Marketplace. It’s a lot of fun to scroll through and imagine yourself on various bikes, and by doing this, I’ve grown a list of motorcycles I’m particularly keen on and I’ve learned a lot about how to recognize different types of bikes.

Of course, the desire to want is strong and on occasion, you can’t help but to fall endlessly in love with a particular two-wheeled shimmering art piece. This was the case for me and the pink motorcycle.

It was a 2004 or 2006 (I’m uncertain now) CBR600rr, and it was magnificent. My boyfriend owns a CBR from the same era, so I already knew I found it to be an attractive bike, as every time I see his, I think, “damn, that’s pretty.” But CBR’s hadn’t ever really been high on my list of desires until I saw this one. It was this one in particular that I longed for and a large reason for that was because it was pink.

From as far back as I can remember, pink and green have always been my two favorite colors. Green came first, but since my adoration for the color pink had developed, they have remained equally tied as number one. For me, pink is a difficult favorite color to have, and this is because of the reasons the color pink is usually used for. I’ve broken this down into three main categories:

1. To Be Girly

Pink is often used to accentuate girliness, and in this way, I find it to be used obnoxiously. From wardrobe to accessories to belongings, pink is used as a statement to prove “I am a girly girl.” In this way, pink is used to represent an attitude, a personality, a lifestyle… It is both a marketing ploy and a personal expression that says: “I giggle a lot and I don’t bend my elbows when I run.”

2. To Be Edgy

In particular, this use of pink is targeted at preteens. Hot pink, often paired with black with occasional splashes of white and silver paints cartoony skulls and bold statements like “Rocker Chick!” across t-shirts, back packs, keychains, and notebooks to give young girls a disingenuous feeling of being bad ass. Even when I was at the prime age and in the prime attitude of being within the perfect demographic for this use of pink, many of these items didn’t feel authentic to me.

3. To Say, “I’m A Girl.”

This use of the color pink is found in places where a woman has taken interest in something that is socially or traditionally recognized for being more “masculine”. From trucks with pink rims, to pink camo on hunting rifles, this use of pink screams, “yes, I’m a girl and yes, I’m interested in this thing people with penises typically like.” Personally, I don’t understand why these things can’t exist simultaneously without being underlined.

Pink is unique in the fact that it is the only color that is far more recognized for its representations than for its visual appearance. I would go as far as to say that for this reason, pink is the most polarizing color.

Therefore, it’s so difficult to have one of my favorite colors be pink. I like the color for the color, not for the things we’ve decided it stands for. None of the three categories ideally represent my person and while I love the color pink, I have a difficult time loving anything that is pink. I don’t own a lot of pink things because many things that are pink dissatisfy me and fail to reflect who I am.

Pink motorcycles at large can (and usually) fall into any of the three categories depending on how the color was used for the bike. I’ve scoured all corners of the internet and between Pinterest, Google images and Instagram, I haven’t come across a pink motorcycle that wasn’t loudly stating one of those three things.

That’s why I fell so hard for that CBR – it was just a pink motorcycle. It wasn’t trying to say anything by being a pink motorcycle. The pink itself was a light, baby pink but scrolling through the pictures, it looked like it would shine peachy in the sunlight. It just looked like a motorcycle that happened to be painted pink. Perfection.

I knew immediately that such a diamond of a motorcycle deserved a name. I thought long and hard to pick the perfect name and decided that the name itself should off-set the CBR being a pink motorcycle by making the name sound tough and bad ass.

I first saw the ad on Facebook Marketplace for Pinkerbell on March 9^th, and I would go back every few hours daily to ogle over it until the final ad was taken down on March 16^th. I knew I couldn’t afford the bike when I first saw it, still, it shattered my heart when Pinkerbell finally sold. I took screenshots of the masterpiece before it sold and from time to time, I go back just to appreciate it again.

One day, I hope to stumble upon Pinkerbell in the wild. I would love to see it in person – even just once.

Body Mods

There is a particular tattoo I’ve wanted done by a particular artist for nearly two years. While I won’t yet reveal the details of the image I want done, I recommend checking out the artist. Her Instagram is @inkbyshae and her portfolio is impressive, to put it humbly. Every few months, her bookings open for twenty-four hours and she receives hundreds, if not thousands, of emails requesting a spot in her calendar during that duration, which fills her appointments up again for another few months. I follow her on Instagram and watch her stories daily, eagerly anticipating the moment her bookings are open once again. I’ve tried twice before to get a spot with her without any luck.

My sister has known for quite some time how desperately I want to get tattooed by her, and on March 23^rd, she noticed that Shae had opened her bookings just an hour before they would be closed once again. I was busy at work and on my behalf, my sister took the liberty of logging into my email and sending Shae a message with my tattoo request. The following day, I received an email saying that Shae wanted to book an appointment with me! I was absolutely over the moon. Finally, I got in!

Unfortunately, Shae’s appointments filled fast so the last email I received was to inform me that I would have to wait until her next period of appointments to get in. She kept my deposit, making it certain that I have a spot on the list that can not be taken away and I am to expect a phone call from her in June to book for July or August. Somehow, the wait feels longer now than it did before I had a solidified spot with her, but I am elated and full of anticipation! I can not wait to have a piece of her work on my skin.

Anyway, that’s a little bit of what I’ve been up to in the last while! I promise you can expect more from my website going forward as I absolutely intend to return to my regular schedule. I have lots of ideas and thoughts I can not wait to share with you! My next post will be like my older pieces as those will never dwindle, but I hope to scatter more updates like this one as well! Please let me know if this piece is something you enjoy and if you would like to see more insight into my life in the future.

I’m back. 🙂