tommy & stuff

I'm so psyched about Rock Star Supernova that Tommy Lee has totally joined the cast of my dreams. He's just there, all the time, hanging out with me. What fun! I tried to watch an episode of Idol the other night, but once you've gone Rock Star there's just no turning back. I watched Global-TV's special on the auditions, where six Canadians made it into the top 50 in the world. One guy gave me goosebumps when he performed. I hope he goes far.

I'm also looking forward to Big Brother All-Stars. Will, the evil doctor, was so entertaining to watch. I hope he gets voted back into the house. I can't imagine an all-stars without him.

And that's all I'm watching this summer. Not getting into anything else. Though I'll be doing the Oscar-winning dvds for my list. I feel like I'm off my game, with regard to the list, to life in general. I've run off the road, just spinning my tires in the ditch. Need someone to give me a push I think.

Mood: damp
Drinking: coffee
Listening To: KIIS-FM, Ryan Seacrest
Hair: bed-head

Sticky

Humidy's high. Not good for my joints. Not good for sleeping. Not good for alertness or brain power or anything worthwhile. Blech! Days like these are hard on me. I want to go shopping. Need more summertime fare. I changed my clothes at least six times yesterday, trying to get something semi-comfortable in this weather. My upstairs seems hotter this year than last. I'm wondering if it has to do with those trees being cut down or if I'm just running hotter or if the temperatures are truly higher or what is going on. After getting back from Moncton yesterday, it was so hot here that I couldn't function. Couldn't make dinner. Couldn't think. I went out to the Dollar store and bought a bar of Fa Soap, two 8x10 picture frames and a ceramic teapot (10 bucks+, it's not a REAL dollar store). Then I went to Save-Easy in search of frozen yogurt, but Chapman's Ice Cream was on sale two for $5, so I got Cherry Vanilla and Orange Pineapple (the only flavours available, perhaps I'll check back today for others). The Co-Op renos are done I think. Want to go and see what they've got for fresh produce, different stuff. Plus I want a bottle of wine. Want to do pasta, maybe even a zitti, something with hot sausage, but can hardly do that without having a glass of red with it (watched The Godfather Part II, they eat a lot in that one). Darn-it! Got the hiccoughs!

Mood: fuzzy
Drinking: cold coffee
Listening To: Sanctuary, The Local Division
Hair: poufy

You Spin Me Round

Setting for your story: at a dance

Starting phrase for your story: He told me

Four words you must include in your story: Probability, Wimp, Ad-lib, Moo

15 minutes on the clock . . .

And go!

He told me the probability that he'd show up was next to none. He had no money. No urge. But I went to the dance anyway, just in case. He knew I'd be there. If he showed it would be to see me.

Six weeks earlier I'd broken up with him. Out in a blaze of glory, a heated argument. We had the best arguments, so much passion and chemistry between us. I regretted the break-up after one week. What was I thinking? For God's sake, he was the love of my life! But I'd made my bed and I was determined to lay in it, so I didn't call him, didn't hang around his usual haunts. By the third week I was miserable. Took to my bed, refused to eat, refused to see anyone. The fourth week friends threatened to call him for an intervention if I didn't start making some effort, shower at least, have a cup of tea. I couldn't have him see me like this. So I got up. I showered. I drank tea. I made scrambled eggs. I went through all the motions, put up the front I needed to in order to convince everyone I wasn't the big wimp they pegged me for.

And that's how I ended up at the club Friday night, the night before the dance, playing pool with the club boys, laughing, flirting, drinking, generally convincing myself and everyone else that I was so over him. Then he walked into the room and everything stopped. My heart stopped. And I knew the truth. I had to be with him. I had to get him back. I'd never loved anyone like that before. I'd never love anyone like that again. A smile broke across my face and I started toward him just as she stepped in behind him. A blonde I'd never seen before. A real cow. One of those giddy young girls without a clue in her head. And he was holding her hand. My God! What could he possibly see in her? He stopped when he saw me, taken aback by my presence. And the room went silent as everyone waited to see what would happen.

I'd be damned if I'd let him know how much he'd hurt me. My smile broadened and I could feel the twinkle in my eyes and I sidled up to him and said hello. "Hey stranger," he said. "Moo," the cow ad-libbed before my eyes shot poison arrows turning her into tainted beef. I played it so cool, so aloof, he couldn't help but be drawn to me. By the end of the night the cow jumped over the moon and I was sitting back in my rightful place, beside him in his car as he drove me home.

As we got closer to my place, the plan fell apart. My calm collectiveness evaporated and I started blubbering, begging for another chance. Just like he had blubbered and begged the night I broke up with him. And just like me that night, he now turned to stone and let his heart turn cold toward me. He wanted to hurt me as bad as I had hurt him. I can't say I blame him. It's what I would've done. But I would've regretted it later. And I would've changed my mind. That's what I would've done. And we were so much alike I thought maybe that's what he'd do too. So I sucked it up and laid it on the line.

"Okay. I can accept this. You've got every right to hate me. But if you change your mind. Like tomorrow, after you've had some time to sleep on it. If you decide you would like to try again, start over, then I'll be at the dance." He told me again about how he didn't have any money and wouldn't be at that dance and I said that was fine I was just letting him know where I'd be, just in case.

Saturday night, I went to the dance.

And we're all outta time. That's all for today. I'm not liking these first person prompts too much. I'd rather write in third person. Maybe tomorrow I'll try a different tool.

Mood: starving marven
Drinking: coffee, the cheap stuff, blech!
Listening To: i'm not sure, it sounds like motor boats . . . but we've got no place close for motor boats, perhaps it's a lawnmower
Hair: tousled

New Blog

Not mine. Don't panic. I have enough problems keeping up with all the blogs I'm currently looking after. On the weekend I heard from Gerry. You'll recall I met him at the WFNB AGM in Moncton last year. His workshop made a big impression on me. And now he's starting blogging, tho with four littles underfoot this summer, who knows how much time he'll have for such things, but I'm really liking what I'm seeing there so far. Be sure to check out his "Sightings of Bono" and "How do we cope with Gerry?" posts on his Dead Beat blog.

Meeting in Moncton Tuesday afternoon. What is it about Tuesdays? *Sigh*

Today I cooked Tandoori chicken and corn on the cob. Meat was beyond scrum. Corn was a little bland. No cherries to be found anywhere.

I noticed a surge in male eyes upon me today as I went about my run-around. With the first guy I thought something must've been wrong, zipper down, toilet paper stuck in my pants, you know, something terribly embarrassing and completely Kellie-like. But then there were two more . . . and then another and another . . . and finally I got home and checked myself out in the mirror . . . and without seeing anything out of place, I'll have to chalk it up to an amazing hair day, good bra, and a Tommy Hilfiger hooter sweater. OR maybe men have been looking all along and I just haven't noticed. Maybe I'm not as invisible as I thought.

Mood: sleepy
Drinking: rooibos vanilla tea
Listening To: Maybe Sparrow, Neko Case
Hair: growing to the perfect length, nearly there

Another Spin

Here are your Story Spinner results.....

Setting for your story: at a square dance

Starting phrase for your story: If I could relive a day

Four words you must include in your story: Jello, Chew, Ostrich, Belly Flop

15 minutes on the clock . . .

And GO!

If I could relive a day it would not be the day Great Aunt Louise got married. Her sixth, his fourth, and they wanted to shake things up a little. Do something just a little different. But with 10 weddings between them, new ideas were hard to come by. Barefoot on the beach, aboard a hot air balloon, with a view of the Eiffel Tower--done, done, done. So they rounded everyone up, herded us out to a Colarado Dude Ranch, for the biggest hoe-down of the year complete with square dancing and weathered old cowboys sucking on a chew of tobacco. Jello moulds, belly flops into the duck pond, the smell of manure, and a straw itchyness that never went away--this was one classy affair, rivalled only by Aunt Lousie's third nuptials of the burlesque theme for which hundreds of ostrich sacrificed their feathers. Oh, there's nothing like a good wedding to bring a family closer. But these nuptials in particular . . . this wedding especially needs to be forgotten. Because that was the day I met Hank. Sensible, direct, broad-shouldered, man of few words, Hank. I wish I had never laid eyes on him.

And time. And again I'm in the west. For godsake! What is up with that?! And again, I've only got a beginning, not a story and no idea really where I was heading. Blech! I suck at this. But hey, why do you think meeting Hank was a day not worth reliving? Lets bandy about some ideas, see where this goes.

Mood: hungry
Drinking: coffee
Listening To: traffic in the rain
Hair: oh boy!

New Week Begins

From my Weekly Horoscope Forecast for June 26 to July 02:

" . . . You have been through a frustrating week as you have tried to get important administration out of the way, or to get documents and contracts dealt with in a timely manner. This week as Mars has moved past Saturn, things should be easier . . ."

Well, ain't that the truth! Amen to that sister!

Last night I dreamed I was at a graduation, high school maybe, because I was having a conversation with one of my old classmates, but the size of the class was too large to be my real high school, and it seemed more like university to me. I was definitely graduating though, in this group of hundreds doing likewise. Only two of the students, both girls I didn't know, wore the gowns (the uniform of graduation), in beautiful bright royal blue. They sat in the front row in the first two seats on the left and their brightness made them stand out against the rest of the class like they were the only ones in colour and every one else was in grayscale. I couldn't understand this, why nobody else wanted to wear a gown. I really wanted one, but couldn't find out how to get one. I was like, this is a once in a lifetime moment, why isn't everyone taking advantage of and enjoying all the tradition that comes with it? And I was sad to be among the hundreds in civilian clothes.

A vivid dream, I felt compelled to look into meaning:

"To dream you are at a graduation, represents your achievements and a successful transition to a higher level of ability. You are ready to move forward with your accomplishments and do more important things."

"To see your childhood friend in your dream, signifies regression into your past where you had no responsibilities and things were much simpler and carefree. You may be wanting to escape the the pressures and stresses of adulthood. Alternatively, the childhood friend may be suggesting that you have been acting in a childish manner and you need to start acting like an adult."

"To see a person in uniform, indicates that you may be conforming too much and living in too much of a regimented manner. Also, you may need to fit in and stop going against the crowd."

"Blue represents truth, wisdom, heaven, eternity, devotion, tranquility, loyalty and openness. The presence of this color in your dream, may symbolize your spiritual guide and your optimism of the future. You have clarity of mind. Depending on the context of your dream, the color blue may also be a metaphor of 'being blue' and feeling sad."

Put it all together and what have you got? Last week was one helluva shitty week! I've felt something going on within me for a few months now, a shift. With the horoscope and this dream, not to mention the new moon, I'm thinking I'm just about at the end of it, almost through the painful growing part and ready to emerge as a beautiful butterfly, content until the next growth spurt. Perhaps a couple of months of peace will ensue. Wouldn't that be lovely?

In other news, two inmates on the loose, one considered dangerous. Not a good day for me to be out and about flaunting my con-attractive personality. Especially at bus stations.

Mood: better
Drinking: coffee
Listening To: renos happening across the way
Hair: everywhich way but flat

Spinning

Need to do more timed exercises. So I found this site. Keeping in mind the three Os (Objective, Obstacle, Outcome). Fifteen minutes on the clock. Spinning . . .

Setting for your story: in the wild west

Starting phrase for your story: The moment I took off

Four words you must include in your story: Semester, Coach, Quest, Olive Oil

The moment I took off on my quest I knew the Coach Gang would not be easily penetrated. Everybody was heading west to find their fortune in gold, or to profit off the gold-diggers through gambling saloons and other commerce. Some went west to escape the law, some went for an adventure. I went for none of these reasons. Nobody expected a student of the theatre to leave New York city mid-semester and head west. And a woman travelling alone! Yes, there were stories of some women in the wild country who drank, cussed and killed as good as any man--Calamity Jane's legend continued. But for a city woman, still a girl really, to enter the territories on her own . . . My mission was dangerous, downright deadly, but with my sister's life hanging in the balance I saw no other choice.

My sister June, the blushing bride, barely 17 years old, enroute to a new life, a homestead out west, when the stage was overtaken, robbed, the men killed, my dear baby sister taken prisoner by the Coach Gang. We learned this from the young boy, the stage driver's son, who tagged along with his father that day and slipped into the brush to hide as his father had taught him to do at the first sign of trouble. The boy saw everything, remained hidden until the next coach came upon the scene. The authorities said it was hopeless. There was no law out there to speak of, women disappeared, were forced into prostitution, servitude. We'd never see June again and there was nothing we could do about it. So there was no choice. Someone had to go look for her and since we had no brothers and with father in his sick-bed, the task fell on my shoulders. A single woman, travelling alone.

The idea invited trouble. Being a woman often had its advantages for bending people to my will, but it wouldn't serve me well out there. No. If I were to succeed I needed a man. Being a person of the theatre, rather flat-chested, strong features . . . yes, I could pull it off. As I watched my blonde curls fall to the floor during the cutting, I knew I could do it.

And time's up! Blech! The west for godsake! What kind of crazy prompt is that? My problem in doing these exercises is getting a complete story done. I mean by the time I came up with an objective - to rescue the sister - and an obstacle - the gang and being a woman in the west travelling alone - there was just no time left to get to the outcome - where she pulls it off. And who on earth would want to read such a story anyway? Blech!

Mood: achy
Drinking: coffee with cream
Listening To: birds and rain
Hair: getting there

Someday I'll Be Great

"The difference between great people and everyone else is that great people create their lives actively, while everyone else is created by their lives, passively waiting to see where life takes them next. The difference between the two is the difference between living fully and just existing."

-- Michael E. Gerber

Undivded

Restless. Finicky. Panicked. Heart palpitations. Twitchy toes. Breathe. Just breathe. At any moment I could fall apart. Spontaneously combust. Implode. Die crying. Or laughing. What's the difference? At any moment I could break into song. Or dance. Confusion. Conflicted. Paralysis. I might throw up. This is my failure. Sometimes I know I need someone to take care of me. Sometimes I want to invite in the first person who would try. No matter who it be. Today is one of those days. A day to stay inside, for fear of what demons I'll bring home if I go out.

Mood: anxious
Drinking: coffee
Listening To: Away From the Sun, 3 Doors Down
Hair: faded to light brown

Another Group of Writers

Tonight I met with a different group of writers. Their meetings are different than the group I've been with almost a year now. We did two writing exercises and have homework for next time. They also meet more frequently, a couple of times a month. You would think with my insane workload that exercises, homework and more meetings would have me running for the hills, but quite the contrary. I'm revved up! This will be good for me and my writing I think. And I don't think it'll take that much time. They are busy people too. Staying with the original group too, of course, absolutely. The question was never of jumping ship, but rather of fitting more than one ship in the harbour. You know how you just meet certain people and there's an instant understanding that they are good people, that they are important in your life. It happens. It happens to me more frequently all the time. More so since the move. I've met some good people tonight. I want to keep them around.

Mood: excited
Drinking: the green apple stuff, very cold, and not at all alcoholic
Listening To: the washer next door
Hair: fluffy, it's been a month since the cut and it's still not as long as what I originally intended with the cut . . . could be fall til i get there

ellipse Open Mic This Saturday June 24th in Fredericton

This just in!

There will be an ellipse Open Mic reading at the Underground Café this coming Saturday evening, June 24th, beginning at 7 pm.

Expect this open mic reading to be at least bilingual, possibly multilingual, like ellipse itself. Share your poetry & flash fiction: Come one, come all! Put your best words forward. Info: tel 506.451.0408

Underground Café, Charlotte Street Arts Centre, 732 Charlotte Street, Fredericton, NB.

Truly in Limbo

I'm starting to think there's really something physically wrong with me. I'm just so lifeless, tired, uninterested in everything. I couldn't be any less energetic or enthusiastic. You can only blame so much on the weather. I feel old. Used up. I just want to sleep. I worry I have a repetitive strain injury in my wrists. Stomach full of worms, churning anxiously with all the stuff I'm failing at. Am I depressed? It's not like any of my other bouts with depression. Maybe it's just physical. Maybe I need vitamins or exercise or both. God! I just want Cher to slap me across the face and scream, "Snap out of it!"

Mood: melancholic
Drinking: coffee
Listening To: 1979, Smashing Pumpkins
Hair: a mess

Here's A Real Shocker

You're like Hyde

Even if you don't wear aviator sunglasses and rock 'n' roll t-shirts everyday (though we certainly hope you do), it looks like you share Hyde's thought-provoking take on life. Whether or not you're hatching conspiracy theories about corporate America, aliens, or rock legends, it's clear that you don't take things at face value. Somebody's gotta ask the questions. It might as well be a thinker like you.

Playing the tough guy may or may not come as easily to you as it does to Hyde. But like him, you've got a soft side underneath that serious exterior. Even if you don't show it, your gang knows it. And that's why you're so groovy to have around!
Which That '70s Show Character Are You?

Brought to you by Tickle

Mood: groovy
Drinking: more tea
Listening To: traffic
Hair: done

My Domain

I purchased my own domain today. www.kellieunderhill.com Nothing there yet, not real sure what I'll do with it actually. But lately I've been doing a lot of thinking, lots and lots of thinking about what makes me happy, what I enjoy and look forward to doing, and how I can do more of what I like, less of what I don't, and make a living besides. Something's afoot. Life is gradually shifting. Decisions are being made. And my domain seemed long overdue. Can I build a website from scratch? Oy! I don't know. But perhaps I'll pick away at it, get some hosting and see what happens.

Mood: a little fried
Drinking: orange pekoe with skim milk
Listening To: people chasing children around the house
Hair: stiff

Just Another Day

Greetings and cards from everyone! I was on the phone all day. High school sweetheart didn't forget. And neither did my hon. Sent me flowers! Too bad I couldn't learn how to take better pictures, eh?

Mood: tired
Drinking: water
Listening To: rain
Hair: ugh!

Deliverance

Somehow I zipped this movie by accident. It was nominated but didn't win the best picture Oscar. I'm supposed to only be watching the winners. But oh well. Burt Reynolds was a hottie. Great arms. I grew up with the more fun Bandit character from all those trucking movies, but I rather like this more ominous side of him. I can see why my mother had a thing for him. It's a good movie. I would suspect it was probably quite disturbing back in the day too.

At tonight's writers' meeting we discussed my piece called Gun Play that first saw the light of day right here on this blog many months ago. Actually I presented it just the same as I did here. I wanted to see their suggestions before I did any rewriting. I assumed I'd go back in, name people, likely take it to the third person, incorporate dialogue, and basically turn the thing into a normal story. But they rather like it the way it is, without names, without dialogue, in the first person. Unexpected. I really don't know what to do with these things, how to handle them. I was absolutely sick thinking about them reading this piece, thinking about the discussion we'd have, because it's all so close to me and so traumatizing. Still, the more I deal with it, the easier it becomes. I may be ready to take it to the next level, to finally fictionalize the beast.

Mood: a little charged up
Drinking: 100% pure unsweetened pomegranate juice (try drinking this and talking about poop!)
Listening To: Cripple Creek Ferry, Neil Young
Hair: tousled stiff

Busy

Writers' meeting this evening
Birthday tomorrow
Struts opening tomorrow evening
Owens opening Friday afternoon
Struts screening Friday night
Freddy Saturday morning
Reading Saturday night
Dad's Day Sunday
BnM ASAP
Ink double ASAP

Me so sleepy.

Mood: burnt
Drinking: water, but looking forward to picking up a coffee enroute to meeting
Listening To: chain saws, all effing day, chain saws
Hair: like richard marx in the 80s

Fantab Weekend

Yesterday I was too brain dead to tell you about my great weekend visit with Trish. We had a fantab time! (Well, I did anyway, I guess I shouldn't assume to speak for her.) She arrived via train on Saturday afternoon and our first order of business was to walk out the TCH way, where we had coffee and a snack at Tim Horton's before heading to the Co-Op and liquor store for refreshments. As we were about to head back to my place the weather broke and it started to pour rain. Without any umbrellas and not wanting to get completely soaked, we opted for a cab, and then spent the rest of the afternoon gabbing over chocolate martinis and cosmos.

We decided to go to The Olive Branch for dinner, where I was disappointed to learn they had taken the hungarian meatballs off the menu. The chicken stir-fry was very good, but the cheesecake! THE CHEESECAKE! Oh boy! The cheesecake needs to happen again, soon, and often. We just walked around a little after dinner, stopping into the video store where Trish got her brother a Trailer Park Boys tee for his birthday. Then back to my place for wine and more gabbing followed by a rather impromptu showing of one of my boy's films (the one with the poo) and then off to bed. I was pretty tired, having slept so little all week and up early that morning to put my house in order before she arrived. Plus there really didn't seem to be much going on about town that night, other than a wedding at the Curling Club. We discussed crashing, but I don't know that we could pull an Owen and Vince in such a small community.

Sunday we walked out to the market they have at the civic centre, which was quite disappointing. Only two tables! Must be lagging because of summer. The German guy was there, but I didn't buy anything. Then we walked a bit around the Waterfowl Park, just enough to say we'd been really, though we did see ducks. We went to the swan pond next, where one swan was sleeping of course and the other was more interested in eating than paying any attention to us. The ducks followed us around hopefully, but we didn't have any food for them. From there we tried to get in the Mount A Chapel, but it was locked, so we settled for a walk around the outside and headed to Owen's Art Gallery. The cool retro celebrity pics were gone and the upstairs was closed to set up the next exhibit, but still the salon hanging is always impressive. By then I was starving. We went to Mel's for cheeseburgers, fries and the milkshake. Then crossed the street to have our first gelato at the cafe. Scrum! And by then it was pretty much time to collect her stuff and get to the train station.

We got there pretty early, the walk over took less time than I anticipated. On the walk back I took a different route that took much more time and many more hills. The workout of it all! Overall, it was a great little visit. I think she'll be back to see me again this summer, when more stuff is happening. I'll certainly look forward to it.

But now, the time I allotted myself to blog is over, so I'm outta here!

Mood: a little sleepy
Drinking: coffee
Listening To: going to work traffic
Hair: just woke up, sticking out all over, never been combed, mussed, bed head

why not?

which historical figure do you most identify with? Virginia Woolf

which living person do you most admire? Angelina Jolie

what is the trait you most deplore in others? greed

what is your greatest fear? surviving my family after a disaster

what is your greatest extravagance? fine dining and hotels

what is your idea of perfect happiness? sunny day surrounded by family

what is your favorite journey? my life's journey (or toronto if we're literally talking actual trips taken)

what do you consider the most overrated virtue? temperance

on what occasion do you lie? to spare someone's feelings when it isn't necessary to hurt them, to protect someone i love

what do you dislike most about your appearance? stomach

which living person do you most despise? i don't waste time despising people, good souls are welcomed into my life and others aren't, it's as simple as that

when and where were you happiest? here, right now

which talent would you most like to have? singing

if you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be? procrastination

what do you consider your greatest achivement? going to ryerson, quitting smoking

if you were to die and come back as a person or thing, what do you think it would be? i think i'll come back as a man who works with his hands, like a general labourer in construction or something

what is your most treasured possession? journals i've kept

what do you regard as the lowest depth of misery? physical pain

what is your favorite occupation? my current one i would assume

what is your most marked characteristic? i keep things to myself a lot, only telling people weeks, months and sometimes years after the fact

who are you favorite writers? Margaret Laurence, Mordecai Richler, too many to list

who is your favorite hero of fiction? robin hood

who are your heroes in real life? my sisters

what is it that you most dislike? lies

what is your motto? "The status quo sucks." -- George Carlin

Mood: dreamy
Drinking: coffee
Listening To: trucks pass on salem
Hair: it is what it is

I've Noticed

The more trips up and down stairs I make, the more things I get done in the run of a day. Obviously because if I am going downstairs a lot I'm going there not just for coffee but to do laundry, clean, cook, run errands and so on, taking care of my business. But not so obviously maybe is the effect of just that little bit of physical exertion on my body and brain. The more times I take the stairs, the better I feel. The more times I go down, the more times I have to come back up, and the more energy I have to put into work, writing, and all other tasks. I've noticed this because yesterday and the day before I've been more like a lump in front of the computer, sleeping on the futon for an hour here and there, and generally feeling like crap and not seeming to accomplish much despite all the hours spent doing stuff. Today, I'm taking the stairs and already feeling as if things are getting done. Imagine how energetic, productive and coherent I'd become if I actually incorporated some real physical activity into my life. Something to think about.

Mood: semi-alert
Drinking: coffee
Listening To: hmm, i intended to put on some tunes, but couldn't decide
Hair: as predicted, the colouring didn't take very well, we're fading fast

Garbage Day

And I remembered. How cool am I?! Cancelled Club Pogo today :-( I will miss Lottso with red wine. I've still got a little over a week in my current registration to enjoy such things and then I'm back to cribbage and . . . whatever else you can play for free . . . Poppit? Sweet Tooth? All part of my self-imposed and long overdue cut-backs. Next up is Zip. And that will be a sad, sad day my friends. Because I love my Zip dvds. I'm hoping I'll get through the second season of Deadwood before I cancel, but it's in high demand by members . . . so I dunno, could be tricky. I'm trying to get a lower interest rate on my credit card, transfer the balance if I can. I'm also taking it out of my wallet to avoid the temptation to use it on unnecessary things like dinners out and bottles of wine. Have got to get back to my cash and carry way of life that I was doing before I moved here. I didn't even have a bank account then, I was all about the money in my pocket. And honestly, I spend less money when it's in my pocket. It's easier to use a bankcard or other plastic I find.

I need to get strict with myself. Rich people are tight with their money. Yes, they splurge and buy the very best quality of the things they enjoy, but they consistently cut corners in all other areas, so they can afford these nice things. It's a mindset. I need to work on it, I'm so not there yet.

Mood: wishy washy
Drinking: water
Listening To: the train rumbling past on the outskirts of town
Hair: very Mia Farrow circa Rose Mary's Baby

Visited

We are coming up on another full moon and already my sleep patterns begin to distort and I'm nervous, anxious, just all around edgy. Last night I went to bed at midnight feeling rather tired. I thought a couple of chapters and I'd be primed for sleeping, certainly by 1am and yay for me! So I read until 1am, overcoming the first major hurdle of The DaVinci Code--the preface! I'm not kidding I've never made it past the first paragraph of Chapter One before, because The Prologue just kills me. But I did last night. It is true that reading Tom Wolfe's novel first has made me more tolerant in my reading. Now I can't wait to read something really fantastic and be totally blown away by how great the writing is!

I had this discussion with a friend a few weeks ago. She likes detective books, you know, the hard-boiled kind. And a lot of them are not very well written, not to say that all of them aren't, but a lot of them aren't. She said she often forgets what good writing looks like because she's just going from one badly written book to the next. So then when she switches it up and reads something different, something fantastic, it just blows her mind. She's like, "Wow! You can do this?" So yeah, I'm kind of excited to have that happen. And I read something like the first six chapters of The Code, so I'm over the hurdle and well on my way to crossing this book off my list of 101 Things.

Then I'll move on to the 100 Best Novels, starting with the ones already in my bookcase that I haven't read yet or never finished (The Sound and The Fury, To The Lighthouse, Ulysses, etc.) I've got a few of the books in question hanging around here somewhere. Think I'll loan Mom my copy of The DaVinci Code when I'm done, I think she'd probably enjoy it. Also Jason might like it too. It's the illustrated version, a very nice book really with all the photographs. So yeah, I'll send it the Miramichi for a bit when I'm done.

So anyway back to what I was saying about last night. I read until 1am. Turned out the light, tossed and turned until 2:30 (that drives me crazy!), turned the light back on, read a few more pages, turned the light out again, tossed and turned some more, checked the clock at 3:15, 3:20 . . . at 3:38 I opened my eyes and saw the shadowy outline of a person standing at the foot of my bed. I was not immediately alarmed by this, because I see people sometimes. Normally, the shadows would scatter and I'd be left wondering if I really saw someone or not. But not last night. Last night, the shadows knitted together forming a stronger image. A woman. Tall. Very stiff erect posture. Straight, shoulders back. Thin. In a long full house skirt. Hands folded on her lower stomach. My grandmother maybe? When she was younger? This was a young woman in her mid 20's to early 30's (perhaps even the perfect 30 that Sylvia Brown talks about). Anyway, as she was materializing and getting more solid she was standing at the foot of my bed and therefore (if you know the lay of the room) starting to block any light that was coming in from the windows in the other room. I kind of freaked out, instinct took over completely. Very quickly I sat up in bed, thrusting out my right hand, palm out, as if to push her away and said, "Go!" It was loud, but not a scream. Just strong. I later wondered if the people on the other side of the wall heard me. The women's image instantly faded.

Then of course there was no way of getting comfortable in my bed so I moved to the futon, turned on the tv, watched mind-numbing Comedy Channel until I drifted off to sleep just after dawn. Ensuring that I would sleep late today and thus start another day off on the completely wrong foot. But that's beside the point. I pretty much have to do an all-niter to get my schedule back on track where I'm sleeping at night like a normal person. Or else do one of those two-hour nappy things. But again, that doesn't matter. I'm confused by my reaction to this woman. And now that I think about it, I think this was the first time I've seen a woman, it's always been men before. Sherry sees a woman, well, used to see a woman in her old house, the new one has been spirit free so far I think. And when I've seen the men it hasn't bothered me at all, (excuding the guy who used to spoon me in bed of course) but this woman freaked me right the hell out! What is up with that? I mean I've got the all clear for bad spirits in this space, and there aren't supposed to be any. The energy here is supposed to be good. And I don't even know that I got a bad vibe per say off this lady . . . but I did freak out and send her away.

Maybe I need to do a little cleansing ritual or something. Maybe something followed me home. Or took up residence while I was away. Or came with the new neighbors. I don't know. But as the full moon is still days away, I'm hoping things don't get any more interesting than this.

Mood: a little off
Drinking: coffee
Listening To: 7th Symphony, Mozart
Hair: still short and red, next dye job I might strip the colour and go marilyn monroe blonde

I Am

Better now. Went for a walk in the rain. Got whole wheat baguette and fresh strawberries. Made the mother of all Cosmos and am now enjoying bread with Greek extra virgin olive oil. Life is fine. I was just a little wound up earlier. I can breathe now.

Drummer Boy is learning to drive standard in the driveway. Doesn't sound like he's making much progress with that.

I finished reading I Am Charlotte Simmons (and just in time, because if I had to hear her say it one more time . . . ) So yeah, DaVinci here I come! Cuz I can't go from that to Faulkner and then to Dan Brown, that would just be silly. The Tom Wolfe novel was readable but I wouldn't suggest you run right out and buy a copy. It's long. Too long. There is so much that could've been cut. The plot is transparent and predictable. The ending wraps everything up with a pretty little bow, with everyone getting what they wanted or deserved. I didn't find Charlotte herself a very likable character, and even the most despicable protagonists need some sort of redeeming quality, something that makes you feel for them. All in all I could easily name dozens of NBers who can (and are) writing circles around this kind of stuff. It's pretty frustrating actually, to know so many unpublished (not that they all are) writers who have so much talent and skill, yet this other trash gets published. It's a sad, sad state of affairs.

Mood: somewhat better
Drinking: cosmo
Listening To: traffic
Hair: laundered

You Know What Ticks Me Off

Complainers! You know the ones. They are the ones with "should" playing a major role in their vocabularly.

"You know what you should do . . . "

"Someone should . . . "

They're right full of ideas, a wee short on execution. Actually execution doesn't even cross their mind, because the whole point is that they think someone else should do it. Blah!

You run into these people CONSTANTLY when you have your own business. They were the bane of my existence when I had the Power Track. And it's not like there weren't any good ideas or anything, but when you have ZERO resources and you are struggling just to keep the lights on from day to day and a day doesn't go by that at least one person looks at you and says, "You know what you should do . . . get some new tables" like it's the first time anyone's ever had such a brilliant idea . . . well, it grates on your last nerve.

These are the same people who "assume" things. They assume because someone told them that something happened to someone else six years and three owners ago that this is the way things currently run. And they take great enjoyment in spreading this around. Okay, so I'm not REALLY talking about the Power Track, just using it as an example because that situation was the same deal.

Fuck! These people just make my face hurt. I wish they didn't, because I seriously think that's their pay-off and if they couldn't make my or anyone else's face hurt they'd probably drop off the face of the earth, but . . . c'est la vie!

Ok. I'm done. Venting is over. The fact of the matter is that I have absolutely no control over how other people perceive the world and what lies they spread. I do however have total control over my reaction to said people's perception and lie spreading. I know the truth. That's all that matters. And starting right now, I'm choosing not to let this stuff make my face hurt.

Sometimes, that's all you can do.

Mood: better, having written this
Drinking: coffee
Listening To: vaccuuming outside
Hair: greasy

Sophie's Choice

I hadn't seen this movie with Meryl Streep and Kevin Kline since . . . I dunno when. Sometime in the 80's? So I couldn't recall anything, vague feelings that I may have seen this part before after watching a scene, but I wasn't sitting there saying every line or knowing what was going to happen next. I watched this movie once, a very long time ago, and last night it was like watching it all over again for the first time.

What is her choice? I pondered throughout. Does she choose between the two men? Choose to turn away from her father's beliefs? Choose to lie to save her own skin? Choose to use her body to make life easier in the concentration camp? Choose to help the war resistance? So many choices . . .

But none of them are THE choice. Sophie must choose between her children. One son. One daughter. One Nazi screaming in her face to choose to save one or they both get gassed. And she refuses. She refuses. She cries and screams and refuses to choose . . . until the Nazi officer calls guards to remove both children to the gas chamber . . . then she chooses her son, shoves her daughter into the officer's arms. And it hits you in the stomach. Oh my God! How? How? How does one choose? How does one not choose? What would I do? What would you do? These things are too terrible to even ponder. And yet . . . I do.

Mood: rained out
Drinking: cold coffee
Listening To: even more rain
Hair: prickly

I Thought I Was Alone . . .

but there is definitely someone else in the house. But who? But who? The last I heard everyone was going to either Sydney or Saint John and would not return until Sunday. There are no cars in the driveway. The grandmother delivered my mail and key early yesterday so as to not miss me before she left . . . meaning nobody would be there to give it to me when I knocked. So who the hell is in the house?! And someone truly is because they were looking through the closet on the other side of my bedroom wall, sliding hangers. Can a cat do that? Because I think these people have a cat.

Mood: called on account of rain
Drinking: coffee
Listening To: signs of life in the house
Hair: i love the way i get up, give my head a shake (or not) and my hair is done for the day

Adrift

I am whipped! Like potatoes. Toss me some butter and garlic, cuz I'm done, but oh so bland in my current state. Man! Everything aching today. Excruciating. In my legs, my ribs, my shoulders, arms, hands, fingers, and most of all, my neck. This is the pain of coming home after being away. It's just the way it is. So sleepy! Listless. Just wanna crash and be the potatoe I feel I already am. So much to do, but no energy, physical or mental. Maybe I should just go lay about until I'm recovered. Maybe that's better than fighting through it, maybe the rest will make the thing go faster. Can barely lift my coffee mug. Yes, it is the heavy pottery, still, it's JUST a coffee mug. Need food. Need massage. Need . . . manservant! My kingdom for a manservant!

Trish is not coming this weekend after all, which is okay, I'll be more rested by next weekend and if the train arrives on time we can go to the David Suzuki reading together.

Just got a call and gotta run. Going for coffee!

Mood: beyond exhaustion
Drinking: coffee, the Laura Secord dark roast, with cream
Listening To: Love Calls You By Your Name, Leonard Cohen
Hair: bed head greasyness, but short 'n spiky!

Return to Bagtown

Back again! I am so achy and tired from a week plus away from home sweet home and damp weather messing with my bones. OY!

Train was over a half hour late into Miramichi, a good hour late into Sackville. I was the only non-singing, non-chorale, non-senior citizen in coach car #2 aboard the Ocean to Halifax. Some of the Miramichi Melodies embarked when I did. The car was so insane I couldn't even get to a window to wave bye bye to Abby. She waved but I could tell she couldn't see me. The old girls sang hyms and show tunes all the way. I could not have stood it another 10 minutes. Seriously. I would have slit my wrists if I had to stay on there until Amherst even. Grated on my last nerve. A whole car load of baby blue sweatshirted ladies headed to Truro for some sort of reunion or competition or who knows what. So loud! I tried to read. Went to the bathroom (I NEVER do that! but I really had to go, extra large double cream due to the extra parking lot wait) tried the door, it opened . . . on a lady! Excuse me. Sorry. Tried the other door, it opened . . . on another lady! Holy crap, can't anyone lock a door?

Stacy and I went to see The DaVinci Code. I'm not big on Tom Hanks, but he didn't bother me in this one. He was probably the best part. Of course, I'm also not big on Ron Howard movies, and there was no escaping that this was a Ron Howard film. And for some reason I actually seemed to know all the religious crap beforehand, even though I didn't read the book. The movie, like the book, needed some freaking editing as it dragged on and on. There were some good scenes, but WAY too much telling. One of those "get on with it already" flicks. The albino was just Paul Bettany with Billy Idol hair. I totally would not have known he was an albino if I hadn't read that terrible line quoted in the New York Times review ("Almost inconceivably, the gun into which she was now staring was clutched in the pale hand of an enormous albino with long white hair.") and if Stacy hadn't said something about him being an albino when his character came onto the scene.

Birthday parties went well. Moving in shower was good. Workshop went fine. And now I won't be back to that part of the province until the August long weekend when I plan ot attend the annual family thing . . . really.

Mood: beyond sleepy
Drinking: tea, orange pekoe (caffeine) with a splash of skim milk
Listening To: entertainment tonight canada
Hair: SASSY!