Angels Make Contact

My little ole brain is working triple-time this week. The dreams are beyond insane. I can't even believe the freaking people showing up in them. It's like everyone I ever had a conversation with in my life and then twice as many people that I've never laid eyes on before. It's exhausting. I wake up more tired than when I went to bed, if that's possible. I think I need to be writing. I think that's what this is all about. I need to write a story. I'm just so freaking busy, it's hard to find time. I've fallen off my schedule, need to find my way back to 5:30 mornings.

My dream boyfriend is back. The wiry one with the long black hair. If I ever run into this guy in real life I think I will faint. I'm hoping he's not a drug dealer. In the dreams it's hard to tell what he does. He might be a mechanic. Or he could be an artist, like a potter or something. It seems like I thought he was a painter at one time. He works with his hands. They're long and bony and rough and powerful. His hands are always pivotal in the dreams. He's very intense and . . . slippery. He seems almost to glide from one place to another, snakelike, only sexy. He doesn't say much verbally, but his non-verbal communication is killer. He says everything in the way he touches my face and presses his hand into the small of my back. Maybe he doesn't speak English? I dunno. He's been showing up in my dreams all week. The dreams are never about him, he's just there in the setting. We live together. He's just part of my life, part of the window dressing for all my dreams. It's a little weird. I've been dreaming about this guy, who as far as I know doesn't exist anywhere outside of my imagination, off and on for almost 10 years now. Maybe he's the one I should be writing about.

Mood: sleepy
Drinking: coffee, brewed, black
Listening To: blackmath, white stripes
Hair: silk soft

How to Save a Life

Physically feeling much stronger today, though still pretty tired. I walked up the King George Highway this morning to do an interview, close to a half hour walk and all my pedometer registered was 10 minutes. I hate when that happens! It's because my pants are too loose to have it stuffed into my front pocket, it gets jostled and turned upside down and at odd angles. Oh well, at least I got the steps and didn't pass out from the walk.

I have a sharp jabbing pain happening periodically in and around my left knee. Not sure what that's about. Perhaps something arthritic? I haven't had a full on arthritis flare in a very long time, and seasons are changing, so . . . maybe.

There's a municipal election thing happening tonight at the Kin Centre. All the candidates are speaking, no Q&A though. I should go. I think T is going, but I should be there too probably. See how I feel about that later.

I've got to work all weekend. Trade show. I'm also hosting a play practice in my apartment on Saturday, so I need to get things in shipshape before the weekend arrives. I have yet to run lines with anyone. I don't know them. I've missed practice so far. So it seems my first one will be off-script . . . yeah. Yay! I've told Ms Director to be prepared to spoon feed me lines all day, lol. But seriously, I'm not even kidding. There is a very big part of my brain that still hasn't registered that I'm actually doing a play in a month's time.

I am sleeping so much! It's crazy. Last night I laid down around 9 and this morning I hung back in the sheets until the last possible moment, 8:30ish, and if I hadn't had to get up to go do an interview I might be hanging there still. I know I should go to the doctor. I know. I'll get to that someday soon.

Mood: scattered
Drinking: espresso
Listening To: raise a little hell, trooper
Hair: mussed

A Rolling Stone

I am returned from Moncton and feeling slightly out of sorts. I have no food. My apartment is a sty and everything I touch seems to fall apart and need repairs. I have a cupboard door lying on the floor in my kitchen. I have no energy. I went to bed last night around 7pm, forced myself out of the bed this morning just after 7:30. Maybe I should take some vitamins or something.

I need to go out sometime today. I need to sort out my finances first. It was an expensive weekend. Nothing like living beyond your means! Yes, I really could have gone to Europe instead! But it was good. I mean there was a lot of bad associated with this weekend for me personally, but overall it was good. I bought books. I mean REAL books, literature. And I've started reading them. And I touched base with that part of myself that writes stories, that wants to write stories, in a way that I haven't in awhile. That part that sees the small actions and immediately files them away in her memorybank where they remain until the character needs them. This was therapeutic and necessary.

I've felt out of line with the universe this past week or so. Off course. When this happens I often get ill (and I did get ill) and it's just a really negative unharmonious experience. This mightn't make much sense to some people but I spent a great many years getting myself in tune with my life. I follow my gut. And my gut doesn't steer me wrong. I pay attention to signs and I do what they tell me to do. It took a long time to get here, through so much muck it's a wonder I ever emerged at the other side in one piece.

So most of the time I sail along pretty much at peace with myself and the world and feeling in harmony with the universe overall. And if something makes me feel icky I back off and don't do it. And if the way seems to be barred to my passage I back off and look for the way with least resistance. And along the way I experience awakenings of the spirit that I would never have thought possible and I gather to me the most interesting, supportive and loving group of human beings to exist on this earth.

But just because I'm listening and I'm in tune, doesn't mean everyone else is. Yeah, I can follow my path to the places I'm supposed to go, but sometimes the people on the path with me aren't so cooperative or enlightened. They buck. They want to crash the fence and take the other road. It's human. It's free will. It's beyond my control. And yet it causes me to crash too, road kill thrown into the ditch. So this past week has been unpleasant. And I mean physically. Emotionally and intellectually, I've been clawing my way back onto the path from the moment the crash happened, but the wobbly-ness of the universe seems to draw major negativity into my life and negativity makes me sick, physically. And the physical is hard to get past sometimes. It certainly takes longer to bring back into harmony.

I feel a shift today in my body though. It wants to go outside. It needs to walk by the water and listen to the birds and ground itself with nature, this place I call home. And I think it'll be ok now. I think the physical is catching up with the emotional and intellectual, coming back onto the path again, tuning back in, regaining harmony. The worst is definitely over.

Mood: optimistic
Drinking: americano coffee, black
Listening To: crazy, aerosmith
Hair: still blonde

Learning to Fly

Earlier this afternoon I happened to be in my room when housekeeping came, so we got to talking as she straightened out my mess and left me many bonus treats. I told her I was a journalist. And I was shocked how easily this response came from my lips. I haven't felt like a journalist since . . . well, it's been a really long time. I used to struggle in the early days of BnM to balance journalism and the positive outlook of the magazine. I mean it's a very biased approach to writing, to sort of put the blinders on and only write about the good stuff, and that, my friends, is NOT what journalism is all about. Yet, I agree with the concept of BnM wholeheartedly or I wouldn't be involved at all. Just yesterday I told a friend in Dieppe that I believed BnM was changing the collective consciousness of Miramichi, and I do! Our positivity, our willingness to seek out the good and showcase it for the general public, is making an impact. I honestly believe we are changing people's attitudes and having a positive influence and that this is the best thing that could happen for Miramichi. I am so honoured to be a part of it.

Yet, the only way I could give myself the freedom to fully embrace BnM was to abandon any thoughts I had about journalism. I needed to start thinking of myself in terms other than journalist or else I couldn't do it, because I was constantly running into the wall of "objectivity" . . . bnm is not objective, we are positive. It was a dilemma for a time, personally. So, eventually I made my peace with it by just stopping referring to myself or even thinking of myself as a journalist. I started to refer to myself exclusively as a writer or editor, and that gave me the freedom I needed in order to continue.

So, imagine my surprise this afternoon when the first words out of my mouth were that I was a journalist . . . a journalist from a Miramichi-based magazine called Bread 'n Molasses here to cover the Frye Festival . . . what the hell?! Can it be that I have had a breakthrough?! That I finally realize that in today's society no journalism is truly objective and therefore I deserve to be counted among the journalists just as much as anyone else?

Breakthrough in the Delta-Beausejour.

The thing is, I actually feel like a journalist being here, writing about these events. And I know I'm doing no worse job than CNN at objectivity, and maybe better, yet all those crazy news anchors call themselves journalists . . . so, why not me too?

Mood: nearly hungry
Drinking: nothing, have coffee and red wine ordered for dinner
Listening To: anarchy in the uk, sex pistols
Hair: maybe a little too blonde to be walking by that crack house later this evening

On the Road Again

Ok, so I'm off and God willing I'll somehow get online in Moncton and be able to tell you all about my exploits and adventures. I am armed with a laptop . . . which I have some doubts about . . . but no time to think about it now, I'll try to find some tech support when I get there. If you don't hear from me anymore, you will know I failed desperately :-(

Highlights of today are the WFNB Readings at 1:30pm in which I will finally meet fellow Miramichier Ray Fraser after all these years, Russell Banks at the Soiree Frye this evening at the Capitol Theatre, and perhaps if I'm not beat a little Night Howl at Mexicali Rosa's to top things off . . .

Mood: my ovaries are in an uproar . . . literally
Drinking: coffee, black
Listening To: should i stay or should i go, the clash
Hair: in my eyes, perhaps i should trim my bangs with the razor before i leave

Untitled

When you can't think of a title and the song currently playing is "Maneater" by Nelly Furtado and you're not really feeling like much of a maneater at the moment, what do you do? Untitle the damn post and get on with the business of writing it.

So it's my last day. Everything needs to be done today. Tomorrow morning there is no time for anything, just get up, shower, and head out the door. And there's still so freaking much to do.

Lots of debris floating past my window these days. The water is high, even at low-tide. So many ducks!

The new neighbours who moved in this winter below and to the right of my apartment have taken to throwing bread to the birds. I watched yesterday as a lone seagull glided along the shoreline. I wondered whether he would notice the slice of bread on the back lawn. I needn't have wondered, he turned and swooped onto the grass as if it had been his intention to land there all along.

The curious thing happened once he was situated. As far as I could see there were no other gulls around, no crows or eagles, no pesky blackbirds, the seagull could have snatched the bread and devoured it all on his own. Instead he paced a circle around it, with an almost suspicious looking eye. Round and round, he paced, never edging any closer.

And then I could hear the cries and soon four more gulls dropped onto the grass. They screamed at one another. Their feathers ruffled. They flew at one another. All the while the bread lay on the grass, untouched. Then a crow raced into the ruckus, claws poised to snatch the toast.

The biggest darkest gull stopped fighting and immediately ran over to the bread, snatched the slice in its beak and took off up toward the Richie Wharf. The crow and the gulls followed, dive-bombing the big gull from all angles. The pursuit lasted about five seconds before the bread was knocked from the gull's beak and fell into the river.

Then all the birds flew off on their separate ways as if nothing had transpired.

It was a curious thing to watch. I don't understand why that first bird didn't eat the bread while he had a chance. Perhaps it tastes better if you win it in a fight?

Mood: puzzled
Drinking: coffee, black
Listening To: anarchy in the uk, sex pistols
Hair: still liking the new do

Every Passing Minute

"Every passing minute is another chance to turn it all around." Sofia Serrano

Last night I watched Vanilla Sky again. I know, I know, some of you will be like WTF?! Yes, I've seen it a zillion times and yes, it effects me deeply each time . . . so why don't I give it a rest already? I dunno. Sometimes I just need it. Sometimes I'm the saddest girl to hold a martini. And sometimes I'm a dancing girl caught up in the buzz. Sometimes I'm playing the game and sometimes I'm the girl who goes home alone. No matter who I am at the time this movie seems to put it all in perspective somehow. And so I watch. Again and again and again . . .

Last night I fell asleep before the end. Thankfully. I don't think I could have handled the rooftop. "I'll see you in another life . . . when we are both cats." I made it through the park though, which was surprising, with only a few stray tears. Perhaps I'm finally all cried out. Perhaps I should watch Elizabethtown and see what happens. Better yet, I should watch Singles.

I'm being told I'm going to miss the first play practice this weekend. This can't be good.

Mood: contemplative
Drinking: nothing at the moment
Listening To: same mistake, james blunt
Hair: looking absolutely fan-tab today, if i do say so myself!

Payolas

Can I touch you to see if you're real? Gawd! I loved that song back in the day. I guess I still do. I remember listening to it on a cassette tape, one of those year-end compilation albums of Top 40 hits. I loved those albums.

So, I am beyond busy right there now as the countdown to Frye begins. Found out where I get my press pass when I arrive. Requested early check-in. Have not booked just a regular room, but one with some perks (it was all they had left) . . . not cheap, by any stretch of the imagination but this is me throwing financial responsibility to the wind and just going for it. Remember Toronto in 2006? Yeah, hopefully the hotel will be the biggest part of my indiscretion and I won't go nuts in restaurants, bars, shopping, etc. Because I only have a month to turn it all around in time for my trip to Toronto in June. Though this T-dot excursion will be more tame with many less swanky breakfasts and $15 martinis.

When all is said and done I'll likely find that I could have gone to the writers' workshop in Ireland or France for the amount I'll spend on these outings. I'll take a serious look at this in hindsight and if it turns out to be that way, then you'll see me crossing the pond in 2010 . . . 2009 will likely be a year of financial recovery, much in the way that 2007 was :-) And that's okay.

Maybe I'll win Eagles tickets and at least be able to avoid that expense this summer. Though now, I'm not sure I want to go to the concert. I'm up in the air. Because there is the family reunion happening that same weekend. And really Sam is the only major draw for me and he'll be on first and off like a dirty shirt and there I'll be . . . luckily with those big outdoor concerts there's no need to decide anything beforehand. I can decide that morning that I want to go and there'll be plenty of tickets. But if I won tickets, well that would be another thing all together, wouldn't it?

And now I've got a couple dozen candidates to sort through.

Mood: I know, I hate people, but I love gatherings, isn't that ironic?
Drinking: coffee
Listening To: catch me when i fall, ashlee simpson
Hair: settling into the new colour

Changes

If I could turn and meet myself as
I was then,
gaze into that solemn face, those
unblinking eyes,
I suppose I'd laugh until I cried,
then laugh again.

-- from The Kookaburra's Song

Let the laughter begin!

I actually got an email from Coach Steele this morning asking me to let him know how I was doing. He has a sixth sense or something. His timing is always impeccable and the fact that he even bothers to personally contact people on the Tools to Life site really blows my mind. I replied that I am well. And I am.

Okay, so I had an "unusual" weekend at best, but now it's Monday and time to get back to business. I've decided to attend Frye Festival and I will embark for Moncton Thursday morning, armed with a laptop and ready to post from the Festival. The days and nights will be long. I will be exhausted. But it should be a great time. I'm really excited about it. My mind will explode with all the new ideas! And I think I'm going to run into some wonderful old friends, which will be great.

So much work to get out of the way in preparation of leaving though, not to mention all the household stuff that's been on the backburner this past week.

Having hot chocolate this morning before I go out to do the run-around downtown. Banking, shopping, all that good stuff.

The ice is breaking up pretty quick now, moving on the tides. The ducks are here! Hundreds of them! Summer is coming! And summer is good. I do love my river. It gives me a sense of place and comfort in being in that place. The river is home and I'm on it.

I weighed myself this morning and was pretty shocked to find myself over 20 pounds lighter than the last time I weighed in. Holy frig! So either the wellness has been working or . . . I dunno, a couple of days of eating light or nothing at all is not enough to drop 20 freaking pounds. That was pretty surprising. Of course, I've got lots of pounds on me, so 20 is not a big deal in the grand scheme of things.

Oh well, banking is not going to do itself. I must boot!

Mood: energized & excited
Drinking: hot chocolate
Listening To: dangerous, roxette
Hair: i am the big blonde once again

She's Got the Look

M used to say I had a look about me . . . I looked "fuckable" and for that reason I would do well as a bartender. This was years before I bought a bar. By the time the bar was in hand I had forgotten what he said. Of course, as soon as the deal was sealed, he reminded me, "I always said you'd make a good bartender. You've got that 'fuckable' look." Like he had orchestrated the whole thing. And in retrospect I wonder if he didn't, because hell, I never wanted to own a bar before . . . so what transpired there? I can't remember exactly. It happened so quick and it seemed like it happened when he wasn't even around . . . but who the hell knows what REALLY happened?

M had a point. I did look "fuckable" and it did play well in the bartending scene. I had men and women hitting on me, tipping me. I mean EVERYONE! It was bizarre. It was enough to destroy my faith in the human race altogether. Because nobody was out of bounds. Nobody was out of play. I had my pick. And that was not a good thing. But the tips were good. Yeah, the tips were everything.

I remember one night, I had a group of sports in from the states and one of them was quite young in his early 20s and he was hot, worked out a lot, biceps bulging, and he was flirting with me at the bar and I was flirting back, partly because of the American bills that kept pouring into the till and partly because he was gorgeous and charming and charismatic and just different and new from the usual crowd. We were having a good time. We were having a great time until he indicated that he was willing to pay for an even better time. Pay for me, and my services. And isn't that always where my "fuckability" factor ends? With the promise of money? Everything's cool until you lay $500 on the table, then I'm history. This doesn't make as much sense to me as it seemed to in the moment as I pretended to protect the last shred of my dignity. Meanwhile, M would have easily sold me for that if he'd been there and been even more convinced of my "fuckability." He would've started a marketing campaign at the sports camps, no doubt.

In the movie "Match Point" Scarlett has a line about the way that men always saw her, and she doesn't really seem to understand why, but it is what it is. I relate to that character. I don't know how this will translate into my 40s, but the first 30 years have been a burden of "fuckability."

Mood: confused
Drinking: absenthe
Listening To: disco inferno
Hair: kinda cute

I Would Walk 500 Miles

And once again the walls and the proclaimers put it all in perspective . . .

When I wake up yeah I know I'm gonna be
I'm gonna be the man who wakes up next to you
When I go out yeah I know I'm gonna be
I'm gonna be the man who goes along with you

If I get drunk yes I know I'm gonna be
I'm gonna be the man who gets drunk next to you
And if I haver yeah I know I'm gonna be
I'm gonna be the man who's havering to you

But I would walk 500 miles
And I would walk 500 more
Just to be the man who walked 1000 miles
To fall down at your door

When I'm working yes I know I'm gonna be
I'm gonna be the man who's working hard for you
And when the money comes in for the work I'll do
I'll pass almost every penny on to you

When I come home yeah I know I'm gonna be
I'm gonna be the man who comes back home to you
And if I grow old well I know I'm gonna be
I'm gonna be the man who's growing old with you

But I would walk 500 miles
And I would walk 500 more
Just to be the man who walked 1000 miles
To fall down at your door

When I'm lonely yes I know I'm gonna be
I'm gonna be the man whose lonely without you
When I'm dreaming yes I know I'm gonna dream
Dream about the time when I'm with you.

But I would walk 500 miles
And I would walk 500 more
Just to be the man who walked 1000 miles
To fall down at your door

Mood: buoyed
Drinking: absenthe, still, but i'm nearly ready to try solid food
Listening To: animal, def leppard
Hair: perhaps too blonde

Beautifully Broken

Who knew Ashlee Simpson could sum it up all so well?

It seems like yesterday that my world fell from the sky
It seems like yesterday I didnt know how hard I could cry
It feels like tomorrow I may not get by
But I will try
I will try wipe the tears from my eyes

[Chorus:]
I'm beautifully broken and I don't mind if you know it
I'm beautifully broken and I don't care if I show it

Every day is a new day I'm reminded of my past
Everytime theres another storm I know that it wont last
Every moment I'm filled with hope
cause i get another chance
But I will try I will try
Got nothing left to hide

[Chorus]

Without the highs and the lows
Where will we go?
Where will we go?

[Chorus]

I am beautifully broken, I am beautifully broken
I am beautifully broken and I don't care if I show it
[Repeats til end, and fades out]

Mood: sad
Drinking: absenthe
Listening To: matt mays
Hair: blonde

Meme Time

stolen from gail on facebook, because i need mindless distraction . . .
it's all i'm fit for

1. a cuddler?: yes
2. a morning person?: yes
3. Are you a perfectionist: about some things
4. awesome? i am!
5. addicted to anything? wine, coffee, jerk seasoning, hot sauce, movies, music, writing, books, boys . . . and more
6. in your pajamas?: nope, i got dressed this morning . . . oh wait, i slept in my clothes, but then i showered and changed, which means i got dressed this morning
7. left handed?: no

LAST:
1. friend you saw: stacy and les, last night when they dropped me off after the mighty excursion
2. phoned? jenn, she was not home, left message
3. sent text? i do not do that
4. message recieved over facebook?: jake
5. instant messaged: joe

Today:
1. wore: old jeans, grey tee, black hoodie, navy crocs
2. mood: the opposite of the very best
3. today is: normally my favourite day of the week, tho today, not so much
4. got any plans: drink absenthe until i pass out or someone comes and cooks me supper

Favorite:
1. number: 3
2. colors: green, purple
3. season: winter

q's and a's

q: What was the 1st thing you did this mornin?
a: turned on the tv to watch corrie

q: Last thing you ate:
a: jerked pork chops

q: Do you have anything bothering you?
a: ha! yeah, that's the question all right

q: What's the last movie you saw?:
a: Lions for Lambs

q: Where is the last place you went?
a: Billy Mullin's Country Opry

q: Are you a friendly person?:
a: i like to think so

q: Where did you sleep last night?:
a: in my bed

q: What color shirt are you wearing?:
a: grey

q: When was the last time you really cried?
a: oh jesus . . . today

q: What was your last thought before you went to sleep last night?
a: what the fuck?!

q: What are you about to do?
a: publish this meme i guess

q: If you could drink anything right this second, what would it be?
a: the absenthe i'm drinking ain't bad, but i'd love some brandy in hot chocolate

q: What's your job position called?
a: editor

q: What's your favorite month(s)?
a: that's hard. i like may and december, october is generally pretty good too

q: What was your elementary schools mascot?
a: it was high school, not elementary, and it was wile e. coyote

q: what's your favorite bottled water?
a: no difference

q: What will you be doing at 9pm tonight?
a: hopefully i will have passed out and gone to sleep

q: Did you attend your high school prom?
a: i did

q: Did you go to someone else's prom?
a: i did

q: Do you prefer coffee or tea?
a: coffee, tho i'm also addicted to teas

q: Ever done the electric slide?
a: oh boy . . .

q: How much french do you know?
a: not much

q: Ever crash a car, been in an accident?
a: oh yeah . . . ditching that old caprice below grandad's had to be the best tho

q: Do you look good in yellow?
a: hmm, i'm thinking not so much

q: Do you sing?
a: yeah, all the time

q: Ever sang in public?
a: oh boy, yes, but hopefully never again

q: Least favorite color?
a: dusty rose

q: Ever had dippin dots?
a: say wha?

q: How many driving tickets have you had?
a: none

q: At what age do you want to get married?
a: i don't care to ever get married

q: Have you ever been married?
a: no

q: How many kids do you have/want?
a. i want none, tho i'm fine if they come as the package with the right guy

Mood: mindless
Drinking: absenthe
Listening To: me, typing and talking to myself
Hair: ferocious

More Than a Feeling

When you're not feeling the very best or you're self-doubting or feeling insecure, affirmations really help. You know, just writing down "I'm having a great day!" or "I love myself!" over and over on a piece of paper is enough to swing your mood, change your mind, make you feel better. If you stand in front of a mirror and say it out loud, even better. It works! Try it.

So, it's the night before the full moon (thank the goddess it's almost over!) It's a Saturday night on the weekend of a full moon, the worse night to be out and about at a club. I know this from personal experience. It's been well documented. Yet, tonight the Mighty Crew is heading out for an excursion at a club. We're not staying late. Hopefully we'll be long gone before any craziness ensues. Well, craziness can ensue, might even be interesting, but just as long as none of the crew get sucked into said craziness. That would not be fabulous! And we're out for a fabulous time!

Mood: i'm having a great day! :-)
Drinking: . . . i'd rather not say . . .
Listening To: i'll be there for you, bon jovi
Hair: a whole lot blonder, tho nobody seems to notice

Patti

Jesus died for somebody's sins, but not mine . . .

The impending full moon wreaks havoc on my life. The dreams, babe! The freaking dreams! And as if they weren't enough I've got all around anxiety and weirdness going on throughout the day. Some odd behaviour happening. Not odd odd, but odd for me. Anyhoo, it should be all over after the full moon Sunday night.

I am insane with trying to interview all the candidates from the municipal election. Everyone in Miramichi is running. It's true! Which makes it one freaking interesting election, but tons of coordination and organization on my part to get to talk with everyone.

Last night I watched a movie for the first time in eons, well, I guess not eons as I have watched movies when I go upriver, but I haven't watched any at home here since the big Oscar prep a couple of months ago. Anyway, last night I was in the mood for a chocolate sundae and a movie. I passed on the sundae (where would I even get one?) but opted to crack open the Absenthe and try a shot (yummy! but with mega kick!) and to watch "Gone Baby Gone" with Casey Affleck (big brother Ben's directorial debut). This was one of the few movies that I couldn't get in before the awards. It was really quite good. I love Ed Harris! I would totally pick this one up the next time I'm out shopping at Blockbuster. It had a Departed feel about it, but that might have just been the whole Boston cop aspect.

Mood: a little odd
Drinking: black coffee
Listening To: cinnamon girl, neil young
Hair: a whole lot lighter

Take My Breath Away

I am too busy for blogging. I hate when that happens. It's the municipal election. It's BnM. It's spring cleaning. It's income tax preparation. It's life in general and trying to get out of the house for daily walking.

Yesterday my copies of The Sharp Review with my story in it arrived in the mail. Exciting! My name is spelled right and everything. I only have a few copies to give away, so maybe you'll get one . . . but most likely you won't. C'est la vie! I'll let you look at mine.

Mood: rushed
Drinking: black coffee
Listening To: magic power, triumph
Hair: desperately needing something

Son, can you play me a memory?

We're coming up on the full moon and the dreams have started. I spent most of the night in some sort of church or rec hall waiting for a supper that never came. Hours and hours spent sucking on ice chips and chatting with all kinds of ghosts from my past. One would get up to check on supper or get me a drink and another one would sit down.

Remember that night I stayed at your parent's house with you?
Not really, why did we stay there?
I was too drunk to drive . . . oh, I wasn't really, I drove worse, but I just wanted to stay with you. I remember those baby blue satin pajamas you had on.
Really? I don't remember any of this . . .

Remember that night we went to the Tasty Freeze and got banana splits? Remember we drove out to the airport and laid on the hood of the car watching the planes take off over us?
No. We never did that, did we?
Sure, we did! It was that big old white boat of a car and you were scared because the planes were so close and you screamed yourself horse, hiding your head in my chest.
I think I'd remember this if it really happened . . .

Remember the night I took you out to that camp and we sat on the porch and watched the moon?
Hmm, I'm not sure.
We sat on an old cot and I kissed you for the first time.
I thought we were up Dungarvon in the car when you kissed me the first time.
No, no, it was at that camp. We kissed under the full moon, but you wouldn't go any further.
That's not the way it happened. I remember . . .

And on and on and on into the morning. I woke up a dozen times. I had the alarm set for 5:30 because with visible sidewalks I can start walking again and I want to try to get in the habit of going out twice a day. I turned the alarm off at 5:23 before it went off, laid there awake and pondering the dream until 5:35, and then got up, got dressed and forced myself out into the air. I walked down the Old King George Highway to the edge of French Fort Cove. I think the cove is passable but it was a bit early for me to be in the woods in town alone. If it were just the woods I wouldn't mind. Up home, I'd go into the woods. In town . . . well, I don't like to chance it, there are some pretty creepy guys around here. The walk just down to the cove and back is 30 minutes at my fastest pace, 40 if I don't push myself. This morning I pushed myself. Arrived home sweaty and exhilarated, ready to work. I watched the sunrise over the Centennial Bridge in Chatham and left the dreams in the night.

Mood: renewed
Drinking: coffee, black
Listening To: born in the usa, bruce springsteen
Hair: trim anyone?

I am a Passenger

Watched a good documentary last night about the birth and evolution of punk rock. I was born just a bit too late, so I didn't get into Iggy Pop, The Sex Pistols, The Clash or even The Ramones until way after the fact. I'm trying to think of who put me onto them but I don't know, I think I just discovered them on my own. The only boyfriend who would have leaned that way at all would have been K and he was more Zeppelin and Hendrix, Supertramp and Bowie. MB had a copy of the movie Sid & Nancy but it seemed like she knew somebody who had been in it or something, not that she was a big Sid Vicious fan. Anyway, it was a good documentary. Dad didn't appreciate it! :-) But I found it interesting.

So I spent the weekend upriver. Went to a friends place Friday night, where I drank WAY too much wine . . . like WAY. I can't remember the last time I drank that much. It's been a long time. And it'll be a long time before I do it again. A glass or two is freaking plenty. I felt a little shaky all day Saturday. Had a good time though, well other than having to call 911 in the wee hours and having the ambulance come. But even that was a bit of an adventure, certainly another story to add our collection. But you know the party is over when the 911 call goes out. Luckily, nobody was seriously hurt. So now we can look back on it and laugh.

Saturday I just lazed around all day, nursing a hang-over. Watched movies with Dad. I actually got him to sit through Clerks II. He thought it was the stupidest movie ever, but he didn't get up and leave and he laughed quite a bit, so . . . there you go. We also watched White Oleander. Dad taped that one off PVR and I had never seen it, though I read the book. It wasn't bad.

Sunday was Nick's bath day. It went okay. He did not want to get into the tub, but he stayed there once I picked him up and put him in. He whined and trembled the whole time, but afterward he felt great, crazy frisky, and he certainly smelled better. Mom's gonna try to clip him more now and in about 6 weeks time or so I'll bath him again. The beast just has so much freaking hair. Next time I'll try to do it outside. He can't come live with me, so it's important to keep him in Mom's good graces . . . she sometimes threatens to put him to sleep :-(

So it was a pretty good weekend overall. Time to settle in and get back to work now.

Mood: sleepy
Drinking: coffee, black
Listening To: come sail away, styx
Hair: un-everything

Like a Dirty Shirt

I'm off! I am heading upriver for the weekend. Plans have come together quite suddenly and spontaneously and I find myself with a ride to Renous later this afternoon where I will bunk the night with friends. Yay! We're gonna have some drinks, do some tarot readings, catch up on all the news, it'll be F-U-N! We haven't gotten together since Christmas, so we're definitely due. It's odd though how you can try to plan to get together for months sometimes without being able to pull it off, and then other times you just say let's do this now and off you go! I guess going without a plan is the best way.

T is picking me up after his lunchtime hockey game and we're going to the office for a bnm meeting, which works out good because S works nearby and will gather me after work and take me upriver. Tomorrow I'll go to Mom's. Me and Nick have a date with the bathtub. Apparently my baby reeks! Tomorrow night if the JayKays are up for it I might visit and toast the new job. Sunday is Coronation day as the show's been on hiatus all week and will be for many weeks to come while the NHL play-offs happen. So now if I don't see it Sunday morning, I don't see it at all. I'll come home early Monday morning with S&G on their way in to work, probably. Unless the folks fancy a Sunday drive tomorrow afternoon/evening.

But lots to do before I leave, so I'm off! Like a dirty shirt! :-)

Mood: chipper
Drinking: coffee
Listening To: muffled tv downstairs
Hair: confused about what it's trying to be

Dancing Queen

I'm having an ABBA morning. Why? Because they make me happy. It takes me back to being 11 or 12 years old and going to the rink on Friday nights, skating round and round to Does Your Mother Know. I was just starting to settle in and get comfortable with the idea of being a kid when everything shifted again.

I hated most of elementary school. I was shy. I was fat. I was smart. I wore my cousin's hand-me-down clothes. Not good things when you're a kid. I couldn't wait to grow up. Most of my memories from Grades 1-5 are nasty. Bullied, poked fun at, not fitting in . . . so much hurt . . . I spent a lot of time in my head, in my room alone, outside alone, hating, crying, and most of all wishing I was an adult. Because when I grew up then I'd make the bastards pay for every shitty thing they did to me, for every moment they caused me pain.

I even had a list, a pay-back list I kept in my diary. It was just a list of names, dozens and dozens of names. I didn't need to write down what they had done to me, I could recite the list by heart. I suppose if I were growing up today I'd be the kid who goes postal in the cafeteria. But back then all I could do was make my list and wish to be grown, because then I'd have the power and I could do what I wanted.

By 6th grade things started to shift. I don't know if it was the wonderful teacher we had that year or what. In spring I started playing soccer and football at lunch hour, I'd been going to the rink in the winter and spending hours skating. The only album they had to play over the speakers was ABBA. This was the year I got my first pair of jeans. I settled in. I started to have fun being a kid. But it didn't last long. The best part of my childhood lasted a few months before my girl friends decided playing games in the field was not cool, sports were not cool. The focus shifted to hair, make-up, clothes, and of course, boys.

I resisted at first. I tried to convince them to at least continue playing until summer break. We could all enter 7th grade as proper young women, but couldn't we finish grade 6 as little girls? Nobody was interested. They left the field and went down to stand on the pavement, leaning against the brick wall, where they would gossip and brag and scheme. I remember standing on the hill, looking back the field at the boys running with the soccer ball, watching the backs of my girl friends walk away from me, and I knew it was over, whatever peace and freedom and joy in childhood I had been briefly experiencing had ended and a new chapter was beginning. I took one last look at the boys kicking the soccer ball and followed the girls to the pavement.

I wish I could say my transition into teenager-land went more smoothly, but seventh grade was a bitch of a year. By the end of it I had gone numb to everything. I no longer kept a pay-back list because I figured none of these people mattered anyway. I lived for the day when school would end and real life would begin. Throughout high school I kept my eye on that prize. As far as I was concerned none of what happened during my teens mattered in the slightest, this wasn't real life, that wouldn't begin until I graduated and left. This attitude allowed me to do things that other people were angered or shocked by. Making out with someone else's boyfriend was perfectly acceptable to my way of thinking because we were just kids having fun and it wasn't like anyone was going to stay together and get married and all that crap in our real life after high school. Nothing was out of bounds. Because nothing mattered. It was all one big waste of time, might as well get some thrills out of it, sample a bit of everything.

I remember an incident where a girl came up to me and told me she knew I'd gone out with her boyfriend but it was my lucky day because she was going to let it go. I remember being surprised that there had even been a possibility that she wouldn't let it go. I had been hanging on the fringe of her clique and she had said repeatedly about how she didn't really like this guy anyway, how she was probably going to break up with him. So, as far as I was concerned, he was beyond fair game and I'd actually done her a big favour by giving her a good excuse to dump his cheating ass. So I was surprised to have her confront me in the schoolyard.

I remember how her face blushed all red and she turned and stomped away when I just shrugged and said something like duh, of course not, you got no beef with me. This happened a couple of times in high school, girls coming up to me to tell me I'd done them wrong but they were going to let it go. And I have to wonder why? Why didn't they beat me up? And what must they have thought when they'd get my calm cool logical reaction? They were always big girls, taller than me, and I was pretty tall. I'm sure they expected me to be intimidated, apologetic even. I was quiet too. I never said much in school. Out of school I partied harder and louder than anyone else. Nothing and nobody was off-limits, if I found someone attractive, if I wanted something, I went after it and I didn't take no for an answer. I didn't realize it at the time, that I had no respect for anyone or anything, I just thought I was putting in my time, same as everyone else, just getting through until the first day of the rest of my life. I got away with a lot. I'm not sure why.

And all of this has nothing to do with ABBA, except that for a few brief moments in childhood I felt free and ABBA was there with me. This explains everything, right?

Mood: nostalgic
Drinking: cold coffee
Listening To: thunderstruck, ac/dc
Hair: needing some colour

Spring

Walking home on Adair, bare pavement running with melt, sweating in my jean jacket and short sleeved blouse, I can smell soap (laundry day for someone) and strawberry bubble gum. Seagulls scream as they dive-bomb one another fighting over a crust of bread. In a paved driveway, a child sits beside his miniature snowman drawing pictures with pastel chalk. As sweat slides down the middle of my back I notice the snowbanks are still over my head.

Mood: observant
Drinking: nothing
Listening To: also nothing
Hair: . . . got new conditioner finally

Ring of Fire

. . . down, down, down, and the flames went higher and it burns, burns, burns . . . I do enjoy a little Johnny Cash. I feel like I'm in a ring of fire a lot of the time. Stress, anxiety, and all that fun stuff. Just breathe babe.

I got some cleaning done yesterday. Not a lot, because a gal's got to work, but enough to make it feel like I made a dent. Scrubbed the entry hall and the kitchen, on my hands and knees with a scrub brush . . . I dunno, a toothbrush might be in order. Still not impressed with the results. Doing lots of laundry yesterday and today. Today I tackle the bathroom and the office. I'm hoping a stud with a stud-finder and a really big nail will turn up this evening and hang my painting, though I'm still not a hundred percent sure where to put it. Now, I'm leaning toward the office area . . . Once I get it hung I'll post a picture.

I'm waffling on Frye Fest . . . waffling I say. One day I say I can't possibly go, the expense of it all! And then I hear something else about it or from someone else who is going to be there and I think I can't possibly NOT go, the opportunity of it all! I should just send in my request for a press pass, just in case. Maybe I can go. Maybe I should go. Decisions, decisions.

Basically I got nothing to say today. I'm loving the weather, loving having the windows open, the heat off all night long . . . but I hear we're in for a turn . . . and that's okay too.

Mood: optimistic
Drinking: black coffee
Listening To: hallelujah, kd lang (leonard cohen)
Hair: growing longish again

The Pretender

My blog reached a milestone the other day . . . 1,000 posts. Wow! Maybe I am prolific :-)

So yesterday kinda turned into a bust day of recharging, spent mostly in my inbox just dealing. Did not get a lot done on my list . . . actually, didn't even make the list.

Today I woke feeling more refreshed and rested, ready to get some stuff done. My alarm sounded at 6:30. Local radio. The voice of a girl I used to work with. And in my dreaming state I found myself back at the station flipping switches and pushing buttons, sweeping music up slowly under my voice. I could feel the ache in my back from that horrible rickety chair. I could maybe do radio again and actually enjoy it, if I had a good crew to work with.

Sunday morning at the Rodd I read part of one of my stories. Historically, I haven't had much luck with voice control while reading my fiction. I can speak in public. I can emcee. I can perform in plays and read the news and voice-over ads. I can overcome the nerves most of the time . . . but there's something about my fiction, it's just too raw, too personal, too close to me, and I have trouble pulling off my big strong voice, finding the deep tones in the pit of my stomach. And those are the tones you need if you want a room to listen to what you've got to say, you can't be high and squeaky.

Sunday morning I read part of my story. The lines came from a personal experience, although in the fiction there are different circumstances and the lines aren't delivered with purposeful malice. The personal experience that was inspiration for that part was so much worse than the fictional experience. And yet, the fictional experience is still pretty bad. So basically I picked the most personally emotional part of the story for me and that's what I read. And for one of the first times ever I had my voice, deep tones, controlled speed and pitch. There is hope for me yet.

I look at Elaine's painting and I think Madness & Magic. That was the working title for my collection of short stories back in the day . . . hmm, yes, I do have a collection of short stories. I entered into the Richards Prize many, many years ago, when I first became involved in the WFNB. I got judges comments saying it didn't work, some stories were strong, some weren't. Later I found out only the best ones had been passed onto the judge, only a few of the most promising had received comments. At the time that wasn't enough to squash the sting of the comments themselves. I hadn't workshopped anything anywhere yet. So I put the idea of a collection out of my head, the stories weren't good enough, they didn't gel together. Bygones. I've learned a lot in the last 10 years or so . . . maybe the time has come to revisit a collection.

Mood: pondering
Drinking: coffee
Listening To: sick side, nathan wiley
Hair: needing some tlc in a the worst freaking way

In Your Eyes

Receiving lovely email and messages from people about the weekend. Feeling a certain nervous energy off the event still. By tomorrow I will return to normal. My apartment is in dire need of a good cleaning. The dust bunnies will soon carry me away. I've thrown open the windows for fresh spring breeze. Stuffing my face with bagels and berries before I begin. Perhaps I should start with a list so I don't lose focus.

I'm in talks about being in a play today. A rather large part for someone whose initial reaction was to turn down any role . . . and yet . . . I don't know if it's the creative energy of the weekend or the spring energy of today's bright sunshine and warm breeze or simply a different phase of the moon cycle . . . or maybe it's because of the irony of me being handcuffed on stage and delivering the saucy sexual innuendo at the end . . . but I think I'll do it. I think I'll be in the play. It's for a good cause. It's for my only cause. I can do that for the girls.

I'm going up home this weekend. Nick needs a bath and a shave and a tooth-cleaning and all that jazz. And I need to get away and keep my mind occupied in the company of people.

Mood: a little weird
Drinking: coffee
Listening To: faithfully, journey
Hair: same old

Give A Little Bit

And my crazy weekend ends. Just in the nick. Capt'n, she canna take much more! Hold her together, Scotty!

The weekend was fabulous. From beginning to end. Just totally fabulous.

Thursday night was amazing. It could not have gone any better. I could not get over how many people came out to support it. Wow! The readers were terrific. The Heritage Players were awesome. I just couldn't be more pleased with the end result.

Friday night, of course was less nerve-wracking for me because all I had to do was show up and have fun. Great readings! We closed O'Donaghue's after the book launches.

The workshops were all really good on Saturday. The banquet was absolutely amazing! Such good food! And the cheesecake! Oh boy!

And again so much support for the readings this morning! What a great turn-out! So many people writing! It's exciting!

Some of my favourite memories from the weekend:

That moment when Sherry sat down after doing her first intro on Thursday night and I knew for sure that the evening was going to work.

Driving with my favourite ladies on Friday showing them MY Miramichi.

At the bus stop when suddenly Gerry was also there.

Being mentioned in conjunction with S.

The surprise of a poem for me.

1973 and 1979 at O'Donaghue's Friday night.

"Seeing comes before words. The child looks and recognizes."

"Isn't that our aim? To write like old men and women?"

"The facts aren't good enough."

"Fiction is taking liberties with the truth. Fiction is the truth that bothers us late into the night. Fiction is truer than the truth."

"Write about what you know you don't know."

"It's much easier to consider eternity than the present moment. The truth is in the eternal, but we're going to write about it in this present moment that we can't grasp."

"The writer has a moral onus to write the truth, but the story itself is never moral."

Hearing David Adams Richards read from "Lost Highway."

Welling up with tears as one of the young winners of the Sheree Fitch prize read a poem about girls doing anything to conform, about becoming the bad girl, realizing being bad is not good, the difficult lesson that reversing to a good girl is not nearly as easy.

Salad greens, strawberry vinaigrette, pickles, potato salad, penne salad, coleslaw, rice, carrots, potato wedges, roast turkey, cranberry chutney, hip of beef, chocolate cheesecake with strawberries, new york cherry cheesecake, cheesecake, cheesecake, cheesecake, cheesecake . . .

Ed & Elaine!

Getting a hug and kiss on the cheek from David Adams Richards when I finally got to meet him.

Loosening the frame from the bubblewrap to reveal the painting I've loved forever, and realizing I love it even more than I knew.

Finally getting to see my sweetie in person for a few minutes this morning before the final event.

Feeling the audience connection after reading an excerpt from Three Thirty Three.

Watching writers, who didn't know they were writers, realize they are writers, and the satisfaction of knowing that in some small way I've helped them reach this level of consciousness by helping to plan the event, by being there to witness the transformation.

And all those other little moments that I haven't found the words to illustrate.

Mood: exhausted
Drinking: nothing
Listening To: don't look back, boston
Hair: messy

Blank Page

finish online bnm, publish online bnm website, design email for bnm online subscriber list, send out email to online bnm subscriber list, send out mighty successful pr, remind gov mansion guy about article for june print bnm, contact bnm ed board regarding thoughts on notes from last meeting to begin the discussion, email T about delivering print in newcastle area, call jill at the rodd about art installation, call gloria about art installation at the rodd, go to the post office to pick up parcel that is most likely the who in concert, go to the drugstore to buy hand soap and hair dye and conditioner, go to sobeys for tin foil and garlic and some foodstuff, go to the liquor store for wine and absenthe and maybe brandy, remember to use your coupon to get $10 off at the liquor store, check your bank account and make a plan for how you're going to finance this week/weekend and pay the bills, check acadian bus schedule and note time of freddy bus arrival for thursday, proof sherry's intros for thursday nite, clean out the spare room, wash all the bedding, send mass email to invite peeps to Thursday night, vaccuum the bedrooms, dust everything, sweep everywhere, scrub the kitchen and the bathroom and the entry hall floors with scrub brush, light mop remaining floors and hall, do dishes, do laundry, clean off and organize desk, plan wardrobe changes for weekend events, put clock in spare room, scrub the bathtub and sinks in bathroom and kitchen, take the garbage out, pick up Sears parcel, write thursday nite schedule, write intros for thursday night readers and who they're reading about, come up with some snappy one-liners for thursday emcee gig, take shower where snappy one-liners are usually born, write intro for gerry's workshop, contact thursday readers one last to firm up, remind stacy regarding tourist packages for wfnb, don't forget large envelopes, get copies of bnm for sale on saturday, make rough cross-river travel plan for weekend and different scheds, dye hair, shave legs, iron anything needing ironing, clean the toilet, wash black marks off walls, find money to buy that painting, confirm date for banquet, get cash for buying books and paying cab fares . . . and i think that's it, that's all i have to do between now and thursday when i meet joe at the bus station . . . then let the fun begin!

Mood: tired
Drinking: coffee
Listening To: back to bed, nathan wiley
Hair: every which way